Chapter 4

Fraser

The clock ticks down, deep in the third.

The scores are tied at two apiece.

It"s the third game in the preseason. We lost the first two, unable to shake whatever funk we got into last season.

But tonight"s game is different.

Despite the locked score, this is the best we"ve played in a long time.

It"s the best I"ve played in a long time, too.

One of the two goals was mine.

We need this win.

Even though the preseason scoreboard doesn"t count toward the main season, that doesn"t mean these exhibition games don"t matter.

They do.

Coaches are keenly eyeing all the players to see who"s strong, who"s weak, and weighing up trade possibilities. I"ve played for the LA Swifts my entire pro career. Three years. It"s my hometown team. I don"t want to get traded out.

My back is drenched with sweat. With less than a minute remaining, we line up for the faceoff. Slater passes to Donovan, who sends the puck to me. The star forward. In theory, at least.

My performance hasn"t been that stellar of late.

Until tonight.

Focus, Rademacher. You got this.

I weave through the defense, faking out two opposition players and drawing the goalie out of position.

Just as I"m about to be cornered by a third defender, I fire off a powerful wrist shot at the goal. The same wrist shot I"ve been working on during the offseason. The same wrist shot Evie pointed out I needed to work on.

Twenty thousand people in the stadium hold their breath.

I hold my breath.

The puck sails over the goalie"s glove, sneaks in under the crossbar, and hits the back of the net. The goal light flashes, and the fans go wild, leaping to their feet, cheering and clapping.

Relief swamps through me as my teammates converge from all sides, burying me under a wall of hugs and back slaps.

The Suns regroup for one last attempt to equalize in the remaining seconds, but our defense holds strong. The final buzzer sounds, and the arena erupts in a deafening roar.

Through all the elation and the noise, all the pressure and doubt that had been smothering me for months finally shifts.

At least temporarily.

I scored twice, so I should be safe from getting traded.

For now.

Should be enough to get the media off my back, too. They"ve been having a field day with story after story about my form going south since Tori and I broke up.

I can"t even look at a woman now without someone snapping a photo, posting it on social media, and beginning a relentless campaign to get me to bring her to the game to end my bad luck streak.

Which only ends up drawing more women who want the attention. It won"t work because after dating Tori, I am done with publicity-seeking, fame-hungry women.

It doesn"t mesh with who I am and the type of life I want to share with someone. I value privacy, not likes on posts of what should be private moments—like on a vacation. I still fume when I think about all the photos Tori uploaded from our time in the Med last year. What was she thinking?

But I don"t want to stew over what happened in the past, I want to savor the win. I take a victory lap with the team, acknowledging the loyal fans who came out to support us.

As always, I bypass the media contingent and head straight for the locker room to cool down, shower, and change.

"You comin" to celebrate?" my teammate Culver asks, joining me by my locker, where I"m packing up my gear after a shower. "Everyone"s headin" out for food and drinks."

"Can"t. I"m heading home tonight. Got a red eye to catch in…" I glance at my watch. "Whoa. Soon. I need to get going."

"When"s the wedding?"

The wedding of the guy who dumped Evie so brutally. So publicly.

Part of me can"t believe she wants to go. The other part of me tells me to shut up, mind my own business, and do the one thing I said I"d do.

Be the best date she"s ever had.

"Tomorrow."

Culver drops his gym bag onto the floor and leans his back against the wall of lockers. "Normally, I"d guilt you about not coming out with us, but look, I get it."

"Get what?"

He angles his face toward me. "Dude. Come on. You really think I"m that blind?"

"Blind to what? You"re not making any sense." I hastily toss the rest of my stuff into my gym bag. "Just spit it out, man. I"ve got a flight to catch."

"Fine. I"ll make this nice and simple for you."

He pushes off the lockers and lifts his right index finger into the air. "You."

He lifts his left index finger. "Evie."

He smooshes his fingers together. "Clear enough for ya?"

I close my locker and stare at the floor. All these years, no one"s suspected anything.

Or so I thought.

My eyes remain glued to the ground. "How long have you known?"

"Well, let"s see. We both joined the team three years ago…"

"All this time? Seriously?" I groan. "I thought I"ve been doing a good job hiding it."

