Center Ice (Boston Rebels Book 1)

I don’t know how I’m looking at her, so I’m not sure how to answer her question. Instead, I continue to stare at her as her cheeks get pinker until she looks like one of those 1940s pin-up girls with flawless porcelain skin and rosy cheeks and lips.

Finally, I admit, “I’m just taking it all in, and I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?” She asks the question like she doesn’t understand why I’m using the word in this situation.

“Yeah, you’ve just managed to accomplish so much in the past six years—your architecture degree, starting a business, raising our child. I’m in awe…like always.”

“What do you mean, like always?” She sounds both confused and even a little defensive, then she looks down at the charcuterie tray and adds some meat, cheese, and olives to her plate, like she’d rather do anything other than meet my eye while asking me this question.

“I mean, even in college, you just kind of…had your shit together? You were smart and self-assured, and you didn’t take any of my crap. I couldn’t even flirt with you, because you shut me down every time. We both knew you were way too good for me.”

A laugh bursts out of her, and it’s a relief to see her smiling. I’ve always loved the way her defined cheekbones reveal dimples when she smiles.

“Drew,” she says, after laughing for longer than I’d expect. “We did not both know that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer and wishing I could sit here drinking and talking to her all night.

“I mean, you were freaking un-touch-able in college. A shameless flirt, sure. But I was not your type. At all. And we both knew that.”

“You weren’t my type,” I admit. “Which is what I liked about you. Fake girls who were only interested in me because I played hockey got old after a while.”

“I was only interested in you for the tutoring fees,” she shoots back without even having to think about it, which makes me wonder if it’s true. The school paid well for that service for its athletes, if I remember correctly.

“Ouch!” I say, and when she smirks at me, the resemblance between her and her brother is so strong, I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. “See, just like that. You never put me on a pedestal. Kicked it out from under me is more like it.”

“You needed to be taken down a peg.” In some ways, she’s right. But I also knew her at the absolute most stressful and lowest time of my life, something I hid behind my life-of-the-party persona.

Senior year was a crossroads for me. College had been the best four years of my life. Hockey, interesting classes, living in the city, the parties, the girls…it was a dream for a guy in his late teens and early twenties.

But while I’d spent those four years working my ass off to develop into a strong enough player that I’d even have a hope of getting drafted, it was still far from a sure thing. If I didn’t get drafted, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. My degree in journalism felt like a placeholder—something I’d worked on to justify being at college, but really, in my mind anyway, I was there to play hockey.

My mom had just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s. And Caitlyn, who’d just finished her nursing degree and worked for a few years in New York City, had moved home so she could help with Mom’s care. She pressured me from the beginning to “get a real job” in Boston instead of pursuing my NHL dreams.

It felt like I was on the precipice of everything crashing down around me.

With the benefit of hindsight, I allow myself to consider how I would have reacted to the news of Audrey’s pregnancy. I know I would have stepped up and done the right thing, but would I have had to give up hockey to stay in Boston and be a dad? Would I have resented her for it?

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I agree with her because divulging all the shit I was going through has the potential to derail the pleasant walk down memory lane this has become. I’d rather spend this time on a positive note.

We order more appetizers and chat while we eat. She catches me up on Graham’s life, showing me a few photos and telling me about the baby years, then moving on to his toddler years.

“This is beyond weird,” I say when she shows me a picture of him on a step stool at the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but an apron while learning how to make pesto.

“Cleanup from messy food is a lot easier when they’re naked,” she says, sounding defensive.

“I mean learning about my kid’s childhood through pictures…I missed so much.” If you’d asked me a week ago how I would take the news that I have a five-year-old son, I’d have guessed that I’d feel overwhelmed or upset. Instead, sitting here seeing everything I missed, I just feel sad and disappointed. “Now,” I tell her, “I just want to know my son.”

“Drew,” she says, her voice gentle and sympathetic, like she’s about to break some bad news. “You can’t just waltz into his life, tell him you’re his dad, and see if you like playing that role. Because if you change your mind⁠—”

“Why are we having this conversation again?” I think we already established that I’m not changing my mind.

“Because even guys who think they want to be a dad sometimes change their minds,” she says, and looks off past me toward the main part of the restaurant.

I want to ask her whether she’s speaking from personal experience, or in general, but I’m not sure we’re in a place yet where she’d want to answer that. It feels too personal, which is a weird feeling to have about a person you made another human being with.

But right now, she only knows some past version of me, and maybe the current version the media portrays. She has no reason to trust me, but we’ll get there.

“He’s my kid, Audrey. That’s not something I can change my mind about.”

“What if you get traded again? You’re only for-sure here for a year. Maybe it’ll be longer, but maybe not.”

I press my lips between my teeth as I consider that possibility. Because as much as I don’t want it to be, there’s a chance that I’ll only be here for a year. “I’m doing everything I can to stay in Boston—hopefully, for the rest of my career.”

