He nods so hard his helmet shifts again. I adjust it for him, then show him how to bend his knees lower to keep his center of gravity down. He tries it and manages three full strides without falling, then falls anyway and laughs, and I laugh, too, because this kid is the best person I’ve met all week. I look up, and Collette is on the boards filming, but the camera is lowered, and she’s just watching. The look she gives me isn’t the normal content creator expression, it’s something else, something soft and unguarded that she’d never let me see if she knew I was looking.Don’t read too much into it.
Later, after the clinic wraps and the kids have gone home with foam pucks, autographs, and stories they’ll probably tell for years, she finds me in the corridor.
“You’re good with kids,” she says.
“It’s because I have the maturity of one,” I joke.
She doesn’t laugh, she just looks at me with those hazel eyes, steady and serious. “No. You’re really good with them, Fish.”
The way she says it, like it matters, like she’s filing it away somewhere important, makes me feel like I’ve just scored the game-winning goal in overtime.
“You’ll be a great dad someday,” she tells me. Her comment surprises me. “I mean, if you want kids, that is.”
“Yeah, I want kids. I want a whole hockey team,” I tell her.
“Not sure if your future wife would feel the same,” she jokes.
This makes me smile. “What do you feel?”
Her brows pull together, not quite sure if she is getting where my innuendo is going. “Yeah. I’d like kids, maybe two or three, not sure.”
“Then it’s settled.” I grin. “Got to run, I’m catching up with Evan, and you know how much he hates tardiness.”
“So true. See ya,” she says as I walk away.
I’m so fucked.
21
COLLETTE
The charity gala is the kind of event that makes you feel underdressed even when you’re not. The ballroom is dripping in crystal chandeliers and white linen, and the air is filled with the scent of wealth that comes from expensive cologne, fresh flowers, and champagne that costs more per glass than most people’s weekly groceries. It benefits youth hockey programs across the city, getting kids on the ice who couldn’t otherwise afford it, which is the only reason I’m not complaining about being here on a Friday night in heels that are already cutting into my feet.
Renee wanted full coverage tonight, red carpet arrivals, the dinner, the bachelor auction, the dancing, all of it. So, the girls and I are in work mode, cameras charged, dressed in outfits that walk the line between professional and glamorous because you can’t film a gala in jeans. I’m in a fitted black dress that Zara talked me into during a shopping expedition one lunch hour and heels that I’m going to regret by ten o’clock. Marlowe has the main camera. Billie is on the mini mic. Zara is coordinating with the event team. And I’m running the candids with my phone.
The bigger challenge tonight wasn’t the event, it was getting Jo here.
My sister wanted to stay home in her sweats and watch TV because Jo’s idea of a perfect Friday night involves zero people and maximum solitude. She’s been working with the team for weeks now, and is brilliant at her job, but socializing outside of work hours is not her thing. I showed up at her bedroom door an hour ago with a black dress and a look that said,‘This is not negotiable.’And now she’s here, in the black dress that clings to every curve she pretends she doesn’t have, her dark hair down in soft waves, and gold earrings catching the light. She looks stunning. She also looks like she wants to murder me, which is fair.
“I hate you for this,” she mutters as we walk into the ballroom.
“You look incredible, now shut up and drink your champagne.”
The red carpetis controlled chaos. Players arrive in suits, some with dates, some without, all of them looking like they were built in a factory specifically to wear formalwear. I catch the arrivals on camera, quick hits for the fans. Pierre and Issy arrive looking like they should be on the cover of a magazine. Felix and Harper are right behind them, Harper in something designer that makes every woman in the room quietly hate her. Emmett walks in with Sully, both in dark suits, Emmett looking like he’d rather be having dental surgery. Sully looks like he’s about to charm the entire ballroom, which he probably will. Bouch arrives in a red velvet tuxedo, it’s a bold choice. Nelly is in something very European with sparkles on his tuxedo, which somehow works.Next, Evan walks in looking like a hitman at a society party, wearing an all-black tuxedo, zero expression, and I swear two women physically step back when he passes.
Then Fish walks in, and I forget I’m holding my phone and supposed to be getting scenes of the guys arriving.
He’s in a tuxedo.A tuxedo.The kind that fits like it was sewn onto his body, with a black bow tie and his hair pushed back, making him look like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine that I would buy and hide under my bed. He spots me as he walks the red carpet and gives me that grin.The real one.Not the camera grin, not the charming-the-public grin.Mine.The one that’s slightly crooked and makes something behind my ribs flip over.Friends. You are friends.I raise my phone and catch him walking in. He plays to it, adjusts his bow tie, and does a little turn. The fans are going to lose their minds. I lower the phone, and he winks at me as he passes, and I hate that it works. I hate that a wink from this man can undo three months of carefully constructed emotional boundaries.
“Are you blushing?” Zara says beside me.
“It was the champagne I had earlier,” I tell her, but she doesn’t look convinced.
Dinner isa three-course affair at round tables with gold centerpieces and candles that make everyone look like they’re in a perfume commercial. I’m seated near the back with the girls because we’re working, not socializing, but I have a clear view of the room. Jo is at a table with our brothers. I watch her scan the room when she thinks nobody is looking, and I notice her eyes land on Emmett’s table more than once.Interesting.
Fish is across the room with Bouch, Nelly, Evan, and Sully. The brunette who’s been circling him since cocktail hour is at the next table, and she keeps turning in her chair to talk to him. She’s gorgeous, tall, with dark hair, and red lips, the kind of woman who walks into a room and every head turns. She’s touching his arm, and he’s laughing at something she said.I don’t care. He’s single as am I.I force myself to eat my salmon and focus on the content plan for the rest of the night.
“And now,ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for!” The MC’s voice booms through the speakers. “Our bachelor auction!”