24. Sydney

CHAPTER 24

SYDNEY

The restaurant pulses with energy, the team's raucous laughter and animated conversation filling the air. Several large tables are pushed together to accommodate the boisterous crew, soda glasses clinking and fists bumping in celebration of their hard-fought victory.

I don't usually join team dinners, but Coach Daniels asked me to tag along tonight to keep an eye on everyone in a social setting since he wasn't going to be there. I feel a bit like a narc, but I can't lie that I'm thrilled to spend any extra time with DJ…and Tyler…

I weave my way between the tables, soaking in the atmosphere, and am pleased and gratified to see that nobody is drinking tonight.

What a meaningful show of support for my three patients.

"Syd!" Tomas waves me over, his grin wide and eyes bright. "Did you see that goal I made? Thought the net was gonna rip off!"

I've been trying to attend as many of the home games as possible so the team sees that I'm supportive. I high-five him with a laugh.

"Legendary shot! They'll be showing that highlight for years."

"All thanks to my man Jase's sick pass," Tomas claps Jason on the back. "This guy's a magician on the ice."

Jason smirks, taking a swig of his soda. "Just doing my job, bro. But we all played our top games tonight. Helluva team effort."

I'm struck by the genuine camaraderie flowing between them, the way they prop each other up and share the glory, no hint of jealousy or one-upmanship. It's a far cry from the toxicity and distrust the team displayed when I first started this job.

Tomas leans in conspiratorially as I perch on the arm of his chair. "I gotta say, Syd, having you around has been huge for me and Jase. Knowing we've got someone in our corner, keeping us on track..." He glances at Jason, who nods emphatically. "Means more than you know."

A swell of warmth blooms in my chest. "I'm so proud of you both. Your strength, your commitment to your sobriety and each other—it's been inspiring to witness."

Scanning the rowdy tables, I can't help but notice one glaring absence: Mikey is nowhere to be seen. His sulky presence is impossible to miss, and a twinge of disappointment needles me. But I shake it off.

I'm here to celebrate with the team, and I won't let one patient's progress—or lack thereof—ruin the pride I have for the two who are doing so well.

The dimly lit restaurant pulses with laughter and chatter as I squeeze past the crowd of hulking hockey players to reach the booth where Slade and several other senior members of the team are holding court.

"Hey, look who decided to join the party!" Vincent calls out. He grins and pats the seat beside him. "Have a seat, Doc. We've got a smorgasbord of deep-fried delights here for your scientific analysis."

I laugh and slide into the booth, finding myself sandwiched between a group of imposing athletes.

The table before us is piled high with baskets of every type of fried appetizer imaginable—glistening mozzarella sticks, golden onion rings, crispy chips drizzled with cheese and bacon. The mingled scents of grease and spice and salt make my mouth water.

"As a member of this team's medical team, I have to advise against consuming this much saturated fat in one sitting," I deadpan.

Slade chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. "Don't worry, we'll work it off at practice tomorrow. Besides, everyone knows post-game food has no calories. It's science." He winks at me conspiratorially.

"Is that so?" I arch an eyebrow. "Fascinating theory. I must have missed that class in med school."

Vincent nudges a basket of jalape?o poppers toward me. "C'mon Doc, live a little! Let's see that discerning palate of yours in action. Rate these babies on a scale of one to orgasmic."

I snort inelegantly and pop a fried pepper in my mouth, the cream cheese and spice bursting on my tongue. "Mmm, not bad. I'll give it a seven—tasty, but not exactly mind-blowing."

"Tough critic!" Jason whistles. "What about these bad boys?" He waves a fried pickle spear enticingly.

I take a tentative bite and immediately wrinkle my nose. "Ugh, sorry, that's like, a two for me. I think pickles should remain in their natural, un-battered state."

The guys hoot with laughter at my reaction.

"See, this is why we need you around!" Slade grins, slinging a companionable arm around my shoulders. "To keep us in line and make those adorable disgusted faces."

I roll my eyes but can't fight back a smile. It's strange—with Paul, I always felt like I had to filter myself, to flatten my personality to avoid setting him off. But here, among this rowdy group of overgrown frat boys, I'm free to let my freak flag fly.

