18. Dakota

The moment we flashed our passes to the attendant at the door and stepped inside, I realized that bringing Bristol to the family box could turn out to be a terrible idea. My senses were on high alert, scanning every woman's face. What if Nix never offered my best friend a spot in this massive suite reserved for the players' families because he had given that honor to someone else?

My old insecurities had my mind going down the rabbit hole. But my fears weren't totally unfounded. It was exactly what my father had done.

Bristol didn't seem to recognize anyone else, and no one caused a scene at her arrival, so hopefully, that meant we were in the clear and could enjoy our evening.

Nervously, I played with the hem of the oversized Comets jersey Braxton had had delivered to my house earlier that morning. The note said he wanted at least one person in attendance to be wearing a Braxton Slate jersey. My heart hurt a little when I read it, and my mind flashed back to our conversation in the car after our first date when he'd confessed his belief that no one could see him past his brother. I didn't believe that was true, but who was I to tell someone else their personal feelings weren't valid? All I could do was support him in any way he needed—and tonight, that meant wearing his name and number on my back as I cheered him on, a single person in a crowd of thousands.

Grabbing my hand, Bristol tugged me to the high-top seating overlooking the empty ice. I climbed onto a barstool beside her, and she bounced in her seat. "I can't believe you're here! That we're here." She gestured to the suite around us.

I rolled my eyes at her playfully, but she grabbed my hand. "Seriously, I'm proud of you, Dakota."

Shrugging, I brushed her off. "It's not a big deal."

"That's where you're wrong. You might not see it, but I do. In a few short months, you've transformed. It's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and you're finally free. Free to be happy, free to chase your dreams, free to love. It's a beautiful thing to watch your best friend fall in love."

Balking, I protested. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Oh, come on," she chided. "Three months ago, I wasn't even allowed to watch sports when you were in the house unless I was in my room with the door closed and the volume turned down. I get it. It was triggering for you, and I respected that. But now? Look around. You're not just attending a game; you're sitting amongst the wives and girlfriends of the Connecticut Comets. Because you belong here. There's a guy on that ice you care so deeply about that you're willing to put your issues aside to be there for him. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

I chewed on my lower lip. Bristol was right. My feelings for Braxton were strong—so strong I was scared to label them for fear of what that might mean for us. Had I bought into his vision of our future together? He saw it so clearly, believing with such conviction that I was his person. Could I be happy here? Sitting, perched high above ice level, watching him play a game, and getting a chance to live the life my mom always dreamed of?

Maybe, but I was still gun-shy.

If I fell and there was no safety net, then what? Would I become the same shattered woman I'd watched raise me? We were still in the glow of a new relationship. Dipping my toes in didn't mean I was ready to dive in head first. Who knew what lurked beneath the murky waters of life?

No one has a crystal ball. It's not called a leap of faith for nothing.

A cheer from the few people gathered in the stands drew attention away from my thoughts—a welcome distraction. Both teams skated onto the ice for what Bristol explained was their warm-up. The giant big screen hovering over center ice indicated that tonight's opponent was the Denver Glaciers.

The teams were easy to tell apart as they glided over the smooth ice surface littered with pucks as they shot on their goalie or worked independently on stick-handling skills. The Comets were dressed in navy blue from head to toe; the only break in the solid color of their jerseys was the gray comet emblem on their chests, and their names and numbers stitched on their backs. The Glaciers were in white with pops of baby blue to complement their own logo.

Scanning the swirling mass of players on the Comets side, I searched for Braxton. Squinting, I tried to find his number eleven jersey, but the closer I looked, the more it seemed everyone was wearing the name Slate on their back, with the number twenty-three.

What in the world?

Confused, I asked Bristol, "Why are they all wearing Jaxon's jersey."

Tearing her gaze away from the ice, she raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"It's Jaxon's 1000th game. It's kind of a big deal."

My heart sank.

Oh, Braxton.

No wonder he'd practically begged me to come to this game and why he'd made a point of saying he needed someone in the stands wearing his number. For him, every day was the Jaxon show, but today, everyone viewed it as such.

Braxton needed me here to know someone was there for him and not his brother. And he hadn't told me because he didn't want to make a big deal out of his insecurity.

Turning my head back to the teams warming up, with my chest tight, I caught motion out of the corner of my eye that had me doing a double take. Blinking to make sure I wasn't imagining it, I leaned over to Bristol, whispering, "Is that one humping the ice?"

