Four years later...

Shea

A year-and-a-half after I left Kelowna, Vancouver drafted me. The third pick in the first round overall. It was an experience to hear them say my name over the microphone. To have Brenna and KJ (who was drafted by Montréal) and my Mom and Chelsea beside me.

Making the NHL was surreal, something I didn't think was possible, despite my talents in hockey. My debut game was a shit-show, as we lost 5-2, but I managed to score a goal and gain an assist. After that, I wracked up the games, carving out a spot for myself.

Until their top player returned. Then I wasn't needed anymore. That's not the approach they took. And I agreed with the decision they made. Moving from university hockey to Abbotsford in the American Hockey League to the NHL... each league is on a different level. Stepping down, back to the AHL made me realize the complexities within the NHL. And just how hard you need to work to earn a spot. 

For another year, I was recalled then assigned to Abbotsford. I'd play several games with Vancouver's team, then go back to Abbotsford. The back-and-forth was a good thing. It improved my skills and made me strain to become a better hockey player.

Until now. At twenty-two, my spot on the team is permanent. My name is on the roster, my jersey number solidified.

Tonight's the season opener, and as I walk down the busy streets of Vancouver, breathing in salty air and the lingering scent of gasoline, I can't help but think about it. Despite meeting and making friends with plenty of the players, I feel nervous.

Nervous with a hint of pride. I'm proud I've found my place on the team. That I worked my ass off during the exhibition games. To see my name on jerseys in the stands or hear them chant my name.

As much as I was against our decision back in high school, the pact Brenna and I made has led me here. Had we not taken a break, I'm unsure about where I'd be now. If I'd be bitter about missing my shot.

Speaking of Brenna...

Staying in touch with her was easy for the first two years. Course loads weren't too heavy for her, and with hockey starting up, we could balance our time together. There were late-night Zoom calls, hook-ups during the summer (which KJ still teases me about), and lots of texting and calling. We stayed in contact. 

But the problem is, life goes on. Schedules get busy, and soon you're wondering where all the time went. We grew further apart after Abbotsford picked me up. Which is ironic considering how close Vancouver and Abbotsford are.

Constant messages turned into rare ones. Late-night Zoom calls became nonexistent. We read each other's lives through social media and news outlets. Rare meet-ups during the summer in the Okanagan. The process was gradual, but it stuck.

I run adjust my hat, side-stepping around a couple as my heart aches. My hat is pulled low, obscuring my face from surrounding citizens. I'm not in the mood to sign autographs or take photos. All I want is my usual coffee from Starbucks; I need my daily hit of caffeine.

All I want to do is think about Brenna.

Although we've grown apart, I think about her every day. Where she is. What she's doing. How excited she is about the upcoming Olympic games this winter.

I hope her life is optimal. She deserves it. I hope she's happy. 

However, the one thing I try not to think about is if she has a boyfriend. Every time a notification comes through about her making a new post on Instagram, I hold my breath, waiting to see her new man. I still haven't seen one, but that doesn't ease the fear. She could prefer a private relationship, one that stays away from social media. For all I know, she could be engaged to someone else.

I expel a soft curse from my lips as I step into Starbucks on Granville Street. KJ's right—I'm still hung-up on Brenna Harrison. If me sending her a pair of tickets for tonight's game isn't clear enough, then me wondering about her is.

Inside Starbucks, I'm greeted by warmth and the smell of roasted coffee beans. I adjust my hat, making sure I don't look like Joe from You. Trying to avoid fans without looking like a stalker is difficult.

It's just past six A.M., so there isn't a line-up. Vancouver hasn't quite woken up yet, and there's a slight drizzle outside, dampening the streets. Vancouver's funny that way. Rain is common, but more people are out and about when it's pouring as opposed to when the rain is a slow drizzle. Not a concept I understand, but going for my morning run when it's not pouring is a gift.

After ordering my coffee, I loiter around the waiting area, my arms crossed and my head low. Sweat is making my clothes stick to my body. My feet ache from colliding with the cement.

Soon, I won't be running on cement anymore. As soon as the deal goes through, I'm moving to Northern Vancouver, near Lynn Canyon. There's impeccable access to trails near the house I bought, which will be ten times better than running along the downtown streets. Even if it means a longer drive to work.

When the barista sets my coffee on the counter, I grab it and make a beeline for the door. She recognized me. I could tell by the look in her eyes. The barista calls my name and expresses her thoughts on how we'll win tonight. I cringe as I push through the door. So much for not being seen.