To banter and joke and just be authentically myself.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Slade leans in closer, his voice lowering so only I can hear his next words.

"Seriously though, how are you doing with everything? We're all here for you, you know. If you ever need to talk..."

I stiffen slightly, suddenly exposed. Does he know about the fragile, undefined thing developing between DJ, Tyler and me?

I search Slade's face, but his expression remains casually friendly, inscrutable.

"I appreciate that," I say carefully. "You're all very sweet. I'm...figuring things out."

Our gazes remain locked for another moment as I try to discern what Slade knows. Then Jason cuts in, brandishing a tray of fried mac and cheese bites, and the spell is broken.

As the night winds down, the restaurant staff starts sweeping the floors and wiping the surrounding tables. The Blizzards linger over the remains of their fried feast, but gradually the group dwindles as players head home for the night.

I steal a glance across the room and catch Tyler's eye, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. All evening, there's been a magnetic orbit between Tyler, DJ and me—a pull drawing us together, even as we try to play it cool in front of the team.

Tyler makes his way over, shoulders set with determination. My pulse quickens.

After our dinner last week, I have no idea where his head is at. DJ's unusual proposal took me by surprise so I can only imagine how Tyler, who's also working to embrace a whole new element of his sexual identity right now, feels.

I swallow as Tyler slides in beside me. "How's it going, Doc?"

"Just enjoying the celebrations," I reply, trying for nonchalance even as Tyler's proximity sends my heart rate skyrocketing; his solid, muscular presence affects me just as much as ever, even with all the complications of our…situation. "How about you?"

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "Same. Though I have to say, the view's gotten significantly better in the last few minutes." His eyes rake over me appreciatively.

My cheeks flush hot. Damn, when did the shy goalie turn into such a smooth talker?

"Is that so?" I tease, emboldened by the heated look in his eyes. "And here I thought you only had eyes for someone a little…taller than me."

Tyler throws his head back and laughs, his hand coming to rest lightly on my knee. "Only? Or also?"

A warm tingle spreads through me at his touch and I grin at his response. Hyper-aware of the weight and heat of his hand, I'm reminded of how connected I am to Tyler, how much I've come to care about him already in the brief time we've known one another.

"So how's your sister Leah doing? Last we talked, things were a bit rocky with her husband."

"Actually, they started couples therapy recently. Seems to be helping. Leah sounded more upbeat when we chatted the other day." Tyler's fingers trace idle patterns on my skin as he speaks.

"That's great, I'm glad they're working things out." I smile up at him, genuinely pleased to hear his family is doing well. I shift slightly so my bare leg presses against his under the table.

Tyler's eyes dart to my thigh and darken. He bites his lip. "Me too. Everyone deserves a chance at happiness, you know?"

All of the sudden it seems like he isn't talking about Leah anymore.

"Couldn't agree more," I murmur, pulse quickening.

In my peripheral vision, I catch sight of DJ across the room, his penetrating gaze locked on us. A delicious shiver runs through me, imagining him watching, wanting...

Unable to stop myself, I lean in closer to Tyler, letting my hand rest on his muscular forearm as I grin mischievously. "So, any other family updates? How are your parents enjoying retirement in Florida?"

We chat and laugh, the conversation light but our body language speaking volumes. I angle myself towards Tyler, running my fingers through my hair, savoring the sensation of DJ watching us.

To an outside observer, we're just two people engaged in friendly discussion.

But sexual energy is simmering between all three of us, building with every teasing touch and meaningful look.

God, it's such an illicit thrill, performing for DJ's viewing pleasure, wondering what filthy thoughts are running through his head...

Unable to keep his distance any longer, DJ strides over, his tall form towering over our booth. He braces a hand on the table, looming over us with a smirk.

"You two seem to be having all kinds of fun without me. What do you say we take this party back to my place?"

His gravelly voice drips with insinuation, full of dark promise. Tyler and I exchange a glance and I blush, wondering if Tyler realizes the show I've been putting on—or if he was putting on one of his own?

Because his eyes are bright and he replies instantly.

"I'm in."