Center Ice (Boston Rebels Book 1)

The way Drew practically swaggers off the ice at the end of Graham’s hockey practice has me clenching my thighs together.

For the last hour and a half, I’ve sat in these stands, trying not to marvel at how a two-hundred-pound man who’s over six feet tall can look so fucking graceful on thin blades gliding across the ice. He shouldn’t be able to move like that—to pivot all that weight and speed so quickly, to stretch and bend like his body is elastic, or handle a tiny puck with enough finesse that he can slap it into whatever corner of the goal he claims he’s sending it to.

I’ve always enjoyed hockey, but watching Drew play is something else. And watching him share his love of the sport as he shows our kid how to play is a next-level turn-on.

Drew’s hand is on Graham’s shoulder as they step off the ice, then Graham looks up at Drew and says something. Drew nods, then peels off toward his bag. Jameson follows him, and the two chat as they take off their skates. I’m trying to judge if the conversation is more friendly than the last time I saw them together, but my attention is drawn back to Graham as he rushes up to me.

“Mom,” he whisper-hisses, loud enough for the whole rink to hear.

“Yeah, Bud?” I take the sweaty helmet he hands me and drop it into his unzipped bag.

“Drew has a surprise for me. He said he wants to give it to me before tomorrow night’s game. We’re going to that, right?”

“The home opener? Yeah, definitely.” Now that Graham’s so into hockey, I’m super thankful that Jameson got us season tickets.

“So can he give it to me tonight?” Graham asks as he takes off his jersey and starts unstrapping his pads.

“Sure, I guess so.”

“Can we meet him outside? He said he left it in his car because he didn’t want anyone else to see and get jealous.”

I glance around and notice how many pairs of eyes are trained on Jameson and Drew. The moms who used to show up for these freezing cold practices in sweats suddenly look like they’re ready to go out for the night—full faces of makeup and everything. I noticed the shift when Jameson started coaching, but it’s amplified now that Drew is here too. Even the dads are looking at the former and current NHL players like they’re a tad starstruck.

“Alright,” I say as I continue packing away each piece of Graham’s gear as he strips it off. Drew ambles over as Graham takes off his skates, and even though I’m standing on the first elevated level of seats, I still have to tilt my head up a bit to look him in the eye.

“Hey.” How does one word manage to carry so much meaning? Or am I imagining the heat behind the word, and the effort it’s taking to hold his emotion in?

A few nights ago, he swore he was going to prove to me he was ready for a relationship, and last night when I saw him outside the dance studio, I could have burned up with the heated look in his eyes. It’s impossible to tell if his feelings for me are purely sexual, or if there’s truly more there, because whenever I’m around him, I, too, can’t resist the pull of attraction. But does that mean that’s all there is? Figuring out my feelings for him, and his for me, is fucking confusing.

“Hey,” I reply, but the word comes out breathy and full of the longing I’m feeling now that he’s standing in front of me.

He leans in a bit closer, and I can picture everyone in the rink staring at us. I’m almost positive that’s what is happening behind me. “Meet me at my Jeep?”

“Sure,” I say, and he gives me a satisfied smile as he turns to leave. It has me picturing the way he looked at me when we had sex on the stairs the other day.

“Mom?” Graham asks right as Drew walks away and my brother walks up. “Why do you have that funny look on your face?” He asks the question so earnestly that Jameson coughs out a laugh. After watching my and Drew’s interaction, I’m sure he knows exactly what’s up.

“Yeah, Audrey,” Jameson says, his voice unusually playful. “Why’s your face all flushed?”

“It’s not.”

“Does your mom always look like this when she talks to Drew?” he asks Graham. Okay, now I may actually throttle him.

“I don’t know,” Graham says with a tilt of his head. “Maybe?”

“Do you think she has a little crush on him?” Jameson asks.

I think back to how much Jules and I teased him when he first reconnected with Lauren, back when he was trying to pretend like he didn’t have feelings for her, but doing things like secretly remodeling her house, connecting her with Alessandra Jones and the Rebels, and finding her the perfect nanny for her kids so she could go back to work, all the while letting her believe he wasn’t involved.

And knowing how much shit we gave him through that is the only thing that saves me from strangling him right now.

“So, we need to get going,” I say to no one in particular. Graham reaches down to lift his hockey bag onto his shoulder, and I give Jameson my best death glare. He just smirks in response. “Are we doing Halloween this year?” I ask, hoping that I can stem the tide of our previous conversation by bringing up his favorite holiday.