"You have been. I don"t think anyone else has picked up on it. But I"m your hockey bro. I notice things. And you have tells."

"What kind of tells?"

He points at what I"m dangling between my fingers. "Like that."

My good luck bracelet. The one I kiss three times before and after each game, no matter what.

Culver grins, lifting his chin. "She gave it to you, didn"t she?"

"Well, yeah…" I cast a glance his way and smile sheepishly. "She made it for me."

"Aha. So she likes you, too."

"It"s not like that. She"s my best friend"s?—"

He clears his throat.

"She"s my other best friend"s younger sister."

Point of clarification. Levi"s my non-hockey best friend, and this guy is my hockey bestie. Think guys don"t get weirdly competitive about this type of stuff? Trust me. They do.

"Evie used to make bracelets in high school." I pause for a moment, curious if she still makes them today. "She probably made them for everyone. It doesn"t mean anything."

At least not to her.

I glance down at the bracelet, its three leather bands braided together secured with a sturdy metal clasp. It"s a little too fashionable for me, so not something I"d wear out, but I couldn"t imagine being on the ice without it.

"It must mean something to you if you"ve still got it after all these years."

If only he knew how much.

But I don"t have time to take him on a journey aboard the Fraser Loves Evie but It"s Never Gonna Happen express.

"How are things with you and Hannah?"

Culver slow claps. "And the award for most epic deflection of the decade goes to…drum roll please…Fraser Rademacher."

Okay. So I wasn"t exactly subtle, but Culver is best friends with one of Evie"s closest friends, Hannah, and even though I know it is theoretically possible for a man and a woman to be just friends, I"ve always had a gut feeling there could be something more there.

"Do we really need to go over this again? For the millionth time, there is no me and Hannah. She"s my best friend, that"s all."

It"s my turn to clear my throat and act like I"m all put out.

"I see what you"re doing, but fine." Culver chuckles. "She"s my best female friend. There. Happy?"

"Deliriously so," I deadpan.

"Good. Now we can get back to what we were talking about?"

"I"d rather not."

He overrides me anyway. "Have you told Evie how you feel?"

"It"s not that simple, man."

He pauses for a beat, assessing me. "Judging by your closed-off body language, as well as having known you these past three seasons, I take it you"re going to leave a brother hanging on that mysterious note."

"Got it in one."

"Fine. I"ll drop it. But if you ever wanna talk…"

"Thanks."

"No problem. Also, before I drop it for real, you might want to think about talking to her. There"s a rumor going "round that chicks dig guys who can talk."

"That so?"

He nods, grinning like a goof.

"That"s interesting because I recently heard something, too," I say.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. That only baby chickens should be called chicks, not women."

"Fair point."

I sling my bag over my shoulder. "I gotta jet."

"No worries. Have fun at the wedding tomorrow." We exchange fist bumps. "Don"t do anything I wouldn"t do."

Ha.

If only he knew about that.

Another area where Tori and I—and every other previous girlfriend I"ve had—were incompatible.

I kiss the bracelet three times, then slip it into the tiny compartment lining the inside of my gym bag.

As I make my way out of the locker room, my thoughts drift back to that night all those years ago when my feelings for Evie first started to change.

Seven years ago, outside of Evie"s bedroom…

I let out a low grunt, straining as I attempt to shove the window open, but it refuses to budge.

It"s shut.

And locked.

Which is strange since Levi usually leaves it unlatched.

He"s also grounded, which means he should be inside, but even though the lights are on, his bedroom is completely empty.

Why didn"t he mention he was taking off when we texted earlier? I would"ve gladly gone with him. Anything to get away from this place.

Muffled sounds emanate from the other side of the fence that separates our house from the Freemans". I shouldn"t be here, so I retreat from the window and duck into the lilac bush outside Levi"s room.

It"s probably just the crew, but I doubt they"re looking for me. They always sneak out behind our pool house to have a smoke, thinking we don"t know what they"re up to. Mom has apologized to Mrs. Freeman so many times for the cigarette butts that get flicked into her yard.

I consider my options. My way more restricted options now that my best friend has bailed on me.

I don"t want to go back home, that"s for sure. They"re filming, and yuck. No way. Mom gave me an out tonight, and I intend to take full advantage.

