“Mom.” I turned my car off as I parked in the rink lot next to Eli’s truck. Travis’s truck wasn’t around, but I tried not to worry about that. “I am actually loving life right now, thriving and happy and not at all worried about all that other crap, okay? Now I have to get back inside before Rick tries to play bar-back and ruins my night.”
She chuckled, like she was letting it go, “Okay fine. Have a good night. I’ll bring the kids over after church in the morning. So, sleep in and get some rest.”
“Okay.” I swallowed, already anxious over the idea of going back to the house, but pushed it down as I got out. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie pie.”
I rushed inside, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder at the door. The rink was buzzing with people, the locals all loved the Saturday night Net Crasher games. As I rounded the lobby, I spotted Travis and Eli at the near end of the rink working through warm-ups, but they both noticed me immediately.
The way Travis’s mouth curved when he saw me in the jersey momentarily mesmerized me, and then again by the way Eli’s eyes lingered on its logo across my chest.
For a moment, I almost forgot about my fear.
Until Eli’s gaze narrowed, head tilting slightly, reading me like he always did.
“You good?” he mouthed, and I gave him two thumbs up with a forced smile.
Could he tell it was forced from the ice?
Nothing's wrong.
I swear.
Eventually, maybe I’d convince myself.
Warmups were supposedto clear my head, get my mind focused on the game and the job at hand. But tonight, they didn’t.
Not when Frankie walked into the rink wearing our jersey for the first time. I caught Eli’s eyes go wide before I’d even finished my slow drag down her body.
The town was talking about her dating both of us, and this just solidified it. She was proving to us that she was committed to it.
To us.
She looked—fuck; she looked good.
Like she was ours.
But when the shock of that wore off, I noticed something else. Something about the way she moved—tighter, smaller, made the back of my neck itch.
I took a couple of laps, trying to shake it off, but it didn’t work.
Every time I caught a glimpse of her from the bar upstairs, she tried to smile like nothing was wrong. And maybe it worked for everyone else, but not for me. Not for Eli either. I could see it in the way his jaw ticked each time our eyes met across the ice.
By the second period, I wasn’t watching the puck anymore. I was watching her.
We won, but I barely felt the rush of it. Eli hardly smiled in the handshake line.
Frankie tried to avoid us at the bar when we got showered and changed, acting like the customers at her bar were going to stage a mutiny if she didn’t give them all of her attention.
“Shade.” I warned as she came near the end of the bar and pulled her around the side to the walk-in cooler. Eli was right behind us, standing guard at the door like he expected her to bolt. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked and swallowed, “What do you mean?”
“The fake-ass smile you’ve been wearing all night,” Eli pointed out, “You don’t ever smile at those fucks at your bar, let alone with a fake one. You think we can’t tell something's wrong?”
Her eyes darted between us, “I’m fine, really.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