Trying and failing to hold back her laughter, she explained, "They're stretching their hip flexors."

"Their what?"

Smirking, she held up a hand, making sure I was tracking it as she opened her thighs and ran the hand over the crease where her inner thighs met her torso. My eyes widened at the intimate location.

"Wouldn't want to pull a groin." Bristol waggled her eyebrows. "That'll throw them out of commission in more ways than one."

I groaned. Bristol enjoyed sex and didn't care if anyone knew it. I, on the other hand, preferred discretion. It was called a private life for a reason.

She shrugged at my reaction. "Just calling it as it is. If you watch long enough, they all get down on their knees and give the ice the ‘old college try.'" She giggled into her drink.

My cheeks heated, and I peeked around the suite. For how large it was, I'd expected more people.

"Where is everyone?"

Knowingly, Bristol pointed out where a few Comets players had gathered against the curved glass. "The partners who have kids with a player will be down there. The team dads love connecting with their kids pre-game. It's a fun little ritual."

That was adorable and heartbreaking in the same breath. I could picture Natalie and Jaxon's kids pressed against the glass, begging for their dad's attention, but it served as a stark reminder that my life as a player's child had been very different from theirs.

Closing my eyes, I reminded myself that my past was just that, the past. It was time to move forward.

And who knew? Maybe that meant someday holding up a mini-Braxton to the glass alongside Natalie. If he had his way, that's precisely where I'd be.

I couldn't deny that the idea of creating the type of family I'd always craved gave me the warm and fuzzies.

They said you couldn't choose your parents, but you could choose your partner. I liked the thought of writing the future I wanted. I huffed out a silent laugh that Braxton was already creating it; all he needed was for me to jump on board. And with each passing day, the urge to join him grew stronger.

One by one, the players exited the ice, and two ice resurfacers came out to smooth out the cuts left behind by their skates prior to the start of the game. Seats in the arena were filling rapidly, and I noticed most, if not all, were clad in Jaxon's jersey.

It began to sink in that Braxton hadn't been exaggerating when he told me that this town was nuts for his brother.

The lights dimmed, and a video showcasing highlights of the Comets came on the big screen. Hoots and hollers filtered from the stands when the video showcased Jaxon lifting the championship trophy. I could only imagine what a moment that had been—both the triumph for Jaxon and the pressure it had placed on Braxton as another benchmark he would be expected to reach.

The teams came out from their respective locker rooms, the hometown crowd cheering for their Comets. Bright lights hit the ice as players did a few laps before congregating near their assigned benches.

A side door near the curved glass opened, and a red carpet was rolled out.

Over the loudspeaker, a voice called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, this evening, we are celebrating a historic milestone for our captain, an achievement very few players reach. Playing in his fourteenth season, all played for the Comets, tonight's game will mark the 1000th professional game for our very own Jaxon Slate!"

Those in attendance went wild, the roar deafening.

Now, in their individually marked jerseys, I could pick out Jaxon standing off to the side of the bench, a bouquet held in one arm as he used the other to wave at the fans. With their helmets off, I spotted Braxton, whose face said it all—his brother's accomplishment came at a personal cost. One I knew Jaxon wouldn't want him to pay. But it wasn't within my rights to get between them.

"To celebrate with him tonight, we welcome Jaxon's wife, Natalie, to the ice, along with their children, Amelia, Jameson, Beau, Charlie, and Max."

The applause grew louder when Natalie and the kids stepped onto the red carpet, and Jaxon skated over to meet them, bending down to kiss his wife before handing her the flowers. Scooping Charlie into his arms, they created the perfect picture of family. I couldn't bite back a smile at seeing Max donning oversized headphones meant to protect his tiny ears from the noise. They must have been working, as he was dead asleep in his mother's arms.

"That's the first family of hockey right there," Bristol sighed dreamily.

I knew what she was thinking. She was picturing herself down there someday by Nix's side. I didn't have the heart to break it to her that it was a pipe dream. He couldn't see the good thing he had right in front of him; he was too focused on racking up the body count in his bed.

A spotlight remained on the family as the rest of the lights in the arena cut out, and all attention was pulled to a video on the screen.

And wouldn't you know it, the very first face that filled the screen was that of the man who was quickly stealing my heart.