But I"m exhausted after practice, which rules out doing anything too active.

I suppose I could call up some buddies to see if anyone wants to hang out. But that will require me driving, and how am I meant to sneak out in Dad"s Range Rover without any of the crew noticing? They"ve got cameras everywhere.

Maybe I"ll see what my younger sis Dawn"s up to? If she"s in a people-talking mood and not in her usual people-killing one.

My gaze travels to the golden glow spilling through the window from the room next to Levi"s.

I take a few steps toward it. Levi likes to joke about how annoying Evie is, but he"s totally got a soft spot for his little sister.

I reach her window and peer inside. Evie"s sitting at her desk, an LA Swifts scarf dangling from her shoulders. All sorts of materials are scattered around her. She"s got headphones on, and there"s a hockey game playing on the TV in the background.

I lean in to get a better look and smile when I realize it"s the 1997 Stanley Cup final—the last game her father ever played. Bet she"s watched it a million times. It"s where her love of the game comes from. Alex Freeman is one of the all-time greats. One day, I"m going to be as good as he was.

The voices from over the fence fade away, so I guess the coast is clear for me to make my way back home.

Just as I start to leave, the window opens behind me.

"Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them! I have a weapon!"

I stop, raise my hands into the air, and turn around.

Slowly.

"You call that a weapon, Mary Poppins?"

Evie lowers the bejeweled pink umbrella she"s clutching and squints into the dark. "Fraser?"

"Yeah. It"s me. Please put your weapon down so no one gets hurt."

"Oh, my goodness." She sags against the frame. "You scared me to death."

Some shadowy figure creeping around in the dark outside her room? Yeah, I can see that.

"Sorry. I didn"t mean to frighten you."

She ditches the umbrella. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Levi."

"He"s grounded."

"He may be grounded, but he"s not in his room."

"He isn"t?"

"No. But you didn"t hear that from me, okay?"

"Uh, okay."

"Any idea where he might have gone?"

"No."

"Cool."

"Cool."

"So, I should probably?—"

"Wanna watch the game with me?"

"Huh?"

"Or would that be weird? It"s probably weird. Yeah, it"s definitely weird, judging by that weird thing your face is doing and how much I"m rambling. Forget it."

"To be fair…" I move in a little closer. "Your current rambling is pretty much on par with your normal, everyday rambling."

"I"m officially rescinding my invitation."

"Rescinding. Fancy word. I"m impressed."

"Actually, I"m rescinding it for another reason."

"Being?"

"Your performance last week. You totally blew it. You missed two chances to score. And your deke? Don"t even get me started on that. You need to work on your change of direction. Way too slow. You were unfocused and a step behind the whole game."

Ouch. Can"t ever accuse Evelyn Freeman of not saying exactly what"s on her mind.

"Your sensitivity is…non-existent."

She winces. "Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes. I watch too many games with Dad. You should hear some of the stuff that flies out of his mouth." A small smile appears. "At least I don"t swear like he does."

"Points for that." I slide my hands into my pockets. "So, where do we stand on the double rescinding of the invitation? I"m confused."

She drums her fingers lightly against her chin. "I"m rescinding the rescindingnation."

I"m ninety-five percent sure rescindingnation isn"t a real word, but I"m not confident enough to call her out on it.

"Meaning?"

"You can come in. If you want?"

I look between Evie in the window and my house. "S"pose watching one game can"t hurt."

She moves out of the way as I hoist myself into her room. Standing so close to her makes me take in details I normally don"t notice about her.

Like how nice she smells, sweet without being sickly sweet, and with a hint of vanilla.

Or the light freckles playfully scattered across the bridge of her nose.

Or the mesmerizing blend of colors in her eyes, swirls of green and brown that seem to shift and change with the light.

And whoa.

It suddenly hits me.

Optics, man.

I"m a senior. She"s a sophomore. My best friend"s sister, no less. And I"ve just snuck into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

I shuffle away, creating some physical distance between us, and take a moment to eye her room. I"ve never really given much thought to what her room would look like, but it"s very her.

Framed posters of hockey players and album covers adorn the walls. A massive vase filled with yellow roses sits atop her desk. Against one wall there"s a queen-sized bed, and on the other side of the room, there"s a seating area with a plush two-seater sofa, a couple of bean bags, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall that"s currently playing her dad"s final game,

"Your room is so…"

"I know, I know. It"s messy."

