Page 64 of The Sweetest Risk

Bradley walks out of the kitchen. As soon as I hear the door to the garage click shut, I start to breathe heavily and tear up. I close my eyes tightly and say, “Tristan, can you please come over here and put that ointment and bandage on it? I can’t.”

I lean over the counter and stick out my arm so he can help me.

“Of course, Cupcake. But first, I need you to open your eyes. It’s not as bad as you think it is. Your imagination is worse than reality when it comes to these situations. Trust me.”

“Why do you know me so well?” I begrudgingly open one of my eyes to take a peek, causing Tristan to laugh. I catch a glimpse of my wrist and although it is disturbingly red, Tristan is right, it isn’t as bad as I imagined.

My arm relaxes and fully gives into Tristan’s hand, while his other hand gently applies the ointment with a Q-tip. I love seeing this side of Tristan–the gentle side. It contradicts everything he presents to the world on the ice. How can a guy who is so rough also be just as tender? He intrigues me in so many ways. Mystomach flips at the thought that whatever is going on between us may just be the beginning, and I am going to learn so much more about him. There was so much that I didn’t allow myself to see when I wanted nothing to do with him.

I can finally take a deep breath. Tristan places the bandage over my wrist. Then, just when I thought I was on solid ground, he kisses the palm of my hand, causing my stomach to do a somersault. There’s that gentleness seeping through his hard exterior. It’s the same gentleness that shows up when he is teaching little kids on the ice or interacting with his fans. Although he is a beast on the ice, he is a softie in every other aspect of his life.

The access door to the garage opens again and we are no longer alone. Tristan lets go of my hand. I immediately want his hand back. I grab the piping bag and begin squeezing icing onto the top of a cupcake.

“Need any help, Cupcake?”

“Nope, got it,” I say coolly. I can’t risk Bradley knowing or suspecting anything. Luckily, Bradley is usually too stuck in his own little world to notice anything that isn’t blatantly obvious.

Back to being cold and indifferent to Tristan’s presence. Instead of hating Tristan, I am hating that I can’t be openly with him right now.

“All better now, B?” Bradley walks in with the supplies he needs. His eyes are glued to the bandage on my left wrist.

“Yup.” I continued to ice the cupcakes at record speed. “All good.” I put all my focus on the cupcakes because I know that if I look at Tristan, I will break. He looks extra handsome in his slacks and button-down shirt. He forgoed the backwards hat for today, but his thick, wavy delicious locks are slicked back, making me want to run my fingers through it and mess it all up. And then there are his sleeves, rolled up just enough to showcase his tatted-up forearms in all their glory.

He gets up from the bar stool and grabs the bluetooth speaker from my brother’s hands, totally avoiding eye contact with me as well. His jaw is clenched and there is a twinge of sadness in his demeanor. I want to fix that sadness and I think – I hope— he knows that. “Your dad has been waiting for a while, bro. We better go help finish setting everything before your mom comes downstairs.”

With that, the two of them exit the kitchen without a backward glance.

I know it’s just for show, but there’s a rock in my gut – how it seems like we hate each other still. It feels awful to have Tristan act like he hates me. Now that I know what it feels like when he doesn’t, I never want him to pretend to hate me again.

The partyactually turns out to be pretty enjoyable. My parents had it catered by their favorite Tex-Mex restaurant and it is nice seeing old family friends and some of my aunts, uncles and cousins. Tristan and Bradley set up a large white screen that shows photos from the past thirty years of my parent’s marriage, including some incriminating photos of me and Bradley from when we were kids.

I am standing next to what is going to be the dessert table, nursing a mimosa while being completely embarrassed that my parents included photos of me playing dress up or worse – ones where I was in the bathtub naked. Why in the world would they include those photos? But in the midst of the humiliating photos are ones displaying years of affection and love. Love between my parents. Their love for me and my brother. My brother and I are a big part of the fabric of their marriage.

“You were kind of a chubby kid.” Tristan’s voice reverberates through my body. I glance over and see him leaning against the other side of the table, drinking his own mimosa. Dimples appear on the side of his perfect face.

“Fuck you, Hot Shot. I was a baby and babies are supposed to be chubby.” I finish off my glass and grab the pitcher to refill.

Tristan steps closer to me and brushes my elbow. “There’s my girl. I missed your feisty side, Cupcake. I kind of miss sparring with you.”

I raise my eyebrows and look up at him. He looks devastatingly handsome right now because the way he is looking at me is how all girls want to be looked at. “Are you saying you want me to go back to hating you?” I shrug and purse my lips. “Sounds easy enough.”

Tristan clears his throat and counters, “I want the complete opposite of that, Brooke. Surely you must know that.”

Before I can respond, my mom waves me over to where she is standing with my dad. I flash Tristan an apologetic look and walk over to where my parents are talking to their neighbors for the past thirty years, Bob and Karen.

“There you are, Brooke! Can I just say that your cupcakes are divine? I might have stolen one from the kitchen counter when I walked in. I will have to take some home and share them with the grandkids. Do you have your own storefront yet?” Karen asks.

Flushed by the embarrassment of the wordyet, I open my mouth to answer, “Um, actually I…”

“Oh, no, she doesn’t have a storefront yet, Karen.” My mom exchanges what I can only consider to be a look of,I know right? She has been looking for years and still nothing. “I’ve been trying to tell her that she will never be able to afford anything in the area she wants without Bradley’s help, or even our help, and she just doesn’t listen to me. Who knows if it willbecome anything more than a small business she runs out of her apartment? She’s still just teaching right now.”

That’s right.Just teaching. I am standing right here. My heart drops and I tap my fingers against the glass. My pulse is throbbing and I might go into a full-blown panic attack. I am getting the same feeling I always got when I was a little girl, when I felt that my parents didn’t see me, when they would talk about me even if I was in the room. To them, I was invisible. I bite my bottom lip and try to focus on my breathing, to stop myself from causing a scene.

Then I can hear, “With all due respect, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, Brooke is probably the hardest-working person I know.”

Tristan has somehow snuck up behind me.What is he doing?

“She may not have her storefront right now, but she is busting her ass, excuse my language, teaching during the day, unruly kindergarteners I might add, plus going home and running a business on the side and making it happen. Sure, making it as a pro athlete is a rarity but then again, so is your daughter. Fucking rare.”

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