Page 72 of Center Ice
“Mom,” he whisper-hisses, loud enough for the whole rink to hear.
“Yeah, Bud?” I take the sweaty helmet he hands me and drop it into his unzipped bag.
“Drew has a surprise for me. He said he wants to give it to me before tomorrow night’s game. We’re going to that, right?”
“The home opener? Yeah, definitely.” Now that Graham’s so into hockey, I’m super thankful that Jameson got us season tickets.
“So can he give it to me tonight?” Graham asks as he takes off his jersey and starts unstrapping his pads.
“Sure, I guess so.”
“Can we meet him outside? He said he left it in his car because he didn’t want anyone else to see and get jealous.”
I glance around and notice how many pairs of eyes are trained on Jameson and Drew. The moms who used to show up for these freezing cold practices in sweats suddenly look like they’re ready to go out for the night—full faces of makeup and everything. I noticed the shift when Jameson started coaching, but it’s amplified now that Drew is here too. Even the dads are looking at the former and current NHL players like they’re a tad starstruck.
“Alright,” I say as I continue packing away each piece of Graham’s gear as he strips it off. Drew ambles over as Graham takes off his skates, and even though I’m standing on the first elevated level of seats, I still have to tilt my head up a bit to look him in the eye.
“Hey.” How does one word manage to carry so much meaning? Or am I imagining the heat behind the word, and the effort it’s taking to hold his emotion in?
A few nights ago, he swore he was going to prove to me he was ready for a relationship, and last night when I saw him outside the dance studio, I could have burned up with the heatedlook in his eyes. It’s impossible to tell if his feelings for me are purely sexual, or if there’s truly more there, because whenever I’m around him, I, too, can’t resist the pull of attraction. But does that mean that’s all there is? Figuring out my feelings for him, and his for me, is fucking confusing.
“Hey,” I reply, but the word comes out breathy and full of the longing I’m feeling now that he’s standing in front of me.
He leans in a bit closer, and I can picture everyone in the rink staring at us. I’m almost positive that’s what is happening behind me. “Meet me at my Jeep?”
“Sure,” I say, and he gives me a satisfied smile as he turns to leave. It has me picturing the way he looked at me when we had sex on the stairs the other day.
“Mom?” Graham asks right as Drew walks away and my brother walks up. “Why do you have that funny look on your face?” He asks the question so earnestly that Jameson coughs out a laugh. After watching my and Drew’s interaction, I’m sure he knows exactly what’s up.
“Yeah, Audrey,” Jameson says, his voice unusually playful. “Why’s your face all flushed?”
“It’s not.”
“Does your mom always look like this when she talks to Drew?” he asks Graham. Okay, now I may actually throttle him.
“I don’t know,” Graham says with a tilt of his head. “Maybe?”
“Do you think she has a little crush on him?” Jameson asks.
I think back to how much Jules and I teased him when he first reconnected with Lauren, back when he was trying to pretend like he didn’t have feelings for her, but doing things like secretly remodeling her house, connecting her with Alessandra Jones and the Rebels, and finding her the perfect nanny for her kids so she could go back to work, all the while letting her believe he wasn’t involved.
And knowing how much shit we gave him through that is the only thing that saves me from strangling him right now.
“So, we need to get going,” I say to no one in particular. Graham reaches down to lift his hockey bag onto his shoulder, and I give Jameson my best death glare. He just smirks in response. “Are we doing Halloween this year?” I ask, hoping that I can stem the tide of our previous conversation by bringing up his favorite holiday.
“Ugh, yeah. Lauren and I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” he says. “Can we do it at our house this year? There are some other neighborhood kids that want the girls to trick-or-treat with them.”
Graham looks up at me, and for a moment, I panic, thinking he’ll want to trick-or-treat from our house, because it’s what we’ve always done, and that he’ll be disappointed if his uncle, aunt, and cousins aren’t there. But his eyes get big and hopeful, and he says, “Can we?”
“Sure.” We chat preliminary plans as we walk out of the rink, and when we step outside, Jameson takes one look at Drew, who’s leaning casually against the front of his Jeep and clearly waiting for us, and says quietly, “He better be treating you right.”
I give him a nod, but don’t trust myself to talk about this in front of Graham yet.
Jameson says, “I’ll wait for Graham at my car, okay?” and I tell him I’ll bring him right over. Graham’s spending the night at their house again. There’s no school tomorrow due to a faculty professional development day, so he’ll stay with the twins and their nanny.
Jameson heads toward his car, and I walk over to Drew while Graham runs ahead, his bag banging against him until I’m half-convinced he’s going to fall over. Drew squats down on his heels and I try not to notice the curve of his muscular thighs, but they’re the size of tree trunks and hard to miss. The two of themexchange a few words that I can’t hear, and when I get over to them, Drew takes Graham’s bag from his shoulder and sets it on the ground, then opens the front side door of his Jeep, leans across to the far side of the car, and grabs something.
He hands Graham a neatly folded piece of fabric, and when our son shakes it open, it’s a small version of Drew’s jersey. The Rebels logo is on the front, and when Graham turns it around to look at the back, JENKINS is clearly spelled out above the number 12.
