“Yeah, he is,” I agree. Because I’m not going to deny it.
“He’ll be so excited you’re here,” he says, his smile growing.
My eyes widen a fraction. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
He laughs. “I’m Alex, Elliot’s brother-in-law.”
Oh, now it makes sense. Blaine and Alex. The two who could feature in a cheesy holiday movie. The one who helped Elliot make the cookies.
“Ah, yes. He’s mentioned you a lot.” I hold my hand out to shake. “I’m Hunter.”
He grins and shakes my hand. “I know. He’s mentioned you a lot too. I don’t think you realize the effect you have on him.”
My brows furrow. What does he mean by that? But before I can get the words out, he winks and heads back to his seat.
The effect I have on him? That could mean a million different things. Does Alex realize I’m not good enough for Elliot? He works with Lucas’s boyfriend. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s heard things about me.
I try to push it to the back of my mind as the game restarts. Columbus doesn’t let up, and Elliot works hard to stop any pucks from passing him. Blaine ends up getting a penalty for hooking, and then the Thunder’s captain, Jonathan Peyton, scores a shorthanded goal, before receiving his own two-minute minor for tripping ten seconds later.
It’s now five on three, and Elliot is surrounded. I’m on the edge of my seat as he blocks shot after shot. The defense are working twice as hard to block any advances, but one of the Columbus forwards manages to slip the puck past his top glove side, closing the gap and making it a one-goal game.
He doesn’t seem to let it faze him. He blocks every shot after letting in that one, and when the clock runs down the final few seconds to the end of the game, I’m up on my feet, along with the rest of the Thunder fans. The buzzer sounds, and my palms burn from clapping hard, my smile splitting my face in two.
The bench clears as the rest of the team heads onto the ice and skates over to Elliot. They tap their helmets against his, and his brother engulfs him in a hug. Their toothy grins are visible where they’re being shown on the jumbotron screen.
Elliot seems like the kind of guy who thrives on praise and pleasing those around him. Even through his mask, his happiness is evident, and selfishly, I want to be able to make him feel like that too.
But the world doesn’t always work out like that.
Grabbing my leather jacket from my seat, I turn to head along the row toward the steps but come to a stop when Alex steps in front of me.
“Look, I’m not going to give you the ‘you better not hurt him’ speech, as I’ll leave that to Blaine, but Elliot?” He points to the man who’s now leaving the ice. “He’s very special, and he deserves more than this world could ever give him. But the one thing I’ll say is… be patient with him. Please.”
I swallow roughly, not quite sure what to say.
“Whether something comes of this, or you just become friends, please just be patient with him,” he finishes.
“I will,” I manage.
Alex offers another smile and makes his way up the steps, leaving me standing there with a protectiveness over Elliot, and a strong desire to shield him from whatever has happened in the past to cause Alex to say that.
Chapter Eight
Hunter
“Did you have a good time?” Walt asks the second I walk into the living room after getting home from the game.
I drop onto the couch and kick my socked feet up onto the coffee table. He doesn’t take his eyes off the ’80s detective movie he’s watching, chirping under his breath about everything they’re doing wrong. I’m surprised he’s still up.
It took me a while to get out of the parking lot. What would usually be a thirty-minute drive took almost an hour. I haven’t heard from Elliot yet either, but I’m not too worried. I’ve noticed it can take a while to hear from him after a game.
“Yeah, I did,” I answer.
“So when are you gonna ask him out?” he asks without an ounce of hesitation.
He knows I’ve been talking to someone because he caught me grinning at my phone like a fool while I was texting Elliot, but I haven’t told him any details. I want to make sure I’m not imagining this connection before I get my uncle’s hopes up.
Rolling my head against the cushion, I arch a brow in his direction. “What’s with the twenty questions?”
