Chapter 8

Fraser

The opposing defenseman approaches at high speed.

I fake left with a quick shoulder drop. The defender lunges in that direction, expecting a straightforward play.

With a flick of the wrist, I cut back to the right. I guide the puck through the narrow space left by the off-balanced defender and execute another seamless deke.

I"m on fire.

The whole team is.

We"re up3-0.

Two of those goals are mine, but I"m not done yet. I can feel it. I"ve got a hat trick in me tonight.

The energy in the arena is electric, a mixture of anticipation and tension. I love playing for a home crowd. I love winning in front of a home crowd even more.

I enter the offensive zone. There"s no one in my way.

The goalie is my final barrier. He shifts in the crease, tracking my every move.

I shift my weight, snapping the stick forward, and unleash a powerful shot.

The puck rockets toward the goal, aimed precisely at the tiny gap between the goalie"s glove and the post.

The goalie reacts, but the puck hurtles past him into the net.

The score light flashes, and the crowd erupts in a frenzy.

There are eighteen thousand roaring fans in LA tonight, but there"s only one I truly care about.

Evie.

She"s here, like she is for all home games.

But there"s something different about her being here tonight.

It"s been three days since the wedding.

Three days since those pesky onlookers invaded our privacy on the beach.

Three days in which the story about my supposed new relationship has blown up.

Every few hours, a new hashtag starts trending on social media, or some new article pops up about how long we"ve "really" been together.

That"s largely due to one very dedicated fan—username: hockey4life1989—who has compiled a score count of every home game I"ve played and correlated that to Evie"s presence at home games to determine that my offensive output—goals and assists—is notably better when she"s in the arena.

The home-ice advantage has become known as #TheEvieEffect.

Fans are sharing theories and speculating about my personal life more than ever. The rumor is that we"ve been together all season, and that"s the reason why I"m playing better. She"s my good luck charm, apparently.

What on earth is Evie making of all of it?

I have absolutely no idea.

We haven"t spoken.

I don"t even have her number to call her because I haven"t needed it before. Levi passed on her thanks for the flowers I sent, which was nice of her, but I"m itching to make sure she"s really okay. She survived one viral scandal only to be plunged neck-deep into another.

I can"t help but feel guilty, like this mess is all my fault.

That"s why I invited her to dinner. We need to sit down and talk properly. Whatever it takes, I am determined to fix this.

The game ends, and even with a last-minute goal by the opposition, because of my hat trick, we win 4-1.

The atmosphere in the locker room is electric. Players engulf each other in celebratory hugs, praising each other"s performance. Adrenaline from the win mingles with relief and satisfaction.

It"s still super early in the season, but we"ve found our form and are playing better than ever. Whatever spark was missing in the second half of last season has returned, and when six players at their peak come together on the ice, there"s no better feeling in the world.

"Take it you won"t be joining us?" Culver asks, flicking my back with his towel as he walks past me.

"Ow. No. And after that, especially no."

He grins slyly. "You know the press is going to have a field day with your performance tonight, don"t you? Or should I say more of a field day? I love you, man, but even I"m getting tired of seeing your ugly mug all over socials."

"Here"s some free advice. Do what I do and stay off social media. Try it. Your life will be better. That comes with a thirty-day money-back Rademacher guarantee."

"Hey, some of us are addicted, thank you very much."

I laugh.

A couple of the guys approach, and we chitchat for a few minutes while we get dressed. Even Milo, our super grump goalie who was traded onto the team this season, comes over. He doesn"t say much, but he nods every once in a while, and his scowl seems a little less scowly, so…progress? If I didn"t have so much on my plate, I"d make more of an effort to get to know the guy, but right now, there"s only one person in the world I care about.

"I know you got plans with your girl," Donovan says. "But text us later. We"ll probably still be out."

"Yeah, man. It"d be good to celebrate together," Slater adds. "And bring your girl. Friends and family are always welcome. Our days of wild nights and partying are over."

"Ain"t that the truth."

Donovan and Slater high-five, but the scowl on Milo"s face returns, stronger than ever. Huh. Maybe the guy"s nursing a broken heart? Might be why his general demeanor is a little on the icy side.

