They were tentative plans we’d made as I was leaving her house last night. I invited her to come hang with us at Erik’s house after the game. It’s a special night since Baden is coming to the game with his best friend, Wes Hollyfield, who played for the Pittsburgh Titans. They started their professional hockey careers together with the Buffalo Wolves before they were both traded to other teams. They’ve remained best friends and Wes has come to Phoenix several times to visit Baden through his recovery. Erik offered up his house for the team to get together and hang with Baden outside of a hospital setting, while also giving him some time to hang with Wes before the Titan’s team plane departs the following morning.
“It’s more important you handle this with Felicity,” I assure her, knowing there will be plenty of other opportunities to hang together.
As a couple.
In front of the team.
Because if she had come to Erik’s tonight as we had tentatively planned, it would have been as a couple.
We’d have made the statement tonight that we are together, although some of my linemates suspect as much.
“Is it too forward of me,” Emory says, and I jerk out of my thoughts to look at her. Her expression is playful, and dare I say, a little naughty. “To ask if we can set up a night I can come stay at your place? It’s been far too long.”
“It’s been four days,” I point out.
Actually, four days, six hours, and roughly thirty minutes but who’s counting.
“Tomorrow night?” I offer. “Since we don’t have a game, we could cook dinner at my place?”
Emory smiles, but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes. “It depends on when I have Shane over to see Felicity. If it’s tomorrow night—”
“Of course,” I interject. “That’s more important.”
This exasperates Emory and she shakes her head. “No, I’ll still come over tomorrow night, but if Shane comes over, it might be a late dinner. I’ll come as soon as he leaves and Felicity goes to bed.”
“Then it’s a date,” I say, dipping my fork back into my bowl. I intend to eat the rest of my lunch as my stomach is far bigger than Emory’s.
“It’s a date,” she agrees, leaning back in her chair and watching me.
Her eyes on me aren’t intrusive in the slightest.
CHAPTER 17
Jett
It’s been too long since we’ve hung out like this.
Just the players.
With half the guys on the team having significant others, meaning they are more prone to go home to their women, it’s often just us single dudes. While The Sneaky Saguaro is the “unofficial” team hangout, it’s really where the non-committed guys go to celebrate and hook up.
Which makes this get-together at Erik’s house all the more special, because most of the guys are here. I don’t think anyone really wanted to pass up an opportunity to hang out with Baden outside of the rehab hospital.
Not that he is going to be in it much longer. He is getting released next week and is moving into a handicap-accessible condo downtown, about four blocks from me. While he’s still making significant progress in learning how to walk again, his main mode of mobility is still the wheelchair.
The evening is starting to get late and while we don’t have a game tomorrow, we do have an early practice. I wish I could see Emory tonight, but she’s been in bed and asleep for a few hours already. Tonight is the night she had her talk with Felicity about her father coming back around. She had sent me a text after—which I didn’t read at the time as I was actually on the ice playing against the Titans—that she had the talk and it went fine and she’d tell me more about it tomorrow.
Her text ended with, Exhausted and headed to bed. Miss you.
It didn’t bother me that she didn’t stay up to watch the game on TV. While I know she’s a Vengeance fan—hello, she’s employed by the organization—I also know she’s a Jett Olsson fan—she’s told me as much and on more than one occasion—I don’t have any expectations that she’ll be glued to every game. Emory has her own life. She has obligations far more important than me, and I’m okay with that. I also hate that she carries so much on her shoulders, so I’m glad she’s getting a good night’s sleep tonight.
“Another beer?” I’m nudged in the shoulder and when I turn, I see Jim standing there holding a fresh one toward me. I accept without qualms as Dominik Carlson had arranged for transportation home for all of us this evening.
Not that we needed it.
We know the dangers of driving drunk and there’s not one of us who won’t take an Uber or Lyft home. It was a nice gesture by him though, and it was his way of acknowledging how special it was that Baden was out in society and socializing again. The fact he is continually improving is just icing on the cake.
I twist the cap off the bottle, holding it in my hand until I can get close to a garbage can. We’re currently in Erik’s basement man cave which boasts a big-screen TV, pool table, and vintage video games like Pac Man, Centipede, and Donkey Kong. He had added an elevator several months ago so Blue’s brother Billy could have full access to the entire house. Prior to the elevator, he had to drive his motorized chair around the backyard and down a sloping hill to get to the basement doors.
This lowest level of the house is large enough to handle a rowdy hockey team drinking beers—despite the fact we lost to Pittsburgh tonight—but we were all given strict instruction to keep the decibels down as Erik’s pregnant wife, Blue, was upstairs sleeping. While we weren’t whispering to each other, it’s safe to say this is just about the quietest this team has ever been when gathered together.
Doesn’t matter though. We’re all having a great time, made more so by the fact that Baden is having a great time. I think back to the initial weeks after his injuries, and how bleak everything looked. He was utterly defeated, and I never thought I’d see him smile again.
As I look at him, sitting in his wheelchair with Wes standing beside him and about five other teammates surrounding him—everyone laughing and engaged in energetic conversation—I know that he’s going to be okay.
No matter what… Baden will be okay.
“I’m heading out after this one,” Jim says as I hold my bottle out and we tap necks. “That early practice is going to be hell on me tomorrow if I don’t get at least a few hours of sleep.”
“I hear you, old man,” I tease.
While no player on a professional hockey team could ever be considered old in spirit or body, it’s fun to tease Jim as one of our veteran players.
“How’s life treating you?” he asks genially, completely ignoring my jab. I’m sure it’s because he hears it all the time and it’s lost the shine of humor.
“It’s good,” I reply.
Jim’s face transforms as he studies me. At first, he frowns, but then he tips his head to the side and his lips curl in a knowing smile. “Oh my God… you’re in love.”
“I am not in love,” I immediately deny.
No way.
Not even close to happening.
Jim shrugs. “What can I say? I’m an old married man who revels in spending the rest of my life with Ella. Maybe you’re not quite in love, but you are definitely, very deeply in like.”