At least I got out of there before any customers interpreted her words. That eases some of the weight from my shoulders. Being bombarded before a big game isn't good for my mental health. It only adds to the stress. The stress of representing this city and playing well to avoid backlash on social media. Vancouver fans are relentless.

However, any ounce of relief fades when I collide with someone as soon as I step outside. Coffee spills upon impact, the paper mug falling to the ground. It splatters across our shoes, too.

Then, as the fucking cherry on top, her bag falls. All the contents mix with the spilled coffee: a wallet, a tube of red lipstick, mango-flavoured chapstick, and a couple of receipts. A pair of car keys.

"Shit," I say, grabbing their arm. I do this while suppressing my frustration. The goal was not to attract attention. After this, I'll probably need to sign autographs and take photos. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she laughs. "My gaze was settled on... something else, anyway. I think we're both at fault."

My grip on her arm tightens.

I know that voice.

Fuck, it's the same one that saturates my dreams and memories. The one I've been longing to hear.

Keeping my face down, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This can't be real. As much as I want it to be, it feels too good to be true.

Yet when I ease the grip on her arm... When I catch a hint of lavender and vanilla...

Fuck it. If it's a dream, I'll play along.

I look up.

My gaze is drawn to her remarkable violet eyes (still don't give a fuck about her protesting they're a dark blue). They twinkle with mischief and recognition. Longing and happiness. Her gaze is as messy as my heart.

Brenna's hair is longer than I remember. It falls past her shoulders and brackets her face with soft curls.

She's gotten taller, too. We're almost the same height. Plus, she's toned beneath her Vancouver jersey and the black leggings she's wearing. My gaze travels to the number on her arm.

37.

My throat closes, and I cough to clear it. The last thing I need to do is cry in public.

That thought brings me back to reality. Shit. I'm staring at her. When I side-glance at her friends, another wave of shock hits me.

Ella flashes me a smirk and gives me the thumbs-up. I'd heard Ella'd moved to Vancouver, but I didn't know she and Brenna were hanging out again.

The other friends continue to gape at me, one of them even pokes Brenna and hisses, "What are you doing? Do you know who he is?"

Brenna breaks her stare and frowns at her friend. "Of course I know who he is. He's plays for my favourite hockey team."

My heart deflates. Really? That's the introduction I get? It doesn't seem like something Brenna would say.

Then a thought hits me. It's been almost two years since we last saw each other. What if she doesn't recognize me? Or what if it's too awkward for her? Maybe spending time apart didn't help us. 

Sadness rings in my head. It's too much for me. That introduction is killing me.

Leaning down, I gather up her belongings while trying to sort my fucked-up mind out. There's no way she doesn't remember me. Not... not after everything we went through. I post frequently on social media, too.

There's just...

I clear my throat again, willing away the sudden onset of emotions. "Here's all your stuff. Sorry again."

I step past her and the rest of the girls, ready to jog home.

Avoiding eye contact is difficult as I step by, but I succeed. Thank god. Looking at her stirs up the feelings that never went away. Plus, she looks hot in my jersey and...

Wait. She has to remember me. She's wearing my jersey.

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk just as she says, "Chelsea texted me about her hockey game last night. She's playing on the boys' team. I'd like to say she takes after her brother, but..."

She trails off, leaving her drawl hanging in the air. I can practically hear the grin in her voice.

It makes my heart squeeze.

I stare ahead at the street sign, willing myself not to cry. My eyes become glassy and I blink rapidly. Taking a deep breath, I rub my hand across my mouth, then turn around. Brenna stares back at me. Her lips are curved with her familiar grin. Behind her, her friends are gaping at me. Minus Ella, of course. She's looking smug in the background.

"I never stopped thinking about you," I blurt." Not once."

Brenna tosses her head back and laughs. "Same old Shea I remember." She glances down at her splattered shoes and the soaked paper mug. "Looks like you owe me a coffee."

A grin splits my lips. I remove my hat and run a hand through my hair. When I put the hat on, it's backwards. Like it always was in high school. Having Brenna close does something to my confidence.

I jerk my thumb at Starbucks. "Would you look at that? A Starbucks right beside us. How convenient."

Somewhere, amid all this talking, we've gotten closer. Within arm's reach. All I want to do is reach out and touch her. To prove this isn't a dream. That it's real.

My mind can't process what I'm seeing. That Brenna Harrison is standing before me. Her red lips are devastatingly gorgeous.