Slater makes an interesting observation, though. Apart from myself, Culver, and possibly our grumpy new goalie, the rest of the team have wives and girlfriends. Some are even starting to have families.

That"s something I want, too.

I"ve never understood why it"s called settling down. That makes it sound like it"s a bad thing. For me, a wife, kids, a home—it"s my idea of heaven. If anything, it should be called settling up.

"I"ll be in touch later," I tell them.

But first, I have a dinner date to get to.

And yeah, I probably should have corrected the guys when they referred to Evie as my girl, but I guess like everyone else in the world, they believe the crazy stories that have been coming out about me this week.

Besides, Evie being called my girl has a nice ring to it. Why do something crazy like bring facts into it?

I make my way out of the locker room, discreetly kiss Evie"s bracelet three times before placing it in my gym bag, then head to the family lounge where Evie—wearing her Dad"s 81 jersey, of course—Levi, and one of their sisters, Harper, are waiting for me.

Levi spots me first, and when he does, he taps Evie on the shoulder. She turns around, and when her eyes land on me, a luminous smile spreads across her face, lighting up her features, and I get a rush of tingles up and down both arms.

"Oh, my gosh, Fraser!" She runs over to me and jumps into my arms.

I think quick, dropping my gym bag to the floor just in time to catch her.

"You were amazing. A hat trick! I"m so proud of you."

Is…is this real?

Or did my teammates knock me out in the locker room and this is all one giant hallucination?

Evie has wrapped herself around me, and I don"t ever want to let her go.

I close my eyes and inhale her sweet perfume.

When I open my eyes, Levi and Harper are standing right next to us.

And, yep. This is real, all right.

I gently guide Evie to her feet before giving Harper a peck on the cheek. When Levi and I exchange our customary bear hug, he whispers in my ear, "You were great, but lifting me up into your arms won"t be necessary."

"You sure?" I chuckle. "Wouldn"t want you getting jealous that you"re missing out on the full Fraser experience."

"Believe me. Not jealous at all," he says, smiling. "Also, for future reference, I have absolutely zero interest in knowing what the full Fraser experience is."

We start chatting.

I see Harper even less frequently than I see Evie, so I ask her how the reality TV show she"s producing is going. She tries to tell me about it, but it"s a little hard when a certain someone keeps interjecting with a play-by-play of her favorite moments from the game, as well as going through the notes she compiled on her phone.

I don"t mind the interruptions at all. It"s nice, actually. A small reminder that some things never change.

"So, should we go for dinner?" I ask.

"Sure."

"Sounds great."

"Let"s go."

Uh-oh.

They all answered because they must think we"re all going out to dinner together. My bad for giving them that impression.

"So, um, guys." I scratch the back of my neck. "There"s something I feel bad about."

"Your face?" Levi asks, deadpan. "Is it your face?"

"His face is better than your face, doofus," Harper shoots back, and yep, we"ve just traveled back fifteen years in time.

"What I was going to say is that I made the dinner reservation for two."

"Oh."

"Oh."

"Oh."

I didn"t know Harper would be here tonight, and I assumed Levi and I would catch up later.

Okay, those aren"t the real reasons.

The real reason, the purely selfish reason, is that I want to spend time alone with Evie.

"I can give the restaurant a call to see if they can?—"

"It"s fine," Levi jumps in. "Harps and I can hang out while you two raging lovebirds—Owww!"

"Oops." Evie smiles sweetly. "Did your arm just get in the way of my fist?"

Levi rubs his bicep. "As I was saying, Harps and I can do our thing while you two non-raging, non-lovebirds can have dinner and discuss all the things you need to discuss. There. Better?" he asks Evie.

She gives a firm nod. "Better."

Works for me, but I try to downplay my excitement at having Evie all to myself.

"Well, if you"re sure," I say casually.

"I"m sure. Now, go. Shoo." Levi starts waving us off. "Have a lovely, completely non-lovebirdy dinner."

"Would it be weird if I told you you look beautiful?" I say once we"re seated in a private corner of the dimly lit restaurant with the scared-to-mispronounce name. I know one of the letters is silent, just not which one. Everyone keeps telling me something different. At this point, I"m wondering why they even bothered with a name at all.