Braxton smiled, speaking into the camera, the video obviously having been pre-recorded. "Hey, Jaxon. Congrats on one thousand games. You set the tone for those around you, pushing all of us to be better players. I've been fortunate to have a front-row seat to your career my entire life, and now I'm by your side, going to battle every day on the ice. I'm proud of all you've accomplished on and off the ice."

My heart fluttered. Braxton was struggling, but he'd put his feelings aside to publicly congratulate his brother on what was an incredible milestone. I couldn't begin to wrap my brain around a thousand games played. The toll that had to take on a person's body with how physical the sport was. It was no wonder not many were able to achieve it.

Next, an older couple—if I had to guess, they were in their mid-fifties—were pictured side by side. The man had salt-and-pepper hair, and the woman had short chestnut hair, but her whiskey eyes were what stole my breath away. I knew those eyes. Those two could only be Jaxon and Braxton's parents.

Their father spoke first. "Jaxon, I can still recall lacing up your skates the very first time you took the ice. It feels like only yesterday, and now, here you are, getting ready to play in your one-thousandth professional game. You've made us so very proud."

A smile curled on their mom's face. It was slightly crooked, just like her boys'. "I still get nervous every time I watch you play. I know how badly you want to win, to compete, and I feel that energy even in the stands. It's been incredible to watch you grow, both in your love for the sport and as a leader."

The screen changed to show clips of Jaxon's draft day, and I saw what Natalie had meant when she said looking at Braxton was like a peek into the past. Jaxon was scrawnier, with a baby face at only eighteen, but it was clear Braxton would be a carbon copy of his older brother as he grew. He was adorable now, but I bit back a moan, knowing he would mature into the devastatingly handsome version Jaxon portrayed in his early thirties.

A video montage came on next, starting with Jaxon's league debut, showcasing some of his incredible goals and celebrations as the game count rose—100th, 200th, 300th, and so on, as it crept toward today being his 1000th.

Watching these highlights, I understood Natalie's remark in her kitchen about being unbiased about her husband's unique talent. The compiled display of his skill was breathtaking. Jaxon was doing what he loved and was naturally gifted while having no idea that his brother was drowning under the weight of his success.

Halfway through the count, video-recorded clips of players identified as being on other teams spoke about Jaxon's tenacity, his sportsmanship, and his competitive drive.

Then came more highlights through the rest of the thousand games, culminating in a clip of Jaxon accepting the playoffs' MVP award when winning the championship. Everyone cheered at the reminder that one of the league's best players was on their team and that he'd led them to the greatest accomplishment in team sports—I'd looked it up; there wasn't a championship harder to win than hockey's.

The following clips featured Jaxon's Comets teammates—ones I recognized.

First came big, blond Cal. "Jaxon, you're the best teammate and captain I could have ever asked for. You came into the league young, with an incredible level of natural talent, but you remained grounded, never letting your success go to your head. And your love for the game has never dulled. Every game is like the first one; your excitement and passion have always been infectious. Even though we no longer share the ice, it's been my ultimate pleasure to call myself your friend and to be able to continue to follow your career from the booth. Congrats on one thousand games, and cheers to many more."

Next, Benji's boyish grin filled the screen. "Hey, Jaxon. There aren't many who would take on a moody, cocky player who was riding high on his big break under their wing, but you never thought twice about it. Not only were you an incredible role model on the ice but you became one of my closest friends. Knowing I can count on you anytime, day or night, speaks volumes to the kind of leader you are. Your teammates are your family. I can't wait to win another championship by your side as we watch our boys carve up the ice, following in our footsteps. Congrats, man. You set the bar we all strive to reach someday."

The screen transitioned to a shot of Jaxon and Natalie's oldest two children. Amelia and Jameson sat side by side, and you could tell their dynamic had been finely honed over the years as the younger brother looked to his older sister to go first.

Amelia smiled. "Dad, we are so proud of you for reaching this incredible milestone in your career. It's hard to believe that you've played one thousand games, and I've been alive for all of them. The fans who come to witness you play in person or watch the action on screen only get a small taste of what an incredible person you are. They melt over you handing your stick to an excited child in the stands or speaking with a teenage player who has suffered a career-ending injury. But that's only scratching the surface. Only those closest to you know that hockey is your job. And while you accept the accolades with humility and grace, your crowning achievement is your family. You always tell us that we are your legacy, but you're pretty good at the hockey thing, too." She threw in a wink, and the crowd laughed.

