Page 6 of Face Off
“He’s a she.” I laugh out. “Unless you’re now playing for the other team.”
The silence on the phone makes me think she hung up on me. “Sydney? You, still there.”
“Still here. Just trying to imagine the woman who finally put you in your place.” Her tone serious but filled with amusement. “So, tell me, Brooks. Is she pretty?”
Pretty is an understatement. She’s gorgeous as fuck. “She’s okay,” I say, trying to convince her that I’m not in the least interested. She definitely didn’t buy it.
“Yeah, right, and I’m the queen of England.” She laughs just as a tiny voice is heard on the other line.
“Mommy, I wanna say hi to Uncle Brooky.”
“Okay, hold on, sweetie.”
“Hi, Uncle Brooky,” Everleigh, my five-year-old niece, screams over the phone. “Can I come to your house and watch hockey with you one day?”
Her little voice and love for hockey brings a smile to my face. Sydney found out she was pregnant with Everleigh the day her ex-husband served her the divorce papers. She found out he was cheating but was willing to go to couples therapy to workthrough it. However, he had other plans. So, she decided to not tell him about Everleigh, and move cross country to be near me. I was more than happy to help provide for Sydney. She was the only family I had.
I adore my sister and niece. I’ve been there for it all. Her first words, first steps, first time on the ice. I’ve never seen someone’s eyes light up like Everleigh’s the first time she stepped on the ice. She was two, and from that day forward, she’s been hooked to all things ice related.
“Of course,” I chuckle. “But I think watching it live would be even better.”
Her little gasp of excitement brings a smile to my face. “Really Uncle Brooky. MOMMY! Uncle Brooky is going to take me to a live hockey game!” she screams.
“Oh really?” My sister voice comes back on the line. “Brooks, don’t promise something you can’t keep.”
I scoff at her accusation. “I mean it. I would love to have you guys come watch me play.”
“Oh, so it’s more of a come watch me kick ass on the ice.” She laughs. “That’s not exactly watching the game with her.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “True, but she’d love it. Plus, she can watch warmups, then after the game, meet some of the guys.”
“Sounds like a better deal for me than her,” she replies. “But okay.”
“Perfect. I’ll stop by with tickets for the season opener. Nice box seats.”
I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Nosebleeds would have been perfectly fine but thank you.” I can hear her smile. “See your Sunday for dinner?”
“See you then.”
We hang up after shooting the shit for a few moments more. I’m happy my sister lives close, but even with her here, it feels as if I’m still missing something. Like there’s an empty void in my life that I desperately want to fill.
Glancing at the cable box clock, I decide to call it a night. Flopping down on my king-size bed, I toss and turn until sleep finally consumes me.
Hayley
My alarm goes off at three thirty a.m. Pulling the covers over my head, I let out a loud groan. I didn’t sleep much last night. You can take the girl out of night shift but not the night shift out of the girl.
Okay, so maybe it isn’t so much the adjustment from working nights to working days that keeps me tossing and turning the whole night, but the thoughts of Brooks. The moment I would close my eyes, I’d imagine him pulling me to his chest as I confronted him. Then his mouth would be on mine, in a kiss so hot, it could melt not just your panties off, but the ice underneath us.
Ugh! Why the hell are you thinking of him? I inwardly scold myself. Brooks Miller is the last person I should be fantasizing about in my dreams.
I roll out of bed and throw on a pair of workout clothes before packing my work bag. Down in the kitchen, I find my mother sitting at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of coffee. I can always count on her. She’s my rock.
“Good morning, sweetheart. I know I’m early, but you know how I am. No rest for the wicked.” She smiles at me over the rim of her mug.
You can say what you want about Celeste Richards. Her perfect bond hair and wrinkle-free forehead would give you the impression she’s a capital B.I.T.C.H. Sure, she’s the head bitch in charge, when working on something for the foundation. But deep down, Mom’s a softy.
“You don’t mind that I asked you to come over early so I could work out before the day begins?” I smile softly as I pour some coffee into my travel mug.
