He turned the music up so Niko could return to talking with his friends, and tried to focus on the road.
Chapter 2
Quinn
To many, spending time in the so-calledboy aquariumwould be a dream come true. Rugged, sweaty men exercising, doing sometimes lewd stretches, and generally acting like a bunch of intense, competitive golden retrievers certainly had its appeal, but for Quinn, it brought him right back to high school.
As he weaved through a crowd of increasingly loud, half-drunk sports fans, that old, familiar anxiety began to creep back in.
Why was he even here? He could have put the game on at home and finished working on his thesis. Watching counted, right? He didn’t need to show up.
But he’d promised Eren, and out of all the golden retrievers on the team, Quinn did have a soft spot forone.
Thank god Eren had gotten him box seats with the WAGs. As much as being around them gave the sense of not wanting tomingle with the peasants,it gave Quinn a secure area to put space between himself and the noise level.
Though Quinn still winced when the horns blasted, and the lights flashed, announcing the start of the game in five minutes.
Finally, with help from an attendant, he found the elevator that brought him up to the team box. He was forced to let go of the two little hands he was holding or risk being dragged along by his screaming nieces.
It was a spacious, comfortable area, with TVs set up along the back near the food and drink tables, and plenty of balcony seating that offered a clear view of the game. A dozen people were already there, a few kids as well, and Quinn breathed a sigh of relief when the girls quickly introduced themselves and made friends.
The woman closest to the door, her honey-brown hair woven into a neat Dutch braid, caught his eye, and he noticed hers widening in return.
Quinn assumed he looked like a mess. He could feel himself sweating from stress, only slightly easing now that he had found his destination. He was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. People who were married or sleeping with NHL players, of which he was neither.
“Hi!” she called as she stepped toward him. He couldn’t help but notice her jacket—last year’s WAG edition, a sleek, dark navy tribute to the team, with ‘Bigfoots’ embroidered in flowing cursive. It looked less like sportswear and more like something off the rack at Louis Vuitton, but the number 31 stitched along the sleeve gave him an idea of who she was with.
Not that knowing the number would help Quinn. He didn’t even know what number Eren was.
Yes, he would much rather be home studying some of this shit instead of throwing himself into the lion’s den.
Up close, the woman was even more striking. Her makeup was minimal, giving her a naturally fresh-faced glow, especially compared to Quinn, who was dripping with sweat.
“You must be Quincey. I heard through the grapevine that you might make an appearance.”
Hearing his given name, if anything, gave him the mental clarity to get his shit together.
He breathed out a laugh and said, “Oh fuck, call me Quinn, please. Quincey is just…no.”
She grinned. “I know the feeling. My parents had the audacity to name me Beatrice.”
“Oomph.” Quinn couldn’t hide his sympathetic grimace. “Was it at least after a grandmother or an old aunt?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Nope, they just liked it.” She looked toward the girls, her eyes softening as she smiled at the six-year-olds who were undisturbed by all the ruckus. “They’ve gotten so big.”
Something settled in his chest, a small soothing touch to his frayed nerves. In the chaos of his life and the madness he’d stumbled into, he’d forgotten that these people had known his sister.
For the first time in weeks, Quinn felt less like a fish out of water.
“Call me Bea,” she grinned, turning back to face Quinn. “Let’s find a spot to sit and get some food. Those two will start asking for hot dogs the second we get comfortable.”
Quinn let her guide him to the balcony, seating him while she and another woman fussed over hot dogs for him and his nieces. Their kindness shocked him so much that he stayed frozen, fighting back tears as he watched these strangers care for two of the most important people in his life.
Once the squealing children were happily settled in the front row, munching their snacks, Quinn allowed himself to relax and soak in themoment. The game was starting, and the crowd erupted as their team was announced. Vancouver really did love their hockey.
Bea returned, balancing a toddler on her hip, two coolers in hand, with an attendant close behind. The helper quickly set up a tray table and arranged a few plates of food.
“This is Tate,” she said, setting the boy, who was about three, onto another chair and handing him a sippy cup. He was adorable with his bright red cheeks and blond hair, and he definitely took after his mother.