Taking a peek at the family on the ice, I saw Jaxon pull his teenage daughter into his side, kissing the top of her head.

Jameson cleared his throat, fidgeting in his seat. Clearly, he wasn't as comfortable in front of the camera as his sister. His voice wavered as he began to speak, but he pushed through. "Congrats, Dad. I think the biggest thing I admire about you is your work ethic. You never give less than one hundred and ten percent, whether it be in hockey or in life. When you set a goal, you reach it, no matter what. So, if you set a goal for two thousand games, I know we'll be right back here in another fourteen years, helping you celebrate."

The younger pair of Slate children, Beau and Charlie, were next up.

Beau smirked. "It's so cool you get to play hockey every day, Dad. I can't wait to grow up and be just like you."

Talk about tugging on your heartstrings. Beau idolized his father—or stepfather, in this case, but you couldn't tell the difference. Jaxon's love for his family was visibly reciprocated. They fit together beautifully like they were always meant to be.

Beau nudged his little sister, but Charlie took offense, shoving him back, a scowl on her tiny face. She was feisty, that one, but she'd quickly become my favorite. Not that I would ever admit that out loud.

From off-screen, you could hear Natalie whispering, prompting, "Say congrats to Daddy, Charlie."

Eyes lighting up at the mention of her father, Charlie screamed, "Go Daddy!"

There was a chorus of "Aws" from the fans gathered in the stands.

The video cut out, the lights came on, and the public addresser spoke over the loudspeaker again. "Please join the entire professional hockey league and the Comets organization in congratulating number twenty-three, Jaxon Slate!"

The players for both teams tapped their sticks on the ice, and there was another raucous cheer throughout the arena.

"At this time, Jaxon is joined by teammates Benji Mills and Braxton Slate as the team celebrates this incredible milestone with their captain." Grabbing items from the bench, Jaxon's best friend and his brother skated toward the family gathered on the red carpet. "Benji is presenting Jaxon with a commemorative framed mosaic compiled of pictures from each of his one thousand games."

Jaxon set Charlie down, and Amelia stepped forward to grab her hand when she tried to step onto the ice in street shoes to follow her dad when he skated to accept his gift.

Benji pulled him into a hug, and when he released him, Jaxon skated to Braxton, embracing him as well. Standing side by side, they faced the camera smiling, and to anyone else, it appeared to be a heartwarming moment. But only I could see how Braxton's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, knowing his pain, that he was suffering in silence so that his brother could stand in the spotlight.

"Braxton is presenting Jaxon with a solid silver stick to mark this incredible career achievement."

The three men posed for more pictures, holding up the gifts presented to their captain on his special night.

"It is our great honor to offer congratulations on one thousand professional games played to our captain, Jaxon Slate!"

Benji and Braxton handed their items to people marked as Comets personnel as Jaxon posed for pictures with his family before waving to the roaring crowd and rejoining his teammates for the start of the game. The smile on his face was genuine—humble, with an excitement shining through. Hockey gave him immeasurable joy.

If only that joy didn't equal his brother's misery.

Hannah burst through the door to the suite halfway through the first period after performing the national anthem, followed closely by Natalie and Liv with their kids in tow.

Her voice drew attention as she yelled, "I called it! I knew Amelia would be the one to make Jaxon cry."

Natalie smiled, shaking her head, pushing a stroller. "The man is a softie for his kids. What can I say?"

As soon as she saw me, Hannah cried, "Oh! Baby Braxton's girl is here!"

She made a beeline to where I sat with Bristol. Eyeing up my best friend, she flicked her wrist. "Move over."

You didn't have to tell Bristol twice. She scrambled off that barstool quickly, allowing Hannah to sit between us.

Once seated, Hannah turned to Bristol, scanning her appraisingly. "So. You're the roommate?"

Bristol sat up straighter, trying to impress the woman who might as well be her personal hero. "Yes, ma'am."

A melodic laugh slipped past Hannah's perfectly painted lips, and she turned to me. "She's cute, but if she calls me ma'am again, I might have to hurt her."

Panicked, Bristol blurted, "Sorry, ma'am. Shit. Sorry. I mean, Miss Moreau." Her cheeks flushed pink, and I hid a grin beneath my hand at seeing her flustered. There was a first time for everything, it seemed.

Biting back a smile, Hannah turned back to Bristol. "Just Hannah is fine."

Nodding enthusiastically, she replied, "Right. Hannah. Got it."

