Chapter Eighteen

Rowan

Shawnie’s girls’ night took an unexpected detour when Ground Zero—the club we’d planned to celebrate at—had a fireplace malfunction earlier in the day.

Luckily, no one was hurt, but some lounge couches and flooring weren’t so lucky. With our original plans literally going up in flames, the unanimous decision was to crash the boys’ unofficial Hawkeyes pool tournament instead.

The energy shifts as soon as we enter Oakley's, a bar filled mostly with Hawkeyes players, friends, and Oakley’s usual patrons. The place pulsates with competition in the air as the large blackboard hung on the left wall of the bar is covered with white chalk outlining the pool tournament bracket currently underway.

When we arrive, Oakley already has a table cleared off and waiting for us to make sure that Shawnie still gets her night. Everyone’s having a good time, ordering drinks and teasing Shawnie for a night that seems destined to be memorable.

Zoey leans in toward me as if about to ask a question until something catches her eye behind me. I turn to see what has her smirking. Across the room, Bex stands by the pool table, his usual self—sharp, composed, holding a cue stick in one hand and a beer in the other, seemingly unaffected by the joy all around him as he carries on a conversation with Seven. Just as Oakley heads to the bar, Bex steps in his path to stop him. Bex asks him a question, I don’t know what it is, but Bex’s eyes shift to Shawnie and then to me as he speaks. Oakley nods and then heads back to the bar.

What did he say?

But Bex returns to his conversation with Seven and doesn’t bother to look this way again.

Soon enough, drinks are passed around, and the guys respectfully leave us to our girls’ night, moving back to their pool tournament. Bex is close by, though, sipping from a glass of water now, his beer long gone. I tell myself I’ve noticed him switch from beer to water because I’m observant—a reporter’s instinct. But if I’m honest, there’s more to it than that. I can’t help but keep track of his every little habit, like how he exhales right before he lines up a shot, or how he crosses his arms with his right hand lifting his thumb to graze over his lower lip when he watches his opponent take theirs. It’s like I’ve memorized all these small details without even meaning to.

Without warning, Shawnie waves him over. “Coach Bex! It’s your birthday too, isn’t it?”

My ears prick up. It’s his birthday? How did I miss that? Some reporter I’ve been lately if I can’t even catch something as basic as the head coach’s birthday.

“Yesterday,” he says simply, shrugging as if it’s no big deal.

Penelope frowns, clearly disappointed. “Why didn’t you tell us? I would’ve gotten you a cake!”

He raises a brow at her. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” he replies, the tiniest trace of amusement slipping through his usual guarded expression.

“Did you make a birthday wish?” Shawnie asks, looking playful but curious, and maybe just starting to feel the birthday drinks.

His gaze shifts to me again, his eyes softening as they settle on my lips before dipping down just slightly, almost like he’s caught up in some thought. His tongue darts out, brushing over his bottom lip, and my heart does a somersault. He breaks his stare and turns back to Shawnie,with a shake of his head. “I’m too old for birthday wishes,” he says with a touch of humor. “But if you want, you can have mine too, Shawnie.”

“Too old, my ass,” I say, unable to resist. This man thinks he’s too old for me, and now too old for birthday wishes.

Bex shifts his eyes back on me and takes steps in my direction. “Did you have something to say about it?” he asks.

“If you’re not going to make a wish, then what’s the harm in sharing it?” I ask, and then hide my grin by taking a drink of my martini.

I should be careful not to drink too much in this situation. I didn’t bring a car to town, I’ll take a rideshare when I’m ready to go home, but I’m already loose with my words when it comes to Bex. Any looser and I might say something I can’t take back.

He lifts a brow, clearly intrigued by my challenge. “What’s in it for me if I share it?”

I smirk, eyeing the pool table behind him. “I’ll tell you what,” I say, stepping closer. “If I make your last shot, you have to spill the wish.”

A glint of amusement lights his eyes, but he folds his arms, giving me a half-smile. “You think you can make it?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “You think I can’t?”

He doesn’t waste another second and holds out his cue stick for me, the weight of it solid in my hands as I grip it, setting my stance. The room falls into a curious hush, the energy shifting as everyone waits to see if I can pull it off.