After all this time... the road has finally led me back to her.

"It's very convenient," she nods.

Lavender-vanilla overwhelms me as she steps closer. She hesitates before reaching out and brushing my hair back. It's a small tuft sticking out from beneath my hat.

A crooked grin finds its way to my lips. If she makes a comment about my hair...

"God, you never learn, do you?" she chuckles.

I shrug. "It's hockey. There's an underlying competition for who has the best flow."

She taps her lip, inspecting me. I feel exposed. Brenna knows more about me than any woman because, well, she's the only one I've ever slept with. The night of the draft...

I clear my throat, searching for words. Something to continue this conversation.

"Remember the promise we made?" Brenna asks.

"Of course I do," I reply. 

My next moves are ethically intolerable. Wrong on so many levels. I should ask before kissing her, but I'm overwhelmed.

Our lips collide, despite being out in public. The kiss is frantic and hard, making other parts of my body react. I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. Especially when Brenna tugs at my hair and releases a low moan. I tip her chin up, slanting her face to create a deeper kiss and—

Shit.

I pull away, gesturing between us. "Sorry. Is this okay?"

Brenna grips my thin raincoat, tugging me flush against her body. "I'll say this once. Ready?"

"Yeah," I grin.

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Smith."

I lean forward, then a thought occurs to me. "Wait. What are you doing downtown?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "I figured it was time to meet up again."

"How were you planning on meeting up with me?"

A grin splits her face. "Well, I received tickets for tonight's hockey game. After the game, I was planning on lurking around the arena to find you."

I choke on a laugh. "So you were planning on stalking me?"

Brenna shrugs. "It is what it is. Now... back to what I said."

Cupping Brenna's face, I pull her in for another kiss. Slanting her face to deepen it. She parts her lips. I part mine. We exchange soft moans and kiss until we can't breathe.

I'm positive people are shooting us disapproving glares, but I don't care. Fuck them.

"Wow, um..." Brenna trails off. Her eyebrows furrow. She rests her forehead against my chest. "That was... uh... Just do it again. Wait. No. Maybe later."

I rest my hand on her lower back, chuckling. "Later, then."

The promise in those words makes me jittery. I distract myself by looking around. At the table and chairs. The rain drizzling. The damp sidewalk. Ella and the rest of the group.

Ella is still smirking, which makes me curious. Suddenly, all this feels planned. There are so many Starbucks in Vancouver. What are the odds they'd find this one?

"How did you know where I was?" I frown.

Brenna pulls out of the embrace, laughing. From her back pocket, she extracts her phone, which she hands to me.

KJ.

My heart pinches. Fuck that kid. He's always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Even from afar, he still has to mess with me. 

A tear slips down my cheek. "You fucker, KJ."

"Don't give him all the credit," Ella drawls. She pushes past Brenna and gives me a hug. "I helped."

"Of course you did," I smile.

Keeping my surprise hidden is difficult. KJ has a girlfriend named Melody Johnston. They've been dating for two years now. I'm surprised KJ and Ella are still in contact. Then again, their relationship was never normal.

Either way, I'm glad they can still be friends.

"It's good to see you, Ella," I say.

"You, too, Shea."

I give Brenna back her phone. "What are you doing before the game? After?" I ask.

My question is loaded. I'm well-aware of our unsaid plans. They'll definitely involve drinks and condoms and the bed in my apartment. There's a bottle of gin sitting in my cupboard, with Brenna's name on it. Whisky for me.

An image of us enjoying a drink on the balcony flashes across my mind. I doubt we'll be able to finish those drinks. It makes me smile. 

Brenna winks. "You know what I'm doing."

I laugh, pulling her into another hug. Excuse me for being touchy, but I can't get enough of her. She's addictive. "Well, I'll be looking for the stalker outside of Rogers Arena."

She laughs for a moment, but it quickly fades away. "I've missed you."

I tighten the hug. "Not as much as I've missed you."

Brenna gives me a look. One that says to not mess with her. 

Playing with arrogance, I shrug and continue with: "I figured you would miss me. However, it's impossible for you to have missed me as much as I missed you. And I'll prove that to you tonight."

Brenna snorts. "Bet I can prove it better."

I laugh. "Fat chance."

A collective gasp escapes Brenna's friends. All except Ella. Ella's used to our banter, which has picked up exactly where it left off.

"Game on, Smith," Brenna chuckles. "Game on."