"What's a hot little thing like you doing fucking around with Levi Nixon? You could do so much better."

Bristol's mouth dropped open, probably wondering how Hannah knew about her relationship with Nix, but I'd place my bets that she was star-struck that her idol had called her hot.

"I—um," she stammered.

Hannah patted her shoulder. "It's okay. One day, you'll look back and think of him as your hockey hunk training wheels. A starter player, if you will. When you find the right one, you'll know. Trust me."

Turning forward, Hannah leaned over the high-top table to peek at the action on the ice. Leaning in, I whispered, "Don't tell her I said this, but you just made her night."

A hint of self-satisfaction colored her words. "It truly is God's work."

As I followed her line of sight, I had to admit Braxton was right when he said the live action would be hard to follow. Bodies moved everywhere on the ice, but there was beauty in the chaos—or what seemed like chaos. The more I watched, the more I realized it was perfectly controlled and coordinated. The timing of players jumping the boards on a shift change, the positions they swapped effortlessly to create space, how they moved a few inches to the side to avoid a hit from an opponent.

My eyes tracked Braxton, his powerful strides carrying him across the ice. The crowd grew louder, and I tried to figure out why. Something must be happening. That's when I saw two navy jerseys streaking toward the Glacier goalie. Other players I assumed were defensemen chased them, but the gap was too large. They'd never catch them.

On the edge of my seat, I held my breath as Jaxon cradled the puck on the blade of his stick—yeah, I was getting better at learning the hockey terms. When it looked like he was going to shoot on the goalie, he passed the puck to Braxton. Faster than I could blink, the puck was in the back of the net, and a horn sounded.

Hannah screamed, "That's what I'm talking about!"

Stunned, I stared as everyone in the arena rose to their feet, cheering for the Comets' goal.

"So much better in person. Am I right?" She nudged me with her shoulder.

"Uh-huh."

Braxton's smiling face lit up the big screen as his brother pulled him into a hug. He might hate the circumstances, but deep down, he loved this game.

The screen switched to a replay of how they'd obtained a clear path to the opposing team's goalie. It might as well have been poetry in motion the way Braxton charged the defenseman at the blue line. The puck hit off his shin so hard it bounced into the neutral zone, where Jaxon turned on the jets to get there first. Before anyone knew what was happening, the Slate brothers were off to races. Absolutely incredible.

Dizzy from the adrenaline rush of watching him score, I placed a hand to the side of my head.

"Never gets old," Hannah mused.

"I bet," I breathed out.

Peeking around the suite, I saw a small area set up for the kids where they played on their knees, similar to the way we had in the basement on Thanksgiving. Natalie stood off to the side, pushing the stroller back and forth, keeping one eye on the game, the other on her kids running around. Liv was in the seats in front of where we sat, but with her head lolling to the side, it appeared she was dozing off. I wondered if she'd had a busy shift. She looked exhausted when she'd walked in earlier this evening.

"Where's the rest of the crew?" I asked Hannah. The way everyone appeared so close at Thanksgiving, I would have thought they'd come to celebrate Jaxon's big night.

"Lucy and Preston are on their way up for the weekend. Traffic from Manhattan during Friday night rush hour is a real bitch, with everyone coming to their country homes for the weekend. They should make it in time for the after-party."

My eyebrows rose. "After-party?"

Hannah cocked her head. "Braxton didn't tell you?"

I shook my head. "He didn't tell me about the milestone game for Jaxon at all. I found out when I got here."

"Interesting." Her lips twisted. "Well, anyway. After the game, we've got a room rented out at a nearby restaurant, a little post-game celebration for the man of the hour. I'm sure Braxton will extend an invite later."

"Yeah, maybe." If I knew Braxton, he'd need space from his brother after the spectacle earlier.

"Amy and Liam aren't going to make it. Liam's gone all guard dog over the baby and put his foot down when he realized how many people—or rather, germs—Nate would be exposed to. That, and he practically threw a fit over the idea of there being nowhere private enough for Amy to breastfeed."

I took a sip of my drink, measuring my words carefully, considering those people were her friends. "That sounds . . . controlling."

Hannah barked out a laugh. "Oh, it is. But don't you worry about our Amy. She's no doormat and has learned how to pick her battles. Little secret between you and me; half the time, she lets him believe he's calling the shots."

"And the other half?" I hedged.