"I was going to say clean. Compared to Levi"s."

And mine.But I leave that out.

"And it smells so…" I sniff the air.

She approaches me, a grin spreading across her face. "Not boy?"

"Yeah. That"s exactly it. Not boy. You know, I heard that was going to be the name of the new Calvin Klein fragrance until they changed it at the last minute."

"Changed it to what?"

"Girl."

Her grin grows into a smile, and it"s a really pretty smile.

Maybe a little too pretty for someone I"ve known since she was ten. I jam my hands into my pockets, feeling bad for noticing.

Because yeah, there"s no denying it. Little Evie is growing up. She"s almost sixteen. Cotillion is coming up soon. I wonder who she"s going with.

Another thought I probably shouldn"t be having, so I sidestep past her and wander over to the wall lined with framed posters. They"re a mix of hockey players—the current crop mixed with a few from her dad"s era—as well as…huh, well, what do you know?

I spin around to face her. "When Levi told me he got you into punk music, I thought he meant, like, Avril Lavigne."

She rolls her eyes, takes off the headphones from around her neck, and shoves them into my hands. "Listen to this."

I place the headphones over my ears, then rip them off almost immediately. "What on earth was that?"

"That was punk music." She lifts her chin, smiling proudly like she"s just scored a victory over me.

"I think use of the term music is debatable. My ears hurt."

"Would you like to listen to some Avril instead?"

"Not funny."

"Then stop being a baby."

"Who are these women?" I ask, tapping the last frame on the wall.

Evie comes up and points them out one by one. "That"s Dani Rylan Kearney, founder of the National Women"s Hockey League. That"s Kim Davis. She"s just been named the Executive Vice President of Social Impact, Growth Initiatives Legislative Affairs for the NHL. Here we have Hayley Wickenheiser, one of the most decorated female hockey players of all time. And rounding things out, this is Heidi Browning, Senior Vice President and Chief Marketing Officer of the NHL."

"Cool. You ever thought about playing?"

"Those who can, play, those who can"t, yell from the sidelines, take notes on their phone, and share them with their neighbor whenever they see him."

"I"ve noticed. What about coaching, then? You know the ins and outs of the game better than most players."

She presses her fingertips to the glass, a wistful smile curving her lips. "How many coaches do you see here?"

"You could always be the first."

"Yeah. Because Mom would love that. No. I think I"ll have to find a different career path to disappoint her." She points to the TV. "We can watch another game, if you like. I"ve got this one committed to memory."

She doesn"t want to talk about it. That"s cool. I"m not going to push. I hate it when people try to make me open up.

My eyes flick to the game. "Nah. I"m fine with it."

"Cool."

Evie settles into her desk chair, so I claim a spot on the couch, far enough away from her that should her parents walk in, they won"t get the wrong idea about what"s going on here.

"Whatchya making there?" I ask, pointing to her desk.

"Oh, it"s nothing."

"It doesn"t look like nothing to me."

"They"re just bracelets." She lifts up a few of them for me to see. "I enjoy making them. It relaxes me. They"re not very good or anything."

"They"re nice."

"Moving on." She drops the bracelets onto her desk and swivels in her chair to face me. "How did you escape?"

"Huh?"

"The whole street is clogged up with camera vans. Aren"t you meant to be filming?"

"I am, but I told Mom I wasn"t up for it, so we staged a fight. I got sent to my room, which gets me out of having to do anything. At least for tonight."

Evie shifts her gaze between me and the TV screen, then says, "Levi mentioned something about you not being a huge fan of the show."

"Would you like to have a TV crew in your house recording everything you and your family say and do?"

"Absolutely not. That sounds like a nightmare. Worse than that nightmare where you"re giving a speech and suddenly find yourself naked. Or is the audience naked? Whatever, it doesn"t matter. Public nudity is involved, which is definitely the stuff of nightmares. As is rambling, which I"m doing again. Sorry."

I swallow a grin. "Don"t be. You"re fine."

I"ve gotten used to Levi talking fast, but Evie, man, she takes fast-talking to a whole other level.

A few moments pass.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I say.

"Why is your family doing it?"