Evie lowers the leatherbound menu, resting it against the edge of the table. "Depends."

"On?"

"What if I said yes? That it would be weird. Would you still say it?"

"Well, no."

"Why not?"

"Because I wouldn"t want to make things awkward."

"Even if that means you aren"t saying something that you want to say?"

"Um. I think I have a concussion."

Evie smiles warmly. "I"m just teasing. It wouldn"t be weird. In fact, I"ve been wondering if you"d even noticed."

"Uh, yeah. I think I"d actually have a serious concussion not to notice you getting changed out of your dad"s jersey into what I"m assuming is another seven-thousand-dollar dress. You"re a knockout, Evie."

She laughs it off, but I"m not kidding. She looks stunning, dressed in a chic, form-fitting burgundy cocktail dress with a scalloped pattern around the neckline. Her hair is down, loosely flowing over her shoulders, and she"s wearing just the right amount of makeup to highlight her beautiful features, her light freckles visible on her nose. Earrings sparkle from her ears, occasionally catching the light from the candle on the table.

"Not a seven-thousand-dollar dress, but thank you for noticing. And for the totally non-weird compliment. I"ll take it."

"I like bantering with you," I say, lifting my menu.

"Same," she says. "Have you decided what you want?"

"Uh…"

To eat, bonehead. She means have you decided what you want to eat.

"Might go with the steak. You?"

"I"m having a hard time choosing something."

I fold my menu and place it on the table. "Let me guess. You want a burger?"

She looks across the table and treats me to an adorable smile/wrinkled-nose combo. "Is that bad?"

"Why would it be bad?"

"This place has a Michelin star, and I"m going to, what, ask for a double bacon burger with fries?"

"At least you know they"ll be Michelin star fries."

"The chef will have a heart attack."

"The chef will do their job and give the customer what they want."

"If you say so."

The waiter arrives. He"s young, looks bored, and has a trace of a French accent.

Evie mouths, "You first," so I place my order. When I"m done, Evie glances up at the waiter and asks, "I have some allergies."

"Could you pleez specify which allergiez you have? I"ll make sure to inform ze kitchen team so we can accommodate your needs and provide you with meal options that are safe for you."

His words came out in one long monotone drawl, like it"s something he"s recited a thousand times before.

"My allergy is kind of…unique," Evie says, resting her elbows on the table.

He sighs. "I"m all ears."

"Well, see, I"m basically allergic to most food groups that aren"t a burger."

"A boor-gair?"

"Yes. It"s a very specific allergy. Only affects the tiniest amount of people in the world. We actually have a support group. Meet once a month online to discuss all the challenges and stigmas that we face. It"s cathartic, actually, and I feel like I"m really growing and accepting that my allergy is a part of me, but not all of me. I won"t let it define who I am."

Thankfully she stops because I am this close to bursting out laughing.

Frenchie isn"t amused.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly. You would like me to ask ze chef to prepare for you a boor-gair?"

Evie nods. "With crispy fries. Or onion rings. I don"t mind either way. Whatever they feel inspired to make."

"I see. Will that be all this evening?"

"You know what?" I say, snapping my menu shut. "I"ve changed my mind. Forget the tomahawk. I"ll have a burger, too. Extra bacon. Extra cheese. With fries. Please."

Frenchie gets a vague look in his eyes, like he"d rather be anywhere else but here. He takes a deep breath, scoops the menus off the table, and mutters something under his breath in French. He"s probably questioning the life choices he"s made to wind up working in a posh restaurant with an impossible to pronounce name, serving burgers to Americans whose idea of refined dining is swapping out fries for onion rings.

"So, how has your week so far been?" I ask once he leaves, easing into the conversation we need to have.

"Dull. Incredibly uneventful. Bordering on boring. I"ve actually been hoping some scandal would erupt and I"d be right in the middle of the firestorm just so I"d have something to obsess over."

Man, I love how her mind works. Most people would answer a straightforward question like that with a simple reply.

But not Evie.