“Ugh, yeah. Lauren and I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” he says. “Can we do it at our house this year? There are some other neighborhood kids that want the girls to trick-or-treat with them.”

Graham looks up at me, and for a moment, I panic, thinking he’ll want to trick-or-treat from our house, because it’s what we’ve always done, and that he’ll be disappointed if his uncle, aunt, and cousins aren’t there. But his eyes get big and hopeful, and he says, “Can we?”

“Sure.” We chat preliminary plans as we walk out of the rink, and when we step outside, Jameson takes one look at Drew, who’s leaning casually against the front of his Jeep and clearly waiting for us, and says quietly, “He better be treating you right.”

I give him a nod, but don’t trust myself to talk about this in front of Graham yet.

Jameson says, “I’ll wait for Graham at my car, okay?” and I tell him I’ll bring him right over. Graham’s spending the night at their house again. There’s no school tomorrow due to a faculty professional development day, so he’ll stay with the twins and their nanny.

Jameson heads toward his car, and I walk over to Drew while Graham runs ahead, his bag banging against him until I’m half-convinced he’s going to fall over. Drew squats down on his heels and I try not to notice the curve of his muscular thighs, but they’re the size of tree trunks and hard to miss. The two of them exchange a few words that I can’t hear, and when I get over to them, Drew takes Graham’s bag from his shoulder and sets it on the ground, then opens the front side door of his Jeep, leans across to the far side of the car, and grabs something.

He hands Graham a neatly folded piece of fabric, and when our son shakes it open, it’s a small version of Drew’s jersey. The Rebels logo is on the front, and when Graham turns it around to look at the back, JENKINS is clearly spelled out above the number 12.

“Is this for me to wear to the game tomorrow?” Graham asks, the excitement making his voice shake. I feel like if I were to speak right now, my voice would shake for an entirely different reason.

Drew’s eyes flick to mine, watching me swallow down my emotions, then move back to Graham. “Yeah, if you want to wear it. But if you want to keep wearing your uncle Jameson’s,” he says, and I didn’t realize he’d noticed that detail at the pre-season game we were at, “that’s okay. I just thought you might want one from me, too.”

“I’m going to put it on right now!”

As Graham slides the jersey over his head, my eyes meet Drew’s, and then I have to look away. I keep my emotions tamped down, because for Graham’s sake, I need to pretend like this is just his hockey coach giving him his jersey—rather than what it really is: Drew claiming Graham as his own.

He’s very clearly saying that Graham should be wearing his last name, not Flynn, across his back. But we haven’t told Graham yet, so Graham has no idea how or why this would be so significant.

We need to talk about how we’re going to tell him, but every time we’re together, we end up letting the attraction get the best of us—and maybe that’s part of the problem here. We have some important decisions to make about how to move forward, but we’re not making them because we’re letting our hormones take over.

“Do you think Uncle Jameson will let me sleep in it?” Graham asks, looking up at me. Behind him, Drew scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion, probably wondering why Graham is sleeping at Jameson’s.

“I think you should take it off before bed so it’s not a wrinkled mess, and then put it back on for the game tomorrow night. You want to keep it nice, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then turns and wraps his arms around Drew’s thighs, giving him a huge hug and thanking him for the jersey.

“Alright,” I say, “let’s grab your backpack with your stuff, and I’ll walk you over to Uncle Jameson’s car.”

Drew picks up the hockey bag from the pavement and follows behind us as we move two cars down to where mine is parked. There, he sets the hockey bag in my trunk and hands Drew his Spider-Man themed backpack, then he closes the hatch and leans against my car as he watches me walk over to Jameson. After I’ve safely deposited Graham in his backseat and given him hugs and kisses goodbye, I return to my car to find Drew waiting for me.

“Does this mean you’re home alone tonight?” Drew asks, his smooth voice tinged with hope.

“No, I’m going out with the girls.”

“All night?”

I know exactly what will happen if I invite him over after I get back from having drinks with my friends. And even though my thighs are already clenching together to quell the ache between them, it’s not a good idea. “Yep.”

“Alright. Well, I have something for you too,” he says, producing a gift bag from behind his back. He must have grabbed it from his car while I was dropping off Graham with Jameson.

I take the bag tentatively, wondering why he would feel the need to get me a gift. The first thing I pull out is an envelope, and when I slide the card out, there’s a handwritten note inside.

I read it, then look up at Drew, confused. “You got me a personal shopper?”