"The show, you mean?"

"Yeah."

I lean back into the sofa and hook an ankle over my knee. "Dad thinks it"ll be good for his business."

Evie smirks. "Tough times in the luxury yacht industry?"

"It"s the economy," I reply. "The multi, multi, multimillionaires are struggling at the moment."

Evie keeps a straight face. "They really are the silent victims."

We share a smile.

"He thinks it"ll be a good exercise in branding. You know, like the Kardashians or the Hiltons."

"That"s his benchmark?"

"Tell me about it."

"What about your mom?"

"She"s going along with it because she wants to revive her acting career. The offers have dried up, and whatever does come in are usually mom roles."

"But she is, you know, of mom-age."

"Don"t ever let her hear you say that. You won"t get out alive."

"Noted."

Sometimes I think about how different Mom and Dad are. They"re from two completely different worlds—Dad from old-school money and five generations of proud yacht-making, Mom from Orange County. Her family had nothing, but she always dreamed of becoming a star.

Yet when it comes to some things—like fame, money, and power—they couldn"t be any more alike.

I"ve also never seen two people more in love. It"s a beautiful thing. Except for the constant PDAs. They"re vomit-inducing. You"d think after being married for almost thirty years, they"d be over it. But nope. They"re still very much into each other.

"What about your brothers? And Dawn? What do they think about doing the show?"

"Trace"—oldest brother, total Dad clone—"just goes along with whatever Dad wants."

"Right."

Dad"s grooming him to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business someday. I have no issue with that. My problem is that Trace needs to stand up to Dad once in a while. He needs to be his own person outside of who Dad wants him to be.

"Meanwhile Clayton"—second oldest, human equivalent of a fireworks display—"he"s loving the attention. Lapping it up like there"s no tomorrow. Mom"s always been disappointed that none of her kids have any acting talent."

"But Clayton does?"

"Not actual acting talent, but it"s good enough for reality TV. He loves the spotlight. Thrives in it. Almost as much as Mom."

"I thought he was into woodwork?"

"He is. But being famous versus being a carpenter? Not much of a contest. It also sucks that he and Trace have had to move back home to film the show."

"They have? Why?"

"So it looks like we all live together and are one big happy family, even though they"re both in their twenties. I thought I"d finally gotten rid of them."

Evie smiles. "And what about Dawn?"

"Ah. You"ve saved my angsty, guarded little sister for last, I see."

Evie opens her mouth as if to say something but decides against it at the last minute.

"What were you about to say?"

She smiles bashfully, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was going to say it reminds me of someone else I know."

Me. She means me.

Because yeah, I"m not exactly renowned for my openness. This conversation with Evie is the most I"ve opened up to someone—apart from Levi—um…ever, actually.

Why is talking to her so easy?

"Guess Dawn gets that from me," I continue. "But she overtakes me in the angry at the whole world department. I"m at a moderate five, she"s at eleven…million."

"I"ve…I"ve tried to reach out to her."

I know she has. Multiple times. "Don"t take it personally. Humans are social creatures who are wired for connection with others, and Dawn isn"t human."

Evie laughs, then covers her mouth like she shouldn"t have found that funny. "You"re terrible."

"Hey. I love my sister to pieces. That doesn"t mean I can"t point out her…I won"t say faults. What"s a better word?"

"Idiosyncrasies?"

"Yeah. Her dislike of human interaction being one of them."

"Let her know if she ever wants to hang out or anything, I"m here."

"I will." I uncross my legs. "Listen, it"s getting late. I should probably get going."

Evie gets up. "Of course. Thanks for scaring the life out of me."

I head toward the window. "You made me listen to punk music, so I think we both feared for our lives tonight."

She smiles. Which makes her eyes sparkle. Which makes my stomach flutter in a funny way.

"Thanks for the chat," I say, climbing into the window.

"No problem. You know…"

I turn my head back to her.

"If you ever want to talk…and Levi"s not here…and the world is burning down and my room is the only safe haven on the entire planet, you can…come here. And we can, like, watch a game. Or whatever."

She holds my gaze—me, lodged in her window, her, standing there, rubbing her arm and looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

"Sure." I smile. "Thanks for the chat, Evie."

She gives a little wave. "Anytime, Fraser."