“But it might not happen,” she says. “You could do everything right and still get traded. Even if Boston is happy with you, there are salary caps that GMs have to consider, or they may still trade you because it’s what’s best for the team, especially if there’s a chance to secure the Cup. There are a hundred different reasons it may not work out…”

“I know.” I glance down into my empty beer glass, then back up at her big blue eyes. “But whether I get traded or not, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m his dad, and I’ll still want to be involved in his life. I know that maybe you can’t believe that this is what I want yet, so I’ll just have to show you.”

“You do that,” she says lightly, her eyebrows raised and a hint of a smile curling her lips, like she wants to believe it’s possible but isn’t quite sure.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”

She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I eat the last few truffle fries while I wait, even though after having dinner with my family and then having more food with Audrey, I’m not actually hungry. I’m about to pull out my own phone when hers lights up on the table in front of me, where she’s kept it all night in case there were any issues with Graham. I glance down at the screen to make sure it’s not Jules contacting her, and instead I see a message I wish I hadn’t.

KARL

Hey, you around tonight? I could come to your place.

It’s nearly ten at night, so who is this asshole contacting her for a booty call? Or, is this guy her boyfriend? I don’t know which option is worse, honestly.

I glance up as Audrey approaches the table.

“What’s wrong?” she asks the minute we lock eyes.

I have no business asking the question, but I ask anyway. “Who’s Karl?”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “What?”

“He just texted you⁠—”

The phone lights up again with the second notification about the message, and she snatches it up so quickly I stop speaking. Her eyes scan the screen, then she narrows them at me. “Why are you reading my messages?”

“Your phone was just sitting there, so I glanced at it to make sure it wasn’t Jules contacting you with some sort of an emergency.”

“If there was an emergency, she’d have called.” She doesn’t slide into her seat, so I get the sense that she thinks we’re done here. I’m thankful I paid the bill while she was in the bathroom, so I can stand and we can finish this conversation. Because even though I have no right to get involved, I’m determined that she’s not going to rush home to meet whoever this asshole is.

“So, who’s Karl?” I’m doing what I can to unclench my jaw, but even I can hear how terse my words are.

“It’s none of your business.” She folds her arms defensively, and even with my eyes focused on her face, I notice how it pushes her cleavage up into the V-neck of her sweater dress.

Keeping my movements slow and calm, I take a step toward her—I’m trying very hard to be careful and cautious with her, and with our whole situation. And even though I know she’s right, and it’s none of my business, there’s an undercurrent of jealousy coursing through my veins that I can’t stop myself from acting on, even while I tell myself to calm the hell down.

I don’t want her to be with anyone else.

“Maybe it’s not. Except that he’s talking about coming over to your place, and Graham’s there. Are you seeing someone? Is he part of Graham’s life?”

She sighs, and it’s like the movement physically deflates her. Her shoulders sag and she looks at the ground.

“Hey.” I reach out and tilt her chin up, but I don’t remove my hand. I love the way her jaw looks cupped in my palm and the way her smooth skin feels as my fingers slide along it. “I know I’m not even a part of Graham’s life yet, so I’m just trying to understand the situation.”

“No judgment?”

Thank goodness she didn’t ask me to commit to not being jealous. “No judgment.”

“It’s just casual. He worked at the firm where I did my post-grad professional internship. He’s recently divorced, I have a kid…neither of us is looking for anything serious.”

“Has he met Graham?”

Her piercing blue eyes stare up at me from beneath her dark lashes, then she lifts her chin so I have no choice but to drop my hand. I let it land on her shoulder and pull her a bit closer to me. I can feel her breath on my neck as it comes out in short bursts.

Finally, she says, “No.”

“Good. I’d really prefer if we kept it that way.”

“We’re keeping it that way because that’s what I think is best for Graham.” The rigid set of her jaw and the tense note of her words let me know that I am not a factor in this decision. Yet.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Don’t step into this situation thinking you have any control over my life, Drew.” Audrey looks up at me as she speaks. She sounds breathless, exactly how I remember her sounding when I went to kiss her the first time and she stopped me to say it was probably a bad idea. As it turns out, everything had changed in that moment; I just didn’t know it until last night.

“I’m not trying to control your life. I’m just trying to be part of it.”

“Well, stop,” she says, but there’s no force behind it. “We are Graham’s parents, but that doesn’t mean we’re part of each other’s lives outside of our son.”

“Agree to disagree,” I say, then I drop my hand to her lower back and move her down the hallway toward the front door.

I can tell she’s got a hundred excuses ready to throw at me, but I’m not hearing any of them. Because all it’s taken is a couple of hours in her presence for me to remember how much I liked her when we were in college. If I hadn’t moved to the other side of the continent, I would have wanted all her nights, and probably her days too.

And as I walk her home, the realization creeps over me slowly but surely: I want her, just like I did six years ago. Everything’s more complicated now, and getting involved with her is probably a terrible idea. But I can’t shake the sensation that even though I’m not what she wants, I might be exactly what she needs—and she might be what I need, too.