I chuckle before leading her between two of the buildings. The alleyway is dark and a little dirty. The smell leaves plenty to be desired, and it’s not anywhere I’d want her to be alone. But while she’s by my side, I don’t worry.
“Right in here,” I say, coming to stop at a dank set of double doors.
“What on earth is this place?” she asks as I push the door open and gesture for her to step inside.
The noise level instantly increases as the sound of clattering pots and pans blends with a mixture of conversations.
“It’s a shelter,” I explain as I open the next doors, revealing a whole host of people who come here for food on a daily basis.
“Uh…okay.”
Her eyes scan the room, taking everything in.
“Not what you were expecting?” I ask. I don’t know why surprising her feels so good, but it does.
“I mean, I didn’t really know what to expect. But if I had to guess, this wouldn’t have been anywhere close. So what are we doing?”
“I volunteer here a couple of times a week, serving meals and chatting to everyone.”
She nods, taking in my words as we move through the room.
As soon as people see me, they smile and wave.
I’m sure to some of them, I’m Handsy, the LA Vipers’ goalie. But to most, I’m Cole. A man who treats them as an equal. Who spends time listening to their stories and, hopefully, making them feel seen and worthy.
Freya doesn’t say anything as we approach the kitchen, but there's something in me that needs to share a little of my truth with her, and before I know what’s happening, words are pouring from my lips.
“I know what it’s like to have nothing and no one. It’s not a place anyone should ever be. So I come here as often as I can in the hope I can help even one person feel less alone in the world.”
25
FREYA
Ishake my head, trying to clear my racing thoughts.
“Cole, what does?—”
“Cole, my man,” a guy shouts as he emerges from what I assume is a kitchen at the back of the huge room.
The row of people serving food quickly look up, followed by everyone else.
The moment they recognize Cole, their faces light up. It’s different from the looks of awe I’ve seen at the arena, though. They’re not enthralled because he’s incredible at his job. Okay, I’m sure there is an element of that, but they’re excited to see him because of who he is as a person, not a player.
I glance at the man in question just in time to see him almost sheepishly lift his hand to greet everyone.
If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t think that it was possible for this giant of a man to be bashful. But he totally is.
Like all the players on the team, he’s had media training. I’ve seen him doing post-game interviews. While he might not be the most enthusiastic in front of a camera—that award definitely goes to either Linc or Killer—Cole is still strong, confident, and professional. All that seems to have been forgotten as his cheeks burn a shade brighter.
“Incredible game last night,” the guy continues as he closes in on us.
“Uh, yeah. It wasn’t too bad,” Cole mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jet, this is Freya,” he says, successfully changing the conversation.
Jet’s eyes find mine, and a smile curls at his lips. “I see,” he says, looking entirely too smug about my presence. “And who is Freya? You haven’t been holding out on me, have you, bro?”
Cole shakes his head. “Freya is my chef.”
Jet’s eyes widen. “Chef? Well, why didn’t you say that sooner? You know we need all the help we can get around here.”