She uses words the way a hockey player carves up the ice, ducking and weaving on the way to giving a proper answer. She makes you work for it, sifting and sorting through her at times jumbled stream of consciousness to get to the heart of what she actually means.

And I love that.

It feels like what I wish all conversations I have with all people would be like. Maybe if they were, I"d feel like talking more.

"How have you been?" she asks, before I can follow-up.

"Fine."

"I"ve been worried about you."

"You have? Why?"

"Because you hate the press."

"Believe me, that opinion hasn"t changed these past few days."

"And you"ve gotten a lot of it. Because of me. How are you handling it?"

"It"s not because of you, Evie," I say, setting the record straight. I hope she hasn"t been blaming herself for any of this. "I"m the one who asked you to go to the beach. I"m acutely aware I"m a target for people"s attention, once I put myself out in public. That"s on me. Not you."

"You still have a right to privacy."

"Sure. In theory. But in reality, you and I both know that"s not how it works."

"And you"re okay with that?"

"I have to be. Like anything in life, it"s a trade-off. I"m living my dream, playing the game I love. A lot of people would kill to be in my shoes. If it means I get noticed in public and have to limit some of the things I do, then so be it. I can throw myself a pity party and cry about it in my multimillion-dollar mansion, right?"

"You"re still a person."

"I"m a hockey player first, though. Person second. At least as far as the public and media are concerned."

Evie doesn"t look pleased about that.

"Look. I"m used to it. With Mom"s career comeback and Clayton being on every celebrity reality TV show that will have him, I"ve learned how to navigate this fame thing. Somewhat. As long as I have privacy where and when it matters—at home, with my family, with my friends—that"s all I care about. I can handle the rest. I knew I was taking a risk when I took you to the beach, and I"m sorry I didn"t protect you better."

"What? Are you kidding me? Of course you protected me. Once you saw that people were taking our picture, you totally shielded me from them. You were like my knight in shining armor, without all the problematic baggage that example brings with it."

"Really?"

"Really. They"ve stopped referring to me as Breakup Sneeze Girl and started using my actual name."

"That"s…good?"

"Anything is better than Breakup Sneeze Girl."

"Fair enough. But how are you handling it?"

"I"ll be honest. It is a lot. I"m used to people in town recognizing me from being on TV and being Monterey-County-famous. This story is blowing up big, though, and it"s a little reminiscent of the last time I blew up big."

"I"m sorry. Is it triggering?"

"I"d be lying if I said it wasn"t. But the narrative is different with this story, Fraser. I"m being treated like a person."

"You"ll have to explain that one to me."

"Well, thanks to the passionate hockey-loving online sleuths out there, people have discovered who my Dad is. That"s earned me some street cred, and now no one would dare refer to me by my former hashtag, at least not anyone truly in the hockey fandom, for fear of peeving off the almighty Alex Freeman. And thanks to hockey4life1989, I"ve somehow become a good luck charm. Which I know we know is ridiculous, but people are going with it."

"They are. And it is ridiculous, but you know hockey players. We"re a superstitious and odd bunch."

"Oh. Believe me, I know." She smiles briefly before continuing. "Don"t get me wrong. This is still way more publicity and scrutiny than I want or am comfortable with, but at least this time, with this story, I"m not the biggest joke on the internet. And then there"s the last thing."

"What"s that?"

She hesitates for a moment. "My numbers have been through the roof this week."

"That"s great."

"It is."

Our eyes meet.

The air between us crackles, charged with tiny little sparks of energy.

Evie looks beautiful in the glow of soft candlelight, and I take a moment to consider everything she"s just said.

She seems to be managing. It is slightly out of her comfort zone, as it is mine, but I think I can lay off the non-stop worrying about her. She"s doing okay.

I decide to take a chance.

"I don"t regret it," I tell her. "The beach. The dancing. I"d do it all again."

"You would?"

"In a heartbeat."

Her hazel gaze meets mine. "I"ve been thinking about something."

"Go on."

"Something that I think maybe almost happened between us but got interrupted."

Oh. She"s going there.

"Do you mean?—?"

"Your boor-gair, madam. The chef was inspired to make onion rings as your side dish. I trust this will be to your liking."

