20. Brett

Brett

Fallon is in the stands, watching me. I feel her gaze as we skate over for the opening face-off, and something like guilt and embarrassment swirls in my chest.

I should have told her. Maybe not when she was my PT, but at some point between asking her to marry me and where we are now, I probably could have slipped that information in.

Instead, here I am, heart pounding, wondering what she's going to say.

"Hey," Sammy says, when he skates past me to his position. "Head in the game."

The New York Rangers are spread out over our rink, their dark blue jerseys and red stripes grating to look at. The Vipers always wear white at home—something the new GM has been trying to mess with—and I think it looks better.

I watch the referee skate to center ice, holding the puck in his hand. I line up across from the Ranger's guy—a right winger affectionately nicknamed Brick. The Rangers say it's because he's tough—I think it's a reflection of his overall shape, and IQ.

"Good luck," Brick grunts, eyes flashing to mine, smug smile on his face. The guy easily has a full foot on me, but it doesn't matter—I'm faster.

"You'll need it," I answer, quiet enough so the ref doesn't hear me, but loud enough for Brick to get the message. He scowls just as the ref blows the whistle—damn near busting my eardrum—and drops the puck to the ice.

I win the draw, rocketing the puck to Devon, who's healed and back on the ice.

Skating as fast as I can toward the Ranger's defensive zone, I watch Devon juggle the puck, before sending it past me, cross-rink, to Sammy, who fields it well, but takes a nasty hip-check from a Ranger. The puck is loose for a moment, but I recover it, feinting a shot at the goal before sliding the pass to Devon, who, as always, does a little trick before burying it in the neck.

Without meaning to, I look up at the stands, finding Fallon in the box, registering her shocked expression. I watch that shocked expression turn to a smile, and she raises her hand, first waving at me, then giving me a thumbs-up.

It's go time.

The Rangers win the next face-off, and we're on our heels, defending. Sammy does an excellent job of interfering, and Eddie blocks two shot attempts before Sammy scoops it up and sends it back to our side of the ice.

I've just received the puck when Brick hurtles across the ice and catches me with a soul-shattering open-ice hit. I hit the floor hard, the air knocked out of me, but I manage to chip the puck forward to Devon before going down.

My ears ring, and I taste the sharp, metallic sting of blood in my mouth. I get to my feet quick, skating toward our goal, adrenaline pumping through my body.

I can't help it—I glance up. Fallon has her hands over her mouth, and Lola is leaning in close to her, saying something I can't hear. Hopefully telling her that this kind of physicality is normal.

The rest of the game is a bloodbath, with me taking an elbow to my stomach, sticks to my legs, and a puck to my side. I'm slammed into the side boards, taken to the ground, and hip-checked more times than I can count.

But we win.

"That's how it's done !" Grey hollers, when we all skate to the side of the rink. Despite the clear physical targeting the Rangers centered on me, I kept my cool. Knowing Fallon was watching, it felt wrong to reciprocate. That landed us in quite a few power plays, and I stayed out of the penalty box the entire night.

"They thought they could provoke you," Sammy says, laughing. "I bet that was their whole fucking strategy—to set you off. But you showed them."

"That's right," Grey says, his voice loud. "We keep our heads, we win the game. Isn't that right?"

The guys all nod and guzzle water, then we're heading for the locker rooms. The moment I emerge in my street clothes, Fallon is in my arms.

I drop my duffel bag and pull her in close, breathing deeply, that orange smell I'm starting to associate with her floating around me. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining.

"Shit," she says, rubbing a hand over her throat and stepping back. "I probably shouldn't have done that—you have to be pretty banged up, huh?"

When I glance behind her, I see Ellie and Lola with the baby, laughing and talking to Devon, who won't stop glancing back at Fallon and I. Clearing my throat, I adjust my body so Fallon won't see them staring at us.

But it's too late. A hand claps on my shoulder. I look up to see Devon standing there, eyebrows raised, Ellie and Lola behind him, looking like they can't wait to see what all the drama is about.

"Hey, buddy," Devon says, tone like an older brother who's looking out for a young kid. "What the hell is going on here?"

Clearing my throat, I step to the side, so he can see Fallon, who's glancing around the circle with a half-amused, half-confused expression.

"This is my wife," I say, voice breaking on the last word. Fuck—I'm acting like Sammy. "Fallon, this is Devon, my teammate."

"I'd gathered as much," she says, reaching forward and shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you. Good game out there."

"Did you have any clue what was going on?"

"Lola explained some of it to me. Like how Brett getting the shit beat out of him was, apparently, normal?"

"Yeah," Devon laugh, but his eyes train on me, something behind them saying this looks like one of your stunts, Ratcliffe . "Well, the Rangers are particularly rough, but yeah, hockey is not a gentle sport."

Fallon nods and she falls into a conversation with Devon about hockey and physical therapy, and I step to the side, holding out my arms for Ellie to hand over the baby.

"Thanks," I say, tucking her into my arms I take the earmuffs from the baby's head. When I look up again, Ellie and Lola are looking at me with a knowing smirk. "What?"

"Good thing you're locked down," Ellie teases, "or the Vipers fan girls would be losing it over this image."

"What's wrong with this—"

"Oh!" Lola gasps, scatterbrained and a little too loud, as usual. She takes the muffs from me, reaches into her fluffy white purse and tucks them away. "I still don't know what her name is!"

My eyes connect with Fallon's, and we sit there in a limbo for a moment, Devon, Lola, and Ellie looking at us expectantly.

"What's going on?" someone asks, and I turn to see Coach Aldine join the group, his hand landing on Ellie's shoulder. He picks Clementine up and she squeals and giggles. He's the only person allowed to hold her for more than a minute at a time.

"We were just asking about the baby's name," Ellie says, smirking, her eyes meeting mine, and I clear my throat.

"Yeah," I chuckle nervously, "it's—Fal? Want to tell them?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," she says, shooting me daggers, and I almost laugh when I realize she probably just wanted me to name the baby right here, right now, so she wouldn't have to. "It's, uh—her name is June."

"Oh, that's cute," Ellie says, smiling.

"I love a good summer name," Lola says.

"Well," Devon says, eyes cutting to mine, still suspicious. "As much as I hate to cut this short, we have our own baby at home, and I'd like to get back to her before her uncle convinces her to become a magician."

Lola punches Devon in the arm, and he grins down at her. Together, they walk out, chatting and laughing as they go, Devon's arm slung lazily around her arms.

"We should go, too," Grey adds. "Time to get Clemmy in bed."

Clementine yawns loudly, then shakes her head.

"Good night, it was nice to meet you," Fallon says, and Ellie leans in, whispering something about a girls' night. My chest feels light, like that moment at the dentist's office just before you float away.

"Good night, guys," Grey says, turning to go. I smile at Fallon and gesture for us to turn down the hallway, toward the parking lot where my car is, but there's someone standing in the way.

"Bryson?" I call out, name out of my mouth before I register how much he should not be here.

"Brett," my brother answers, eyes skipping to Fallon and the baby before returning to mine. "We need to talk."