I’m going to beat Michigan today, and afterwards I’m going to win Brenna back. I don’t care if I have to throw myself at her feet and beg. I’m getting my woman back.
Although the team’s uniforms and gear were brought here ahead of time, I always have my own equipment bag with me. It’s where I keep my spare hockey tape and other random gear, and I usually toss my bracelet in there. I pull the zipper open and rummage around in search of the familiar beads. But my fingers aren’t connecting with anything.
When memory strikes, it takes a second for the horror to settle in.
I loaned the bracelet to Brenna.
And then I broke up with her without getting it back.
Fuck.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
In the back of my mind, an angry voice is demanding to know why she hadn’t contacted me in the three days since we saw each other to remind me she still has it. She knows how important it is to me and she couldn’t be bothered to make a phone call? It wouldn’t have even required seeing me. I could’ve sent Weston to pick it up.
But Mike Hollis said her heart was broken. And I’m the one who broke it. Of course she’s not going out of her way to do me a solid.
Panic swirls in my gut, and I take a series of deep breaths. Force myself calm down. It’s just a fucking bracelet. I don’t need a child’s bracelet to win this game. A bracelet didn’t get us to the regionals. A bracelet didn’t get me drafted by the Oilers. A bracelet didn’t—
“Jake.”
My head snaps toward the door. Hazel tentatively enters the room.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I croak.
“I’ll be quick, I promise. I…” She keeps walking, stopping when we’re two feet apart. Her throat works as she gulps, several times from the look of it. Then she pulls something off her wrist and holds it up.
The wave of relief that crashes into me almost knocks me off my feet. I snatch the bracelet from her grasp. It takes all my willpower not to cradle it against me and start calling it my precious. But Jesus fucking Christ. That was a scare.
“I wasn’t going to give this to you,” Hazel tells me, and the shame in her tone makes me narrow my eyes at her.
“What the hell are you talking about? How did you even get this?”
“Brenna showed up and asked me to give it to you.”
“Right now?”
Hazel slowly shakes her head. “Maybe thirty minutes ago?”
“You mean thirty minutes before we spoke outside that door?” Anger rises in my chest, burning my throat. “Are you kidding me, Hazel? You had that on your wrist when we were talking just now?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you didn’t give it to me? You wished me luck and sent me away without fucking giving it to me?”
“Let me finish,” she begs. “Please?”
Once again, I rely on willpower in order to force my trap shut. I’m going to let her finish, out of respect for a sixteen-year friendship. But I’m so furious my hands are trembling.
“I wasn’t going to give it to you because then you would’ve found out that Brenna is here,” Hazel whispers.
My heart beats faster. Not from anger this time, but at the notion that Brenna is here. Even after I broke her heart, she still drove all this way to return my good-luck charm.
“But then I realized not only would that make me the worst friend in the world, it would make me an unbelievably shitty person. Messing with your ritual to try to keep you away from her? Because I’m jealous of her?” Hazel avoids my incredulous gaze. “There’d be no coming back from that.”
My stomach churns. This is not a conversation I want to be having right now. At least not with Hazel. Now that I know Brenna is somewhere in this arena, she’s the only one I care to talk to.
“I’ve always had a thing for you,” Hazel confesses.
Crap. Well, I can’t leave now.
And her confession takes so much balls I can’t help but admire her. “Hazel,” I start, my tone rough.
“It’s stupid, I know. But it’s hard not to develop feelings for the Jake Connelly, you know?” A sad half-smile lifts one corner of her mouth. “And I’m well aware that you only see me as a friend, but I guess a part of me always thought it would be like one of those cheesy rom coms, where you woke up one day and realized I was the one you wanted all along. But that’s not going to happen.”
No, it won’t.
I don’t voice the confirmation, because I don’t want to hurt her any more than she’s clearly already hurting. But I know she sees the truth in my eyes. I don’t feel a spark toward Hazel, only platonic love. Even if I weren’t in love with somebody else, there could never be anything between us.
“I’m so sorry, Jake.” Genuine remorse floods her expression. “You have every right to be pissed at me. But I hope the fact that I came back to return the bracelet, and to tell you that Brenna is here, might make up for me not returning it to you before. I messed up. I had a selfish moment, and I’m owning that.” She stares down at the floor. “I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
“You won’t.”
Her shocked gaze flies to mine. “I won’t?”
“Of course not.” I sigh. “We’ve known each other forever, Hazel. I’m not going to throw away years of friendship because you screwed up. I accept your apology.”
She slumps with relief.
“But if you’re truly my friend, you’ll make a sincere effort to get to know Brenna. I think you’d actually really like her. And if you don’t, then fucking fake it.” I tip my head in challenge. “If you were dating someone I didn’t like, I’d fake it for you. I’d support you no matter what.”
“I know you would. You’re one of the best people I know.” Hazel fumbles in her green canvas purse for her phone. “I know you forgot yours at home, but I can find her on social media and—”
“Who?”
“Brenna,” Hazel says. “She came all this way to return your bracelet, and she gave it to me instead of giving it to you herself, which tells me there’s trouble in paradise. And there’s no way you’re putting one skate on the ice until you fix whatever’s wrong.” She unlocks her password screen, her silver thumb rings clicking against the side of the case. “Is she on Facebook or Insta? You can DM her from my phone.”