“Yeah, I use this service for grocery shopping and other errands that I don’t have time for. It’s a flat-rate per month, so you should use them as much as you want.”

“But…I’ve always grocery shopped myself and run my own errands. Why would I need someone else to do that for me?”

“Because you’re a single mom, though not for long, if I have anything to say about it”—my breath hitches at his blatant statement of intent—“and you have better things to do with your time. If you were married, there’d be someone else around to split the load with. You haven’t had that.”

“I have Jules.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you hate asking people for help, so I’m guessing you still do a lot of…everything, yourself,” he says. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I try to hide my smile. He knows me better than I realized, and he’s come up with a very thoughtful way to make my life easier. “I wanted you to have this option too, so you don’t have to feel like you’re asking people for favors.”

“My and Jules’s agreement is that I grocery shop, and she cooks. This feels like cheating.”

“Do you want me to hire a personal chef?”

The question is asked so earnestly that a laugh bursts out of me. “No, Jules loves to cook. It’s her stress relief. I think it would feel like a punishment if that was taken away from her.”

“Do you feel the same way about shopping?”

“Definitely not.” I loathe grocery shopping and errands, in general, which is why I ran out of ibuprofen before my period earlier this month.

“Good, so then put the personal shopper to use. Whatever you need—clothes, food, a pharmacy run—she can take care of it for you. And there’s something else in there,” he says, leaning an arm out and planting his hand on the frame of my SUV, right beside my head. He leans in close, and heat flashes through me as my whole body responds to his proximity.

I glance down into the bag and remove the piece of tissue paper stuffed in the top. And as I pull out a larger version of the same jersey he gave Graham, I wonder how I didn’t anticipate this. I hold the jersey bunched in my hand, the letters of his last name rippling in the crumpled fabric but visible just the same.

With a deep breath, I think about how many times I’ve worn my brother’s jersey. “I appreciate the thought, but the only name I wear on my back is my own.”

He leans in so close his lips graze my earlobe and the sparks of desire shoot straight through me. “Don’t worry, baby, one day my last name will be yours.”

“Holy shit,” Morgan says, the words rolling out slowly as she fans herself with the drink menu. I have a feeling it’s Drew’s words and not this stuffy bar or the multiple drinks the birthday girl has had that have her feeling the heat. “What did you say?”

“I don’t even know. I think I stuttered out something about needing to come meet all of you?” I can’t even think about the low rumble of laughter just under his breath as he shut my car door after I got in without my entire core clenching up in response. He knows exactly what effect he has on me.

Lauren looks at me, her blue eyes wide. “You are a fool.”

“Geez,” I tell my future sister-in-law. “Don’t hold anything back.”

She tucks her red hair back behind her ears, and then rests her elbow on the table and props her chin up on her hand. “No, really. I’m thinking about how hard I fought against my attraction to Jameson, and how confusing it was trying to figure out what his intentions were and if he was a relationship kind of guy or if he was just looking for a friends-with-benefits situation. And here you have Drew very directly claiming that he wants you, wants to raise your kid together, wants to marry you one day…and you’re still fighting this because…?”

“Because…” The word trails off as I try to think of how to explain my hesitation. “What’s it all based on? He’s been back in my life for a few weeks. How can he know this is what he wants?”

“You’ve heard of the phrase ‘love at first sight,’ right?” Morgan asks.

“But we’ve known each other since college.”

“Correction,” Jules says, rolling her eyes. “You knew each other in college, and he’s fully admitted to having feelings for you back then. Fast forward six years, and you have a kid together, and he still has those feelings, but now they’re amplified by spending time with you and Graham. Yeah,” she says, sweeping her hand through the air in front of her, like she’s shooing away my objections, “maybe it’s premature to jump from there to forever. But that doesn’t mean those feelings aren’t real.”

“Okay…and also, I’m scared,” I admit quietly.

Morgan flags down the waiter as he passes our table. “We’re going to need another round over here!”

“What, exactly, are you scared of?” Lauren asks.

“Besides getting my heart broken?” The rhetorical question comes out saltier than I’d planned, but the next words are raw and honest. “I’m afraid that if Drew and I get involved⁠—”

“You’re already involved,” Jules interjects, but I keep going.

“—and things don’t work out with us, then not only will I get hurt, but so will Graham. He doesn’t even know that Drew is his dad yet. And if we tell him, and then Drew and I are dating…I don’t want him picturing us as a happy little family if it’s not going to happen.”