I take a deep breath, lining up the shot with my gaze zeroed in on the last solid ball left on the table–Bex’s last shot before the eight ball. The whole bar feels like it’s holding its breath as I pull back and send the cue forward in one smooth motion. The solid ball sails cleanly across the table and drops into the corner pocket without hesitation.

Next I have the eight ball, and I do the same. Lining up and taking a deep inhale before making my shot. Within the second the eight ball too drops into the side pocket and disappears from view.

The bar erupts into cheers, everyone clearly impressed, and when I glance back at Bex, his expression is unreadable for a moment. But there’s a glimmer in his eyes. I didn’t make his wager for a truce on the hockey rink, but now we’re on an even playing field, and I won this round.

“Nice shot,” he says softly, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t realize you had that in you.”

I hand him back his cue stick with a grin. “At least my dad taught me something useful. Now pony up. What was the wish?”

He leans in, his voice low enough that only I can hear it over the noise. “If you want to hear it, you’ll have to wait until the end of the night.”

There’s a challenge in his tone, the kind that dares me to see where this night could go, and I can’t help but feel the thrill of it, the way he’s got me wondering about that birthday wish more than I probably should.

I should still be upset about the way he didn’t believe me about Reeve and Keely until that meeting in Sam’s office, but in fairness, the whispering and Reeve’s distraction on the ice isn’t exactly Bex’s fault. And now with things out in the open about Keely’s family history, things will get better.

Keely’s gotten some hate on social media, mostly from people who had money on the game or are die hard soccer fans. And honestly, just a couple internet trolls as it is, but it’s only been a few days since the story broke, and all in all, she and Reeve are handling it really well.

“Fine, but don’t keep me waiting for long. I’m not the patient type,” I say, closing my arms.

“No, I don’t think anyone who knows you would find that surprising.” And then heads over to re-rack the balls for the next two players on the bracket to play and I head back to the table with the girls.

For the last two hours, my mind has been a broken record, replaying the same thought.

What’s Bex’s birthday wish?

I’ve tried everything to distract myself—conversation, pool games, even scrolling aimlessly on my phone, but it’s no use. Bex Townsend is a mystery I can’t stop trying to solve. The anticipation has me bouncing my knee like a caffeine addict, but I’m not about to let him think he’s got me this wound up. That wish could be anything, but with Bex, anything feels priceless.

The pool tournament ended ages ago, and the night is winding down. Across the room, Lake heads toward Tessa, his easy smile still intact even though he’s clearly ready to call it a night. “Are you ready to go home? That baby needs some sleep,” he says, his hand drifting to her pregnant belly.

“Momma needs some sleep too,” Tessa agrees, taking his offered hand and carefully sliding off her stool. She pauses to hug Shawnie. “This was such a great night. Happy birthday.”

Shawnie smiles wide, gripping Tessa’s wrist warmly. “Thanks for coming. Get some rest before that baby makes his grand entrance.”

“I will,” Tessa promises, waving goodbye to everyone as Lake ushers her toward the exit.

Kaenan approaches next, wrapping an arm around Isla. “My mom texted. Berkeley refuses to go to sleep until you sing her a song goodnight, and the baby’s running a little warm from teething. We need to head out too,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to the top of Isla’s head.

I glance at my phone. Sure enough, it’s creeping close to midnight. The night is officially winding down, but I’m not leaving without answers. Not this time.

The other girls begin gathering their jackets, their respective partners filtering in to claim them. Shawnie, now renting a room in the penthouse since it’s mostly vacant anyway, will likely walk home with Ryker and Juliet. I’m the only one leaving solo, but that’s fine—I’m not going anywhere until I know what Bex would have wished for.

Bex, standing near the bar, is deep in conversation with Seven and Brynn. I know he won’t tell me anything with an audience, so I make my way to Aaron at the bar, pulling out my card. “Can you add Shawnie’s tab to mine?”

Aaron shakes his head, refusing my card. “Bex already covered it.”

I blink in surprise. “Oh, okay. Well, here’s my card for my tab, then.”

Aaron pushes it back toward me. “He covered yours too.”

My brows knit together. “He paid for mine?”

Aaron nods, filling a pint for another patron.

“Did he cover anyone else’s drinks tonight?” I press.

Reeve steps up beside me, handing his card to Aaron. “Hey, can you run this for Keely and me?”

“Sure,” Aaron says.