“We don’t need social media. I have her number memorized.”
“Really? You memorized her number?”
I nod.
“Wow. I don’t even have my own mother’s number memorized.”
I respond with an awkward shrug. “I wanted it to be in my brain in case I ever lost it.”
Hazel goes quiet.
“What?” I say defensively.
“It’s just…” She looks oddly impressed. “You really are in love, huh?”
“Yeah. I am.”
41
Brenna
Since it’s sacrilege not to make use of a perfectly good pair of hockey tickets, Dad and I end up sticking around in Worcester. We’re in the standing-room-only section of the arena, which happens to be near one of the cameras that are set up on the perimeter of the rink to capture and televise the game. I spot a cameraman in a HockeyNet jacket and wonder who Mulder sent to cover the game. Kip and Trevor don’t report live, so Geoff Magnolia probably got the gig.
I know who Mulder didn’t send: Georgia Barnes. I mean, come on. Vaginas and sports? The horror.
A lanky man in a suit approaches the cameraman, and I curse softly under my breath. Not softly enough, because Dad glances up from the email he was answering on his phone.
“What is it?”
“Geoff Magnolia,” I grumble, nodding discreetly toward the cameras. “That’s who HockeyNet assigned to cover this.”
Like me, Dad also isn’t a fan of Magnolia’s reporting. He follows my gaze. “Huh. He got a haircut. Looks like shit.”
Laughter bubbles in my throat. “Dad. Since when are you so snarky?”
“What? It’s a shitty
haircut.”
“Meow.”
“Can it, Brenna.”
I watch as Magnolia converses with his cameraman. He uses a lot of hand gestures. It’s distracting. Thankfully, he never does that on camera.
“You know what? Screw HockeyNet,” I say. “I’m applying at ESPN this fall. They have a way better track record of hiring women. And if I intern there, that means I don’t ever have to see Ed Mulder again. Or that tool over there.”
I glance at Magnolia again, and oh my God—he’s drinking coffee out of a straw. Or if not coffee, it’s at least a hot drink, because steam is rising from the liquid.
“Ugh. I take it back. He’s not a tool. Tools are actually useful. That man is not.”
“And I’m snarky?” my father demands. “Take a good look in the mirror, Peaches.”
“Can it, old man.”
He howls with laughter, and then returns to his emails.
As I crane my neck trying to pick out any familiar faces in the stands, my phone rings. I peer down, register the unfamiliar number on the screen, and hit ignore.
Three seconds later, a text pops up.
Hey, it’s Jake’s friend Hazel. He gave me your number. He’s in the locker room and desperately needs to see you.
I frown at the message. I don’t know why, but this feels like a trap. Like she’s luring me into the locker room so she could…what? Beat me up with a hockey stick? I resist the urge to roll my eyes at myself. My paranoia is a bit absurd.
“Dad, hey, do you mind if I go talk to Jake for a minute?”
His head pops up from his phone. “How’d that happen?”
I hold up my own phone. “He says he wants to talk.”
Dad thinks this over for a second. Then he shrugs. “Give him hell.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
“That’s my girl.” He pauses for another beat, and his tone becomes brusque. “If the outcome of this chat results in my daughter coming back here with a boyfriend, then tell that boyfriend he’s invited to dinner tonight.”
My jaw drops, but I don’t question him or attempt to discuss this unexpected invitation, because I have no idea why Jake even wants to see me.
And why am I racing to see him, I ask myself a minute later, after I’ve burst through a second set of doors. My step stutters in the middle of the hallway.
Jake broke up with me. I shouldn’t be running back to him so eagerly. And what if he’s only summoning me to say thanks for returning his bracelet? That would be so humiliating. I don’t need his gratitude. I need his…
His what?
I don’t even know. I mean, my heart certainly knows what it wants. It wants Jake Connelly. But news flash—my heart is reckless and stupid. It doesn’t look out for itself, which means I have to look out for it.
When I reach the locker room area, there isn’t a security guard in sight. I’m not sure which door leads to the Harvard locker room, so like a total fool I call out, “Jake?”
One of the doors to my left immediately swings open. I half expect Hazel to be on the other side of it, but she’s not. It’s Jake, and his forest-green eyes soften at the sight of me.
“You came. I wasn’t sure if you would.” He opens the door wider so I can come in.
I follow him inside. The game doesn’t start for another forty-five minutes, but it’s still weird to see the locker room empty. The wide wooden lockers spanning the walls are neat and tidy, uniforms and padding hung up and waiting for Jake and his teammates.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask when my gaze returns to his.
“In her seat, I assume. I’m sorry I had to text you from her phone, but I forgot mine at home.”
“Ah. That’s why you didn’t respond to any of my messages about your bracelet.” I nod at his wrist, relieved to see the familiar pink and purple beads. “I see you got it, though. Good.”
“Almost didn’t,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. We don’t have a lot of time before the team arrives, so let’s not waste it on a stupid bracelet.”