A wicked grin split her face. "That's when you grab the popcorn. Amy is calm and rational, but when pushed too far, she knows exactly how to put her husband in his place. Everyone thinks Cal and I are fun to watch, and they might be right because our showtimes are more frequent. But an Amy Michaels outburst followed by a Liam Remington meltdown is worth the wait."

Surprised, I asked, "She kept her last name?"

"Oh yeah." Hannah nodded. "Amy isn't a wilting flower. Not by a long shot. That badass boss bitch is going to make one hell of a queen."

It still blew me away that people in that friend group were actual royalty. They were so down-to-earth. It was refreshing to see that they were regular people like the rest of us. A title didn't define them, didn't dictate their attitudes.

It struck me that this was a turning point in my life.

Preconceived notions hadn't gotten me anywhere to this point. It was time to hang them all up, once and for all.

The Comets were crushing the Glaciers. Well into the third period, the Comets led by a score of five to one. That came with a little extra lesson from Hannah at my side as the Glaciers changed their goalie after the fourth goal. She explained that a netminder's mental game needed to be as strong as his physical one, and after a few too many goals let in, they could start to doubt themselves, leading to even more goals against. So, changing it up and replacing them—even though their backup came in cold—was sometimes enough to change the tide or at least stop the bleeding.

There had only been one goal for the home team since the goalie swap, so it seemed to be working. But with only five minutes left on the clock, a win for the Comets was inevitable.

Everyone in the box was in good spirits with the team doing well. Hannah and Bristol bonded sometime in the second period over cum sponges. Hannah had never heard of such a thing, and listening to Bristol's description, my anxiety shot through the roof, knowing she wasn't doubling up on protection with Nix. That girl was inviting trouble.

Hannah scoffed beside me. "Fucking pointless."

"What?" I searched the ice, trying to pinpoint what she was referring to.

Using a finger, she gestured to the Glaciers' net. "Pulled the goalie. What's the point down four? Like, come on, you didn't score more than one goal in the last fifty-seven minutes, but you think you're gonna light it up in the final three?"

This scenario hadn't come up in my research, so I asked, "What's the benefit?"

Shrugging, Hannah sighed. "So, if you take your goalie out of the net, you can throw out an extra skater. It's like a power play, in a way. But there's a risk involved. As you can see, it leaves the net open and vulnerable. Makes it very easy for the other team to score a free goal if they can clear the zone."

Almost as if she conjured it into existence, a flash of navy caught my eye. A Comets player was streaking toward the empty net with the puck. It took less than a second to realize it was Braxton, and I was on my feet screaming, "Shoot!" like he could hear me over the twenty thousand other fans yelling and cheering for him.

The second he crossed the blue line, he lined up the shot, sliding it in nice and easy across the ice and into the net. Everyone went nuts. And I wasn't talking about regular goal cheering. There was hooting and hollering, and suddenly, things were being thrown onto the ice.

Leaning over, I tried to get a good look at exactly what it was. Wasn't that dangerous? It had to be against the rules, right?

Scanning the seats below us, I saw a man whip off his ball cap and heave it over the glass and onto the ice.

What the hell?

Hannah had two fingers in her mouth. The whistle that followed had me cringing at the volume.

"What's going on? Why are they throwing hats?"

Smiling at me and patting my hand as if I were a small child, she explained, "Your boy just scored his first professional hat trick. Better mark it down in the baby book!"

Ignoring that she'd called him a baby more than once since her arrival, I asked, "What's a hat trick?"

Bristol leaned her forearms onto the counter, yelling, "Three goals for a single player!"

Mentally, I recounted the goals I'd seen this evening using my fingers. Yep, three for Braxton.

Proud of him for scoring half of his team's goals during the game, I peered down to see him watching with his teammates as hats rained down on the ice faster than the crew on skates with big plastic bins could clear them.

"I'm guessing that's a big deal?"

Slinging an arm over my shoulder, Hannah pulled me close. "Oh, honey. It's so good. You better buckle up because you are gonna get railed into next week when he gets his hands on you." Shaking her head, she muttered, "So jealous."

My eyes widened. What was she talking about? What did scoring three goals have to do with Braxton wanting to have sex? And according to Hannah, it wouldn't be easy, gentle lovemaking. She made it sound like he would want to fuck hard.

Bristol caught my eye, giggling behind her hand. She knew my secret, but there was a question neither of us had the answer to.

Would tonight be the night I lost my virginity?