Page 108 of Mr. Charming

“I absolutely hate this part,” Eloise mutters, gripping the edge of her seat.

St. Louis gains possession on a breakaway. I almost want to close my eyes—Conor’s an incredible goalie, but there’s only so much one guy can do. Their center winds up for a shot. He shoots it hard and fast, but Conor blocks it and it flies to the right.

“Oh, thank God.” Eloise exhales, pressing a hand to her chest.

But our relief is short-lived. The rebound lands right on the stick of St. Louis’s right wing. He snaps a quick pass across to the left wing, who fires off another shot. Conor stretches, and it deflects off his shin pad. The puck pops into the air, and our defenseman tracks it, smacking it out of danger and down the ice.

Rowan gets it first, skating hard, but instead of taking the shot, he passes to Henry just before a St. Louis defender crunches him into the boards.

Jade winces. “I hate those hits.”

The worries and nervousness from the women who love these men send me back to the game when Tweetie was injured the worst—on the ice, clutching his knee, his face twisted in pain, the trainers rushing out. The way he was carried off, unable to put weight on his leg. I shake away the memory.

Tweetie gets the puck, but two St. Louis players pin him to the boards. He battles, fighting for space, but he’s trapped. Rowan loops around, wedging in, his stick joining the other three. He digs the puck free and passes it to Henry, who’s waiting.

St. Louis is on them, though, giving them no clearance for a shot. They pass and move, trying to shake the defense. Rowan, Tweetie, and Henry weave in and out, circling the net. I can see Tweetie’s mouth moving, no doubt chirping to someone on the ice and living up to his nickname.

“Come on, guys,” Georgia urges, her voice tight.

I glance at the Jumbotron to see that there are less than twenty seconds left.

Finally, Rowan shoots, but their goalie is just as good as Conor, and he blocks it. The crowd groans, thinking it’s over, but Tweetie rebounds the puck. The goalie can’t recover fast enough before the puck goes in, and the buzzer sounds right before the timer runs out.

We all jump and cheer and hug one another.

“I have no idea how you do this all the time.” Georgia has a hand to her chest.

“I’m pretty sure you’re in more danger on a day-to-day basis being a detective.” I wind my arm through hers. “Let’s get you to the family room and wait for Tweetie to come out. You can calm your heart down.”

Right before we turn to the stairs, I glance over my shoulder to see Tweetie still celebrating, but his eyes are on me as one of the St. Louis players talks to him. Both of us smile. I forgot how much I loved it when he sought me out when he should be enjoying the moment.

“You’re coming to dinner with us, right?” Georgia asks when we reach the elevator to take us down to the restricted area.

“If I’m invited.”

Another rule lined out. I’m not being very good at adhering to my own damn rules.

“My brother didn’t invite you?”

“In his defense, I told him dinners were off the table. We’re supposed to be taking this slow.”

She laughs and laughs and laughs until we’re off the elevator. “You two. Someone should write a book about you guys. You’re both so naively funny.”

“Gee, thanks, Georgia.”

“I’m just saying, when is enough enough? You guys have been through so much shit, and here you are again.” She puts her hand on my arm, stopping us in the hallway. “Just be happy and live. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

Melody comes by, and Georgia walks with her. I stand there for a moment and contemplate Georgia’s point. There’s just a lot to the equation of us that we need to figure out.

“Great game, huh?” Bud walks by me on his way to the media room or the locker room, maybe. “Come, walk with me.”

I fall in line with him. “Amazing win.”

“He just promotes himself.”

“Does that mean that you’re signing him again?” How could they not?

He glances at me, and we come to the point where I go into the family area to wait, and he continues on. “Why don’t we each stick to our own jobs, Tedi?”

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