Evie drags her eyes away from me. "Yes. Thank you."

"And your boor-gair, sir. Extra bacon. Extra cheese. With fries. Enjoy."

I lean over once he disappears. "And by enjoy, he means choke on it."

"Possibly. Or he means enjoy the spit the chef flavored it with."

"That"s gross, Evie."

She laughs. "It really is."

We start eating.

"Looks like we got interrupted again," I say.

She nods. "Maybe that"s our thing. We get interrupted all the time, and we"re left with all these questions that we then spend hours, days, weeks, months, obsessing over, dangling in our subconscious like…" She looks down at her plate. "Like onion rings."

"Like onion rings dangling in our subconscious?" I check.

She nods. "It"s a little out there, but also quite a strong visual statement. Don"t you think?"

I chuckle. "Sure. But let"s not have interruptions and dangling onion rings be our thing, okay? Let"s always clear things up so that we avoid miscommunication and know exactly where we stand, like…" I glance down at my plate. "Like a fry." I lift one up. "A fry is a fry. You always know what it is, right?"

"There is no mistaking what a fry is," she agrees.

"So let"s be like fries. Like…Like…Like truth fries."

"Truth fries. I like it," she says, then raises her hand. "Okay. Problem."

"What is it?"

"In the interest of full disclosure and with all this talk of fries, now…I want fries. Don"t suppose you want to share yours?"

I grin, pushing my plate toward the center of the table. "Happy to."

We munch away in silence, with Evie picking at my fries every once in a while. I"m pretty sure we"re the only people in the restaurant eating with our hands, but who cares? I"m having the best time with my gir—with Evie.

"So," I begin. "Should we pick up where we left off?"

"Okay." Evie stops eating and puts her burger down on her plate. "I was going to ask you if we were about to kiss. There, I said it. Kiss."

She looks up and keeps her neck craned at the ceiling for a long time.

"What are you doing?" I eventually ask.

"Making sure the sky isn"t about to fall in on us."

"Yes."

She drops her head. "Yes, you"re agreeing with me that the sky isn"t about to cave in on us, or yes to the kiss?"

"Yes to the kiss."

"Wow. I like this whole truth fries thing." I can see her mind spinning. "Okay. Wow."

"You"ve already said wow."

"This is a wow moment, Fraser. You just said you were about to kiss me."

"Actually, no. What I said was that I thought we were about to kiss."

"Explain the difference to me."

I wipe some burger juice off my fingers with my napkin. "Evie, you"d had a tough day. You were emotional. I wanted to do something fun and light to get you out of your funk. Yes, I wanted to kiss you, but I wanted to make sure that was what you wanted, too. So I held back, and I let you take the lead."

Evie blinks rapidly. "The wow moments just keep coming. It"s like a wow tornado over this side of the table. Someone call FEMA."

"Are you okay?"

"I am. I am. I"m just a little…overwowed. That"s…that"s a really sweet thing you said."

"It"s what the fries want."

She visibly swallows. "It"s so strange spending time with you again. Alone. Like we…like we used to. It"s stirring up a whole bunch of stuff."

"What sort of stuff?"

"Feelings. Questions. All the usual fun existential stuff." She bites down thoughtfully on an onion ring. "But that"s all in the past, and I"m all about moving on."

"We can…move on. If that"s what you want."

"It"s probably for the best."

Guilt stabs me in the chest.

I"d like to resolve things—especially the abrupt way I left. I can"t tell her anything about Dawn"s situation, but I at least owe her an explanation about the things I can reveal.

But if she wants to move on, I have to respect that.

So I squash the urge to dredge up the past by revisiting our teenage lives and instead focus on the matter at hand. "So what do we do about the story?"

The faraway look in her eyes vanishes, and she rallies. Back to upbeat Evie mode. "It"s been a few days. Give it a few more, and people will start losing interest, we"ll stop trending on social media, and the press will move on to something else."

"You really think so?"

"I do."

She does work in the industry, so I guess she"d know better than me how these things work.

"Trust me," Evie says, waving a fry in the air. "This whole thing will blow over soon, and our lives will go back to normal."