She raises an eyebrow. “You are. But fine, I won’t tell anyone.” Then she nudges me with a gleam in her eye. “He did good, huh?”
I arch a brow. “Who?”
“Oh, please.” She leans in conspiratorially. “The six-foot-three goalie who caught you crying in my office weeks ago about this gala and decided to make it his personal mission to ensure it was successful?”
My lips twitch. “You’re reaching, Heids.”
“Sure I am. Because every pro athlete we’ve ever met has been this invested in the outcome of a fundraiser. To the point where they bring you coffee unannounced…”
“It’s not like that.”
“Maybe not yet.” She clinks her glass gently against mine. “But the night’s still young.”
I shake my head and take a sip. I don’t drink often, not because I can’t, but because I usually don’t have the time or the bandwidth. Or an excuse.
Tonight, I have all three. And I need to take the edge off.
After speeches and a hilarious round of auction bidding from the most competitive athletes known to man, I find myself in a corner alone, setting down my empty glass.
“Doin’ okay, Doc?”
Reid sits down on the stool next to mine, and I watch as he eases his leg out in front of him. He slides me a fresh flute of champagne, and I take it with a nod.
“You brought half the city’s pro league,” I say under my breath.
He shrugs.“You’re welcome.”
I narrow my eyes. “How did you even get them to show?”
“Asked.”
“Just like that?”
He hums. “I said it was for a sick kid, and they said yes.”
I don’t believe him, not fully, and he knows it.
“I might’ve promised there’d be good catering, too,” he admits. “And… you said he liked mascots.”
I blink. “Levi?”
Reid nods once, slowly rising from his stool and smirking over his shoulder at me as he walks toward a side door.
“So I thought I’d give the kid a show.”
I barely have time to register what Reid’s saying before the room erupts. It starts with a shriek. A high-pitched, ecstatic, unrestrained one. Definitely Levi’s.
I turn just in time to see Thunder, the Colorado Storm mascot, barrel through the side doors in full regalia, arms flung wide.
“Thunder! Hi!!” Levi cheers, happiness written all over his face.
Thunder drops to one knee in front of him, taps his oversized glove to his chest, then points at Levi like he’s the only one in the room. And at this moment, he is. Every set of eyes is on this kid. Levi squeals with full-body joy, clapping his hands as Thunder pulls out a mini Storm jersey with his name on the back.
I feel it then. Not tears, but this sharp, hollow ache in my chest. Before I can process it, the doors swing open again.
The Denver Miners mascot strides in with exaggerated swagger and all bravado, flexing to the crowd. The reaction doubles, and the phones start to come out. Then the Denver Mustangs mascot, an oversized horse, charges in like he’s late to a brawl, skidding to a stop near the bar and doing an over-the-top bow that sends the room into hysterics.
And just when I think my brain can’t keep up anymore, the Denver Dynamite mascot appears, a neon-haired fireball,flipping a soccer ball into the air and trapping it effortlessly on one knee before they start breakdancing.