So Bex didn’t pay for Reeve or Keely. Just Shawnie and me. Now it makes even less sense.

Reeve glances my way, offering a quick smile. “Nice shot earlier tonight on that corner pocket shot. I think you almost got Bex to smile.”

I try not to let his comment bring me any hope. Bex doesn’t know how to smile.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I mutter.

“He’s warming up to you. I can see it,” Reeve says with a nod to Aaron after he, signs his receipt.

“Much good that’s doing me when I'm dealing with an arctic glacier. I’ll be dead by the time he defrosts at this rate.”

Keely steps forward as Reeve helps her into her jacket. “Do you have a ride home tonight? You can crash in our guest room. We just got into a bigger apartment at The Commons,” she offers.

“No, thanks. I’ll take a rideshare home. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow anyway,” I tell them.

We say our goodbyes and then I turn back to Aaron once Keely and Reeve head for the door. “Why did he pay for mine?” I ask.

Aaron raises his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever this is between you two, I’m staying out of it.”

Between us? What does that mean?

I let out a huff. If I want a real answer, I’ll have to go straight to the source.

As I walk up, Ryker, Juliet, and Shawnie are saying their goodbyes to Bex.

“Thanks for buying my drinks, birthday twin. Next year, we’re celebrating together,” Shawnie tells him, her words slightly slurred. She had a good birthday, the drinks were flowing and the conversation and friendship in this group of women is always a good time.

“I don’t do birthdays, but we can celebrate yours,” Bex replies.

“Psht. You’re aging like fine wine, Coach Bex. Embrace it.”

He nods at Juliet, Shawnie and Ryker as they leave, then turns to see me approaching.

“You paid for Shawnie’s drinks?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He stares back at me, his eyes squinting at me for a second and he pushes his hands into his pockets. “It’s customary on someone’s birthday,”

“Okay, but it’s not my birthday, and you paid for mine too. Did you pay for anyone else?”

“No.” he says simply, his jaw tightening and his hands sinking deeper into his pockets. He doesn’t like this line of questioning. Too bad.

“So why did you pay for me?”

“It’s time to go,” he says, breezing past me.

“Time to go—” I sputter, grabbing my jacket and chasing after him. “Where are you going? You still owe me a birthday wish.”

“I’m taking you home first,” he says, holding the door open for me. “Let’s go.”

“Taking me home?” I ask, but do as he instructs.

“Yes. It’s late, and you live further out than everyone else. You shouldn’t be taking a rideshare alone at this hour. I’m going to ride with you to make sure you get there safely.”

“I do it all the time,” I counter.

“Well, not tonight. I’m delivering you to your doorstep myself.”

I roll my eyes, falling into step beside him. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you. Plus, you still owe me your wish.”

He smirks, leading me to the car idling at the curb. “If you’re a good girl and get in the car, I’ll tell you what it would’ve been… if I celebrated birthdays, which I don’t.”

“This isn’t a bargaining chip,” I argue. “I already won the wish with my wicked pool shot. Even if I’m a bad girl on the way home, you still have to tell me. A deal is a deal.”

“You’re right. A deal is a deal,” he concedes, opening the door for me. “And I never doubted you’d make it.”

We climb into the car, and the driver, an enthusiastic Bex fan, launches into a lively conversation about his hockey career. I steal glances at Bex throughout the ride, marveling at the way he patiently answers every question.

When we pull up to my building, Bex steps out, opening my door and offering his hand to help me out. I take it, the contact sparking something in my chest.

“I’ll walk her up,” he tells the driver. “Keep the fare running. I won’t be long.”

I shouldn’t let him trouble himself walking me up, but I don’t stop him either. Part of me wants to experience this moment—to have Bex walk me to my door, like something out of a movie. And he still owes me a secret anyway.

Inside, as we wait for the elevator, I glance at him. “Just a warning. If my neighbor Hans comes out griping about the noise, just smile, okay? I like his dog.”

“You like his dog?”

“Yeah, and he lets me watch him sometimes. Don’t ruin a good thing for me.”

He raises a brow. “Is this the neighbor you said I have a lot in common with?”

“Yep.”

The elevator dings, and we step inside. For a moment, the air feels charged, like something unsaid is hanging between us. But I let it go, focusing on the sound of our steps echoing down the hallway.