Page 315 of Branded
Wanted to be waiting by the elevators in case she saw the chaos that always filled this level and decided to make a break for it. Currently, back office staff were running around dealing with the usual post-game stuff—media requests, fan interactions, taking pictures for social media, and much more—while the equipment guys were pulling their normal (and heroic) efforts to organize and clean and pack up all our gear, making sure the players had everything we could possibly need for every game. Then there were all the arena workers—cleaners and security, box office and management—as well as many of the front office people for the Breakers.
It was a madhouse.
Organized chaos, but still a madhouse, and Jules was…well, she was important, and I didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed and?—
I also didn’t want her to escape.
And great. Now I sounded like I was trying to be a dumbass evil villain from a crappy Hollywood movie.
I’ll never let her escape, muhaha!
Luckily, me being an idiot in my head meant that I didn’t have time to worry about whether or not Jules actually would come down.
She would, right?
Right. She wouldn’t let Ethan miss out on this opportunity. Not everyone got to come down and—yeah, I was an asshole for using Ethan to get close to her. Except, maybe I was only a baby ahole? Because I wasn’t just using Ethan. I wanted Ethan to have the best night of his life, wanted to make the kid happy. I just…wanted to make Julie happy alongside her son.
Add in all my plans to make that happen, and I really didn’t have time to worry.
Because then the elevator doors were opening and Ethan and Jules were inside, and fuck if my heart wasn’t skipping around like a motherfucker, slamming against my ribcage, stealing my breath and making me feel lightheaded.
“Cas!”
Ethan’s face lit up and he sprinted forward off the elevator, launching himself at me and throwing his arms around my middle.
I stifled a grunt. The kid was strong, and my ribs really were fucked. “Hey, bud. You have a good time?”
A nod that threatened to turn Ethan into a bobblehead. “You scored a goal!”
A rare feat indeed for me as a defensive defenseman. I wasn’t like Smitty. I didn’t often jump up in the rush, didn’t join the forwards in scoring opportunities.
Oh, I’d take one, for sure, just like I had that night.
But I wasn’t the player to seek those out. My strength was cleaning up shit in my own zone, protecting my goalie, blocking shots, and clearing out the front of the net.
Little arms dropped from around my middle, and Ethan stepped back.
“It was so cool!” he exclaimed.
“I’m glad you were here to see it,” I said, ruffling Ethan’s hair. “I don’t do that all too often.” I glanced up at Jules, saw that her face was gentle, that there was no anger in her eyes, not any longer anyway.
“Nice game,” she said softly.
“Thanks,” I murmured, and hell if my voice wasn’t gravel. I cleared my throat, focused back on Ethan, focused on my plan to give this kid the best night ever. “You want to go and see some stuff?”
Ethan pumped his fist. “Yes!”
So, I walked him around, showing him the training suite (complete with our intensely focused on her job head trainer, Sam). Then I showed them the family rooms, where kids and spouses could hang out and watch the games on huge flat screens mounted to one wall, play with the provided toys, or use the copious craft supplies. Beyond the training suit was the gym and the hot and cold tubs, including the new machine that players were strapped into while cold air was blown over our bodies (and wasn’t that a fucking joy?). But it was supposed to help with healing by shocking the body in a way that was similar to the ice baths of old.
There were also massage rooms—though Ethan was definitely more wowed by our Rec Room, which was basically a huge room with a small kitchen, its cabinets jam-packed with food. The rest of the open space was filled with leather recliners and televisions hooked up to different video game consoles, along with several coffee tables where feet could be propped up. Basically, it was a space where the guys could hang out and chill. Though, this was typically before games and in between warm-ups or after the occasional morning skate that Coach had us come to, rather than after games when everyone was tired and wanted to just go home and sleep.
After that, I took him to the locker room. Note: this was last because I didn’t need Jules and Ethan scarred by Smitty walking around with his dick out. Even though this was the public-facing room and we weren’t really supposed to be walking around with dicks out, Smitty really liked being naked, so one never knew with him. Once I had deemed it was safe, we slipped in through the open door. Also note: this was done after I poked my head in and made sure that everyone was clothed (e.g. that Smitty was decent) and after I’d fixed the remaining members of my team with a death glare to threaten them to behave before I’d actually stepped aside and let Ethan walk inside.
“Whoa!” Ethan said, rushing in and running over to the Breakers logo that was printed on the carpet in the middle of the room. “Whoa!” he said again, spinning in a circle, seemingly taking in the stalls where the guys got dressed—many of which were still filled with players who were wearing skates and shin guards and hockey pants, their shoulder pads hanging behind them, their elbow pads on the shelves, plopped next to their helmets.
Jerseys went into the rolling bin in the middle of the room.
Gloves were dropped in the cubbies in the hall to be dried and cleaned (this was also done in between periods because there was nothing worse than trying to control the puck with wet gloves and slick palms).
