Page 57 of Brace and Chase

“You are a lucky man,” I tell him. He smiles and opens his mouth, probably to thank me, but I let my eyes go deadly cold and drop the smile so suddenly he freezes. “Remember that if you ever make her cry, I will come for you.”

“He knows, Santa,” I hear Picard from behind me but don’t drop the eye contact with Jake. “He also knows I’m going to be right there with you.”

“Yeah, all of you will be,” Jake says with a seriousness Iappreciate. Especially when the emotion that fills his eyes is gratitude and respect.

“Good.” I nod at him.

I feel Charlie shift beside me so I turn to see him looking more uncomfortable than he has since the first day he walked into the Pirates’ locker room.

“We have to go now. You know we old men need our sleep.”

I steer Charlie to Jamie so he can congratulate her as well, then we say a few quick goodbyes before we’re walking out of the arena again.

Charlie drives this time, and unlike on our way over, I don’t fill the silence with anything I can think to say. I don’t know what I could even say.

I want to ask about his reaction to Jake. I want to know why he was so uncomfortable he looked constipated. I want to know he believed me when I told him we’ll get back on the ice.

But I can’t seem to find the words—or the courage—to ask. Not tonight.

So we ride in silence, and though I can tell something’s bothering him when we arrive at his house, I don’t ask him about it. I just follow him up the stairs and walk into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. We have an early-ish flight all the way over to Miami tomorrow, so some sleep is definitely necessary.

I’mdown in the kitchen before Charlie the next day. Wanting to get this show on the road quicker means making breakfast for us.

I don’t mind, in fact I realize how much I missed having a kitchen to cook in.

A proper kitchen, I mean, because the kitchenette in my suite, while perfectly functional, doesn’t have the feel of a homey kitchen.

I’m humming an unrecognizable tune to myself when my phone starts ringing. I turn down the heat on the hash browns and go over to the foyer where my suitcase and my backpack are. On top of the pile sits my phone, and I see Butcher’s calling me.

I wince, knowing I should’ve given him a heads-up about the whole benched thing. He deserves more respect from me. After all, he’s been the most awesome agent for fifteen years.

“Butcher, my man,” I answer jovially, then turn to walk back to the kitchen and put the call on speakerphone. I decide that getting ahead of the scolding is the way to go. “I am sorry I did not tell you about getting benched, I?—”

“Don’t even worry about it. I mean, we’ll talk about it but I have to tell you some news.”

My stomach turns into knots immediately. Did Gab or Jake call him? Did they tell him they’re not renewing my contract? Are they gonna force me to retire? Did Gab give up on her weird plan?

“What is it?”

“Pirates fans are going ballistic on socials,” he starts. I frown at nothing. What the hell happened? We fucking won last night.

“What? Why?” My mind, more anxious and paranoid than it’s ever been, conjures up a million different disasters that could’ve happened since I saw my team last night.

“Because they fucking benched the two best defensemen in the fucking league,” he says triumphantly. Theduhis silent, but I hear it just the same.

“Oh,” is all I can think to say.

“People are not happy, Santa. Some of the posts with more likes and shares are exposing all of your career stats. Sure, they’re talking about Sweetheart too.” I bite back the growl that wants to come out at Butcher calling him that. Ireallyfucking hate that nickname. “But what’s interesting is that the conversation is turning to why you haven’t been acknowledged as one of the greats before.”

My heart starts racing.

This is what I’ve been wanting people to say when talking about me for my whole damn career.

Sure, I’ve had my share of glory, hoisting the Stanley Cup over my head three times, but being celebrated as an individual is new. That elusive James Norris Memorial Trophy... it still haunts me.

“What, uh—” I cut myself off to swallow hard. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say right now. What I should ask, or do.

“How long are you two benched for?” he asks, seemingly unaware of my minor freakout.

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