29
Brooke
"Just tell me that Levi doesn't have anything to worry about. Because we all know how that ended after Drew's… after last season."
"Al, I told you at the game," I say, moving toward the window, faint screeching coming from outside. "He doesn't. Drew's good. He's just… figuring some stuff out."
"Okay," she sighs. "And you? Are you good?"
"Is it supposed to rain?"
"B..."
"What? I just heard Frank yelling like he usually does like three minutes before the first roll of thunder. Man, that guy has some sort of sixth—"
"Brooke!"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Yes, I'm good."
Alex hesitates before asking again. "Are you sure? Have you heard from Ivy?"
I exhale heavily. "No, I texted the last number she messaged me from, but you know how she is. That was probably a phone she won in a poker game that she used once, then dropped into the guitar case of somesubway busker."
She laughs, and I roll my eyes at the thought. "And your mom doesn't know anything?" she asks next.
"Not that she's told me at least."
Alex is quiet in agreement on the other end of the phone. "Okay, and back to the Drew thing. How are you doing with that? Have you seen some of the headlines?"
I scoff, but swallow hard, glancing out the window just in time to see Frank's unkempt locks flopping behind him.Have I seen them?How could I not? At this point, though only temporarily, it's my job to keep up with the Flames' presence on social media. Not to mention that my phone ads and click-bait articles are now completely geared toward Golden City Hockey. Every time I open the internet, there's a new gossip headline or short clip of the game or a link to the Emma Dean interview. And the hardest part is I haven't even gotten a chance to talk to Drew about any of it.
It broke my heart to see his raw reaction online, though no one else would quite understand it. The last time I saw him was after the game, and that was before this all unfolded. But for this much to be happening because of one game is mind-blowing to me. I've read some unavoidable comments and people aren't holding back, that's for sure.
All of it only lends itself to his massive hesitation.
"People seriously need to get a life. It was three damn periods for God's sake."
Alex chuckles on the other end of the phone. "You clearly don't understand your boyfriend's influence in our city, my friend."
"He isnotmy boyfriend."I texted him earlier, and he still hasn't answered.
"That isnotthe point. B, hockey fans are intense—borderline crazy. And Drew is like some sort of god around here. It may seem like one game to you, but after last season, any off-day for Drew Anderson triggers panic."
The image of Drew from earlier flashes through my mind. The panic onhisface because of what he knew was coming—because of exactly what Alex is talking about now. These people put him on a pedestal.They see him as a hero and an icon, but what they don't realize is that he's just… human.
He's a friend, a teammate, and somebody's son. He's a guy making his living off of a sport that he loves, but that has been slowly molded into someone he hates. He's not my boyfriend despite what Alex says, but he's also whatever he is to me. And as I sit here wishing he'd text me already, I'm reminded of just how quickly the idea of that is growing on me.
"Well, I think it's bullshit," I say simply, rather than repeating all of that aloud.
Alex clicks her tongue. "And so do I, but we don't make the rules."
"Which is also bullshit."
A roll of thunder cracks through my apartment, interrupting my latest complaint. The pitter patter of rain on my windows quickly follows, and I hum through a heavy exhale as the noise fills the room. "Frank's never wrong," I say softly.
"Well, let's hope you aren't either. I'm all for you figuring this thing out with Drew, but if you know anything… please give Montgomery a heads up before it flies out of left field."
Moving toward the kitchen, I swipe the bottle of red from the counter and yank the cork out. "That's the wrong sport," I say, filling a glass. "Or the wrong brother, depending on how you look at it."
