She mimics Caleb McDaniels’ wife’s southern accent and ends the interpretation with a high-pitched laugh which I’m assuming is what Jaymee McDaniels does. Tenley drops her head into her hands dramatically. “She’s the only one that really annoys me and Liv keeps me from nipping at her like an angry Pitbull.”
“You can stay home, you know?” I remind her as I finish the last of my pre-game meal. “I won’t mind and the doc crew must have more than enough crap on us that they don’t have to film you every game.”
I carry my dishes to the sink as she shakes her head. “I want to go. My brother is about to win round two tonight. A step closer to back-to-back Cups. My parents can’t be here, because Mom rightfully won’t leave Aunt Callie’s side, so I have to be. And Liv made me promise to cheer on your brother for her too.”
I nod. I hate the tiny sting I feel deep in my chest when Tenley’s answer doesn’t involve wanting to support me. She drums her fingers on the island countertop and my eyes land on her bare ring finger. The conversation between her and Fisher earlier flashes through my head. I open the cupboard where she stuck the ring box.
"I have to go to this WAG meeting if you guys win this series," Tenley explains. "During the conference finals, we have to start planning your day with the Cup."
“That soon?”
She nods.
“Who planned it for you last season?” I give her a sheepish smile and she answers her own question. “Your mom.”
She laughs. I sit back down next to her at the island and drop the ring box on the counter between us. She leans away from it like it’s possessed and might attack her. “Jesus Ten, it’s just jewelry.”
“Yeah but… I mean…” She shakes her head. “We’re taking it a little far, aren’t we?”
“We’re living together and fucking on the regular,” I remind her. “And you think the ring is too far?”
“It feels official.”
“The license was the official part. If it helps, I can get you drunk before I put it on your finger so you don’t remember that either,” I joke and she flips me the bird. “Wrong finger.”
I take the ring from the box and reach for her hand. She yanks it back and jumps off the stool. “You can’t slide it on my finger. That’s super cheesy and weird. And romantic, which is inappropriate.”
My God, she's ridiculously uncomfortable right now and I'm enjoying the hell out of it. I stand up and walk toward her. With every step I take forward, she takes one back until we're standing in the living room and her calves are butting up against the coffee table so she can't keep moving away. I hold up the ring and start to lower myself to one knee. “Tenley Jennifer Garrison, will you do me the absolute?—”
Tenley lets out a blood-curdling scream like I just turned into a giant spider, in a Michael Myers mask, holding a machete. I’m laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes and can barely get off the floor. Also, ouch, why is my leg throbbing again? I make it to my feet and she’s grabbed a pillow off the couch and proceeds to whack me with it, repeatedly, until I steal it from her. She lunges to grab it back. We’re a tangle of limbs and I finally drop the pillow and grab her arm, tugging her into me. She stares up at me, unamused by how amused I am.
I tilt my head and kiss her, deeply. It really shouldn't feel this good. When I break the kiss I take her hand, turn it over, and place the ring in the center of her palm. "Wear the damn thing. I promise it means nothing."
Then I step away and head to the front hall to find my lucky toque, ignoring the fact that the promise that just left my mouth felt as fake as Fox News.
Chapter 20
Nash
I’m taping my stick, concentrating on it like I’m performing surgery. The guys chatter around me in the locker room. The energy in is high and the chatter is chaotic. Guys are rambling on about everything from game strategy to what they want to eat after the game to what new injury they’ve got. I’ve already been to see Gabby, who gave me a freezing injection in my leg. I got the new x-ray done this morning and the team doctor is waiting on it to review.
With my stick perfectly taped I carry it out to the bench. The doors to the arena aren't open yet. The place doesn't have a single person in the arena seating. I make my way to the bench. The assistant equipment manager is there setting everything up and I hand him my stick, same as always. He thanks me, same as always, and then I make my way back down the tunnel to the main corridor. I pull my earbuds out of my warmup jacket pocket and do the one ritual I don't tell anyone about because I just don't want the ridicule. I take the elevator up to the empty main concourse area, use my Apple Watch to pull up the Mel Robbins podcast, and start my walk.
I would never tell a soul, because guys in this league balk at mental health stuff… or at least about talking about it aloud, but this woman and her podcasts really seem to help my game and my life. This particular talk is about the spotlight effect and I’m so engrossed in it as I circle the main concourse that I don’t even notice Bryce Achilles there until I almost walk right into him.
“Hey! Sorry!” I jump back, pausing my podcast. I realize he’s holding a beverage from one of the concession stands and I smile. “Still drinking a root beer before the game?”
He chuckles and shrugs. “You’re not the only one with superstitions.”
We stare at each other. He gives his waxy paper cup a jostle, like he’s stirring it. The ice rattles. “I’d say have a good game but it’s counterproductive.”
I laugh. “Yeah. I get it.”
“I have to say though… I… hope whatever happens tonight, we can hang out for a beer or maybe a round of golf this summer,” Bryce suggests.
“You heading back to Nova Scotia? You still based there?”
He nods. “I know you guys tend to summer in New Brunswick more than Nova Scotia but if you’re ever out my way…”
