Revelation & Reconciliation

Holden

Tonight, as we gather to honor a familiar face, I once again prove that even in times of mourning, there's never a dull moment. Britt, my newcomer turned staple, manages with a flair that's purely hers. Beth's strict dress code might aim to curb the wild spirits, but around here, even the best-laid plans have a way of unraveling. Hold onto your seats, or better yet, sidle up to the bar. It's about paying respects, but it's also about tight knots, and the ever-present specter of small-town drama. Here's to an evening that's bound to be anything but typical. Cheers to ties, toasts, and unpredictable twists!

Playlist: "Right On Time" by Sarahbeth Taite

Britt helps me with my tie. I always tie the damn thing around my neck like a noose, but she gets it on the first try. When she's done, she smooths it down my chest and sighs while she admires her work.

"I love a double Windsor knot," she says. "And you look very handsome wearing one."

"The knot has a name. And you know it. Of course, you do." I kiss her forehead. "Thank you."

She tugs her lower lip between her teeth. "So, we're only going to the bar. Why a tie?"

In answer, I hold up my phone to reveal Beth's group text. Britt squints to read it. "Three exclamation points? She's serious about this dress code."

"She thinks it will make us behave. Plus, Kenny's family will be there. They're taking it pretty hard, you know? And we want to pay our respects."

"Of course." Britt takes a step back. Her eyes flutter shut, and she sways alarmingly. She braces herself against the wall and rubs her temple even as I rush to steady her.

"You okay?" I ask.

She waves it off as if it's nothing. "Just a little dizzy."

"Have you been eating?" I still have nightmares about the time she fell during our one and only fight, and the further along she gets in her pregnancy, the more I want to hover over her every minute of the day. Since Doc Lindy told her what supplements to take, she's seemed better. This is a first, and I really hope it isn't the start of a trend.

"Yes, Holden, I've been eating." She yawns. "I was just up late last night. There's a lot to do."

"You could stay home. I'll just raise a glass and come right home."

I pretend I'm okay with it, but inside, I'm a mess. Since Britt and the baby have become my everything, this feeling, this fierce protectiveness, gnaws at me relentlessly. Hell, I'd give up hockey altogether. I'd throw away every game, every trophy, just to keep them safe and sound. The thought of anything happening to her, or our little one, tightens a vice around my chest that won't ease up. Every second away feels like a gamble now, and I hate gambling with what matters most.

Britt sticks out her bottom lip. "I'm your DD."

"But if I only have one glass, I don't need a DD."

Her shoulders droop. "I feel like you don't want me there. Is it because you're ashamed of me?"

As if. I wrap my arms around her. "Babe, you're a lawyer. You're crazy smart. And you're gorgeous. I'm not ashamed of you."

She sniffs. "Is it because I'm getting fat?"

"You're not fat, you're pregnant. And I love your little bump… that's practically invisible under the huge hulking sweater. Also, if you did get fat? You'd still be hot. I'd still—" love you. "—want you. Even if they had to break through our shiplap with a crane in order to get your hulking body out of this house. That's how much you mean to me."

"That's very sweet. But I see no reason to stay home alone. So… we'll go, we'll have one drink. Mine will be Sprite. And we'll come home."

"Just so we're clear, not all the guys will have one drink and go home. Some folks from the other teams will be there."

"Okay. Well, then I hope they have DDs." Britt squirms out of my embrace and sets out in search of her purse.

"Some get a little wild when they drink…"

Britt sighs. "I've been to bars before, Holden."

I can't stop fretting. "But with hockey players?"

"Gosh, where did we meet up the first time we went home together?" Britt pretends to think. "I want to say… was it Power Play? A bar? And I was there with you… a hockey player…"

"Nothing is going to change your mind, is it?"

"Negatory." She heads out into the hall. "Oh, here it is. Are you coming, Holden? We don't want to be late. If the dress code is serious, I can only imagine how many exclamation points Beth included in the memo about timeliness."

* * *

Since the population up here is kind of sparse, Kenny wasn't just the agent for most of our teammates. He also worked with one of our neighboring teams, the Warhawks. In addition to the players, there are also a bunch of families visiting, people Kenny helped in all kinds of ways. We're an eclectic bunch, and as a result, Power Play is packed with a bunch of people who knew Kenny but don't necessarily know—or like—each other.

"Wow." Britt looks around in astonishment. "I'm a little surprised that he was so popular. Lawyers aren't usually well-liked. We're the kind of people who have to grow on you."

"Not everybody liked him, I'm sure." My personal opinions of the man are tepid at best, but I don't think a funeral is the best time to air my petty grievances.

We pay our respects to Kenny's family, then make our way to the back tables where the Slammers have pulled a few rows together.