“Why do you think it’s not going to happen?” Morgan asks.

“Because men leave. Even when they tell you they love you, sometimes they still leave.”

“Like your dad and Scott?” Lauren asks. I don’t even remember if I’ve ever told her about Scott, or if she’s just heard about it from Jameson.

“Who’s Scott?” Morgan asks.

I give her the quick rundown of how long we dated, and how he was like a father figure to Graham, and how much it hurt when he broke up with me and walked right out of my and Graham’s life. “I don’t think I could watch that happen again, especially not with Graham’s real dad.”

“So, are you just planning to never date again?” Jules asks. The question is flippant, but her tone isn’t. I stare at her, trying to determine if this is a legitimate question. “Because if you ever date again, there’s the possibility this could happen.”

“I think the next time I date someone, I’ll wait to introduce them to Graham.”

“You did wait with Scott,” she reminds me. “You guys were together for over six months before you introduced them.”

“And then a year and a half later, he was gone.” It still hurts when I remember how I’d take Graham for walks in the stroller, and every time he saw a white Subaru, he’d point at it and say, “Scott car?” or how he’d periodically look at me and ask, “Where Scott?” At least now, he hardly remembers him. But those first months after Scott left were especially painful and, unfortunately, I still remember it all.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” Lauren says. “But that could happen with anyone. It could happen whether you’re dating, or even when you’re married.” I watch her look away and I know she’s thinking of her late husband. “You can’t control other people’s feelings.”

“Yeah, but I do feel like I need to do everything within my power to protect Graham’s.”

“Do you think Graham is better off by you sacrificing your own happiness?” Morgan asks. “Because it kind of seems like you’re choosing to push Drew away because maybe down the road he might hurt you or Graham. But…what if he doesn’t?”

What if he does? is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it there, because my friends are right. Part of getting involved with anyone new is opening yourself up to the possibility that they might hurt you.

“Everything just feels more intense, I think, because Drew is Graham’s dad.”

“Are you planning to tell Graham soon?” Lauren asks. “I’m halfway afraid one of us is going to slip up and say something. Especially since all the adults in his life know at this point.”

“I know, and so do most of Drew’s family. He’s got a grandmother, aunts, and cousins who he’s never met. We need to tell him soon; we just haven’t talked yet about how we’re going to do that.”

Jules snickers, and we all turn toward her. Her eyes widen. “What?”

“What the hell was that?” Lauren asks with a laugh.

“I was just”—she glances at me apologetically—“thinking that if Audrey didn’t bang him every time she saw him, they could talk about this.”

“Jules!” I burst out. “What the hell? We had sex once!” Suddenly, the tables around us get quiet, and I realize how loudly I just proclaimed this fact. And my cheeks practically burst into flames when it occurs to me that half of them are probably trying to figure out if it was Jules and me who had sex, or if I’m talking about myself and someone else.

We all laugh at the awkwardness of the sudden quiet, which breaks the tension and has conversations starting up again at other tables. “So…” Morgan leans in. “Was it hot?”

“I’m not describing our sexual relationship,” I say, releasing a whoosh of a breath. “But…yes.”

“Girl, you so deserve this!” Lauren says as she reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll spare you the details, given that you’re related to my fiancé, but suffice it to say that a good sex life makes just about everything better.”

“Ewww.” Jules cringes.

“It’s not like you didn’t know they have sex,” I say and roll my eyes at what a role reversal this is. Normally, I’m the one who has a hard time talking about sex.

“I get it,” Lauren says. “This is what it’s like when Sierra talks about her sex life in front of Jackson.” Two of Lauren’s best friends are now related, since Sierra married Jackson’s little brother, Beau. “Which is why I won’t tell you how fucking unbelievable my sex life is now.”

“Lauren.” Jules groans her name out like it’s two long syllables, and then covers her ears. “Please, stop.”

Lauren laughs lightly, a satisfied smile plastered on her face. “Okay, I promise, no details.”

As the waiter returns with our drinks, we toast Morgan. She’s turning twenty-six, and even though I’m only two years older, our lives feel very different. The weight of being a single mom has…aged me?

I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that for Graham’s entire life, I’ve felt like my load was so heavy I might drop it at any moment. But the fear of everything shattering caused me to hold on tighter, push through even harder. Now that Drew is back in my life, it’s the first time in years I’ve felt like maybe I can rest—maybe I can breathe—without having to worry about everything falling apart.

And that, in and of itself, feels like a reason to give him a chance.