Page 359 of Branded
Ice through my veins. “What?”
Smitty ignored the interruption and continued, “Watch your cute little butt skate around the rink.”
I grabbed the water bottle again, clenching it so that I didn’t wrap my hands around Smitty’s neck and squeeze.
And squeeze.
“What?” I repeated icily.
“Are you asking about your cute butt or?—”
“You gave my woman tickets without talking to me first?” A quiet question, but even I could hear the edge of danger in it.
“Hell, man, it’s not like that,” Smitty said. “It was all on the up and up. She asked and wanted to surprise you, and I know you liked the last time she came to watch you and?—”
I lost it, shoving the bottle at Smitty’s chest, hard enough that water squirted everywhere. Then I did my best to corral my temper and to not do it by punching the fuck out of my teammate and have that particular action be caught by fans’ cellphones and broadcast on social media—or on traditional media.
Ethan might see it.
And then what would my kid think of me?
“What the fuck, man?” Smitty growled, chucking the bottle into the holder, and wiping a hand over his dripping face.
I inhaled. Exhaled.
Struggled to not throttle my teammate.
“The fuck, Smitty,” I gritted out, “is that I didn’t ask Jules to come to this game”—one of only a handful of matchups we had against the Sierra this year—“because Nate Miller is Ethan’s dad.”
And for once—and for all the wrong fucking reasons—Smitty didn’t have a response to that.
A fucking miracle.
A fucking disaster.
Thirty-Eight
Jules
It wasn’t until we’d walked down the concrete stairs and taken our seats that I realized I’d made a big, big mistake.
And that happened when I’d looked up at the scoreboard.
Breakers on the left side with their cute little wave-shaped logo.
On the other…
A logo of mountains.
My stomach clenched as I read the team name—The Sierra.
No.
I couldn’t be this stupid, couldn’t be this unlucky. This just…this couldn’t be right. It had to be a mistake, had to be. So, as calmly as I could—since Ethan was next to me—I reached into my pocket to extract my cell with shaking hands.
Called up the tickets Smitty had sent me…still with shaking hands.
And actually reading them this time, not just skimming over the details and looking for row and seat numbers, but reading the game time and the team names.
