41. Aaron

41

AARON

“That was interesting,” Olivia says after we see a grumpy Jake and an almost apologetic Sofia to the door. Mom and Nonna also left a few minutes ago on their way to church, with Nonna muttering to herself that she’d pray for our souls after Jake and I almost threw down on the Lord’s birthday.

“I’ll say,” I reply as I study her face. She doesn’t seem too fazed, but I’m trying to gauge if that’s because she’s genuinely okay, or if she’s putting up some of those walls of hers again.

“He’s not mad at you,” I assure her, then attempt to crack a smile. “I think he just wanted to punch me in the face, to be honest.”

She snorts. “The Griswold men do love a Christmas brawl.”

“Jake was definitely dressed for a holiday throwdown,” I add, but my voice must sound forced, because Olivia frowns.

“Don’t worry about my stupid brother. He’ll come around.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. “I mean, he was just being a protective big brother. I’d have done the same thing if I was him.”

“Yeah,” she says, hands on her hips. “But you would have been less of a dick about it.”

“He was just worried about you getting hurt,” I say as my fingers wrap around my bracelet. “It’s nice that he was looking out for you. And you’re right, he will come around.”

“Stupid man-child,” she huffs as she crosses her arms over her chest. Then, her expression turns thoughtful. “How do you think Brandi even got that picture?”

My frown deepens. It’s been on my mind, too. “She must’ve followed us home from the game that night. I mean, we weren’t exactly making out behind closed doors. She could’ve taken that shot from the street without even coming up the driveway.” I wince at the thought, at the position I’ve put Olivia in. “I’m sorry, Liv. I never meant for you to get dragged into this.”

I’m mad that Brandi targeted Olivia.

Mad that the world had to find out about the woman I love in this way.

Mad at myself for letting this happen.

The anger settles in my stomach, gnawing at me.

“Ah, I was in it anyway after coming to the gala with you.” Olivia pulls a face. “I think this is her butt-hurt attempt at revenge after I foiled her auction plans. But on the bright side, according to that hashtag, she’s done with you.”

“Maybe,” I say as casually as I can, but my skin prickles and my thoughts are still moving too fast.

Our game against Houston is in two days, on home ice. And yes, I care that Jake is mad at me, and that this photo could get back to Lieberman.

But I realize that, above all, I care about Olivia. How she feels with all of this.

I was trying to give her a good Christmas, but all I’ve done is get her splashed all over Instagram as gossip fodder.

“Shall we get ready to go to the hospital?” Olivia asks, and I’m grateful for a subject change.

“Do you still want to go with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll get everything packed up.”

She lays a hand on my arm, and her touch calms me a little. “I’ll help.”

Upstairs, in the guest room Nonna is staying in, Olivia blinks as she takes in the cacophony of crochet animals lining the shelves. “This is…”

“Weird,” I finish for her with a little smile.

“I was going to go with impressive, but weird works, too.”

“It’s my hockey tradition. More of a superstition, I guess.”

She surprises me by nodding. “I remember the story—Aaron Marino had the game of his life after crocheting with his Nonna one day, and it’s been his pregame-ritual ever since,” she singsongs.

I balk at her.

Olivia mimes buffing her nails on her shirt, eyes twinkling. “What can I say? I remember some things about you too, Aaron Marino.” She reaches out to touch the nose of the little red fox I was crocheting on Thanksgiving. “These are pretty awesome, actually. I bet the kids love getting them.”

She turns to look me dead in the eye, and for a moment, I get the distinct impression that she sees me. Really sees me.

Not the hockey captain, not the supposed playboy, not the guy who has used humor and banter to get her attention for as long as I can remember.

But me. Aaron.

I feel almost vulnerable in a way that I’m not used to as she walks over and wraps her hand around my wrist, her fingers grazing my bracelet. “You don’t strike me as a particularly superstitious guy. In fact, if this bracelet is any indication, I’d say you’re more secretly sentimental than superstitious.”

“You might be right,” I admit. “Crocheting before games, moving my hands, stops my thoughts from racing. Helps me feel calm and focused.”

“Focused on the game?”

I frown at my bracelet. “Yeah. And focused on not letting anyone down.”

“Who could you possibly be letting down?”

“My teammates. My coach. My old captain. My family. My dad’s memory.” I pause. Exhale. “You.”

She blinks. “ Me ?”

“Yeah, you,” I reply. “I’ve inadvertently dragged you into all this Brandi B.S., and now, she’s coming after you.”

“That’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for other people’s behavior.”

“I know, but I am responsible for the people I care about.” I bite down on my lip. “My family worked so hard to get me to where I am, and my teammates and Coach Torres have put all their trust in me this season. I’m scared of screwing it up.”

“I think you’re carrying the weight of other people’s expectations, and it’s a weight you don’t need to bear.” Olivia shakes her head. “You’ve clearly worked hard to get here, Aaron, and there’s a reason people have chosen to place their trust in you. Do you not see how much you deserve this?”

I know I’ve worked my ass off, and I’m endlessly grateful for my career. So much so that I feel stupid even thinking any of this, but sometimes I don’t feel worthy of being where I am and get convinced that I’ll never live up to my own hype.

Imposter syndrome, I think it’s called. I googled it once, and it resonated with me. The stress of being in the spotlight. The huge shoes Malachi left for me to fill as captain. Fulfilling my dad’s goals for me and making his memory proud.

“I just want to be someone that people can believe in.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever said this aloud, and for a moment, I want to take the words back and paint on a teasing expression. Be strong for her, instead of admitting my weaknesses.

But Olivia steps forward and wraps her arms around my neck. Tugs on the back of my head until I’m looking at her.

She smiles and she’s so achingly beautiful, I can hardly stand it. “I believe in you, Aaron.”

When she says it, I almost believe it, too.