"Wow." I stop short when I see Bennett. The rest of us have followed instructions, but he's wearing jeans and an oversized t-shirt featuring Bart Simpson, with the caption, Eat My Shorts. "You wore that getup to a celebration of life? Even after your mom sent a group text? She's gonna kill you, dude."

"That fucker caved when negotiating my last contract. Count your blessings I didn't walk into his wake and moon the casket."

Britt nods and then gives Bennett a discreet thumbs up. "See, that's what I expect at a lawyer's funeral."

True to my word, I just get one drink. Britt and I end up chatting with Shep and Boone, mostly about her decision to step in as Heath's agent.

"Are you thinking about opening a practice here?" Boone asks. "Because everybody in this room is here to pay their respects, but I guarantee they're also wondering what they're going to do now that Kenny's gone."

"Maybe." Britt sips her ginger ale, and I know her well enough by now to see that she's giving the question serious consideration. "It would be nice, but now's not a great time for me to launch a whole new venture."

"Because you're planning to leave?" Shep is talking to her, but he's looking at me. I kick his foot under the table. He kicks back, harder.

"No, because I… I just have some stuff going on right now." Britt takes another gulp of her drink.

I change the topic to our prospects for the season, and soon we get around to the usual speculation of who's going to be called up next. We all agree that Heath is a likely candidate, although one of the Fosters could be in the running.

"My money's on Brogan," Boone says. "Bennett's winning personality doesn't make him a fan favorite for some reason." He laughs. "But Brogan's young, and he's a good player. I think he stands a chance."

"Not you?" I ask.

Boone wrinkles his nose. "I can't imagine leaving Sorrowville. And when I imagine hanging up my skates, it doesn't make me sick to my stomach for days like it does Bennett."

An argument has started up behind us. Bennett got up for another beer, and a group of the Warhawks has started chirping at him. By the looks of things, they've already had a few drinks.

One of them lunges toward Boone, who shoves him away. The Warhawk is so unsteady on his feet that he stumbles toward us. He's right on target to collide with Britt and shove her chair closer to the table.

I don't think. By the time I've fully realized that she and the baby could get hurt, I'm already on my feet. I put myself right in his path and try to catch him. He must not realize that I'm trying to help, because he starts swinging as soon as his back hits my chest. His knuckles meet my cheekbone with such force that my head snaps sideways.

"Hey!" Beth bolts around the bar, brandishing a fire extinguisher in the Warhawk's face. "No fighting in my bar! If the rest of you numbskulls don't get your dipshit friend out of here in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to start spraying."

The other players gather up their friend and all but drag him to the door. Beth follows until they're out on the sidewalk. Only then does she turn to Kenny's widow. "Sorry, Elise, I was hoping we could keep things civil tonight…"

Conversation resumes. Now that the show's over, people immediately want to dissect it. That's how it always is around here.

Shep chuckles as I return to my seat. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to Minneapolis now, Britt?"

"Hell, no, this is way more exciting. I'm not leaving. But I am getting ice for my hero's face." She kisses my cheek and adds, under her breath, "Let's hope Beth has a real ice pack. I don't want to have to repurpose the butt peas."

As soon as she's gone, Heath leans toward me. "Nice save, Holden. Maybe you should be the goalie. I've never seen Gage move that fast on the ice."

"And look at your girl, playing doctor." Shep wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Boone watches her fill a plastic bag with ice from the cooler behind the bar. "I didn't think anyone had more of a mom voice than my mom."

I tense up. We still haven't told people that Britt's pregnant, and I know that when we do, the news will spread like wildfire. I'm not going to spill that tea without her approval. "That could be her lawyer voice. Geeze, guys. She's a lawyer."

"She's my lawyer," Heath reminds us.

Boone nudges me with his elbow. "If she's a lawyer who plays doctor while negotiating your contract, you should wife her up."

Heath holds up his hands. "Wow, slow down, I would never step on Holden's toes."

I rub my forehead. "I'm pretty sure he meant me."

"Ohhh." Heath nods. "Yeah, that would make sense."

I love these guys, but sometimes I worry about the quality of our team's helmets.

Shep's voice is loud enough to carry over the chatter of the crowd. "Yeah. Wife her up, Holden. She'll make a good mom one day."

Britt plops down in the chair next to me and hands me the baggie of ice. "I'll make a good mom in about five months."

And just like that, our secret's out. Everyone within earshot goes quiet. They look Britt over, probably trying to tell if she's showing under her bulky sweater. Eventually, their eyes drift to me.

Bennett's the first one to speak. He takes a long drag off his bottle of beer and then raises it in my direction. "Of course. Holden with the extra special package delivery. Cheers, asshole."

I smirk at him as I press the ice to my face. "Says the guy in the Bart Simpson shirt."

"Yeah? Well, at least I don't have a bruise on my face to match the one on my ass cheek where a puck hit it."