My eyebrows fly up. “A stupid bracelet? You’re talking about your good-luck charm here, Jakey. Show some respect.”
A huge smile stretches across his handsome face.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask suspiciously.
“Sorry. I just missed hearing it.”
“Hearing what?”
“Jakey.” He shrugs adorably. “I’d gotten used to it. I don’t even care if it’s a jab. I’m digging it.”
I take an awkward step backward. “Why did you ask me to come?”
“Because…” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair.
I’m slowly beginning to lose patience. “You broke up with me, Jake. Remember? You said you didn’t want to see me anymore and that I was a distraction, and now you’re dragging me to the locker room before such a crucial game? How is this not a distraction? What do you want from me?”
“You,” he blurts out.
“Me, what?”
“That’s what I want. I want you,” he says simply.
I stare at him in disbelief. “You dumped me.”
“I know, and I’m so fucking sorry. I was a moron. And I was selfish. And…” He swallows. “I was a coward, okay? No other way around it. I’ve always been selfish, but the one thing I’ve never been is a coward, and that’s why I broke up with you. Because I was scared shitless. I’ve never been in a relationship before and I was feeling pressured.”
“Pressured how?” I’m confused for a moment, until I realize a bleak truth. “Oh. I get it. I told you about the miscarriage and everything that happened, and…I became some sort of emotional burden for you—is that it?”
“What? No, not at all,” he exclaims. “I promise, that’s not it. I was happy when you opened up to me. I was waiting so long for you to do that, and then when you finally did, it was like…” His gaze softens again. “It felt good to be trusted, especially by you. I know you don’t trust a lot of people.”
“No,” I say pointedly. “I don’t.”
“The pressure I felt was more about relationships in general. I was stressing over how we would make it work when I’m in Edmonton, how I could make you a priority, how we’d cope with not being able to see each other that much. I could list a bunch of other things, but it all boils down to…I had a panic attack.” He sighs. “Men are stupid, remember?”
I can’t help but smirk.
“I was stupid. And now I’m asking for your forgiveness.” He hesitates. “And I’m asking you to give me another chance.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I love you.”
My heart expands in my chest, and for a moment I worry it might burst through my rib cage. Hearing those three words come out of Jake Connelly’s beautiful mouth triggers a wave of emotion that I desperately try to suppress.
“You hurt me,” I say softly.
This time, my vulnerability is not thrown back in my face. “I know I did. And you can’t even imagine how awful I feel about that. But I can’t change it. All I can say is that I’m sorry, and that I’ll do everything in my power to never hurt you again.”
I can’t answer. My throat is too thick with emotion.
“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg. If you want me to jump through hoops, bring them on. I’ll spend every waking hour until I have to report to training camp proving to you how much you mean to me.” His teeth dig into his lower lip. “Proving that I’m worthy of you.”
I feel my own lips start to tremble and pray to God I don’t cry. “Fucking hell, Jake.”
“What?” His voice is hoarse.
“Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before.” Not even Eric, in all the months and years he spent trying to win me back. Eric tossed out phrases like I’m the one for you and you can’t do this to me. Not once did he offer to spend even a fraction of a second proving that he was worthy of me.
“Every
word is the truth,” Jake says simply. “I fucked up. I love you. And I want you back.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Even though I have another year left of college?”
He offers a half-smile. “My rookie season is going to be brutal, babe. Time-consuming. It’ll probably be better for us if you’re also busy, right?”
He has a point.
“We can make it work. If we truly want to be in a relationship, then we’ll make that relationship work. The question is, do you want it?” He hesitates again. “Do you want me?”
The stark emotion contained in that one question robs me of breath. The words are so raw—do you want me? It’s not the hour-long confession I gave the other night, but that doesn’t make him any less exposed. All of his insecurities are revealed in his eyes, the hope, the regret, the fear that I might reject him. And, oddly enough, I also glimpse that familiar Connelly confidence. This man is even secure about being insecure, and damned if that doesn’t make me love him even more.
“I want you.” I clear my throat, because I sound like I’ve been chain-smoking for a week straight. “Of course I want you.” I exhale in a fast burst. “I love you, Jake.”
The last boy I said those words to chose himself over me, repeatedly, and without a second’s thought.
But the man I’m saying them to now? I have faith that he’ll always choose me, always choose us.
“I love you, too,” he whispers, and the next thing I know he’s kissing me and, oh my gosh, I missed this so much.
It’s only been a few days, but it feels like years since Jake’s warm lips were pressed up against mine. I loop my arms around his neck, kissing him back hungrily until his husky groan bounces off the locker room walls.
“Christ,” he chokes out. “We gotta stop that. Now.” He glances at his crotch. “Fuck. Too late.”
I follow his gaze and laugh when I notice the massive erection straining behind his zipper. “Control yourself, Jakey. You’re about to play hockey.”
“Don’t you know? Hockey players are passionate and aggressive,” he says silkily.
“Ha. Right. I totally forgot.” There’s a big, dumb smile on my face, and it refuses to subside. I’m overflowing with happiness, a state of being that is completely foreign to me. I’m not sure I like it.
The Risk: Briar U Page 36