Page 176 of Love, Rekindled

Suddenly, there’s Rafe, eyes locked on me, walking purposely toward me. People try to get his attention for photos or an autograph, but for the moment, he ignores them all.

When he’s ten feet away, he reaches a hand out to me, and I’m powerless not to reach back. Our fingers touch, and then they lace together. Rafe steps into me, lowers his head, and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Didn’t want to leave you alone. Let me sign a few autographs, and then we’ll get a drink.”

“Okay,” I murmur, completely thrown that he’d even bother to make me a priority right now. He’s got fans to cater to.

As soon as I’m tucked into his side, he lifts his head and smiles openly at the first fan approaching. A woman—very pretty—standing with three of her girlfriends. She holds out a game program and a Sharpie, silently requesting an autograph.

Rafe signs her program, then her friends’. They gush and welcome him to the team.

“Can we get a picture with you?” one girl asks and hands her phone off to a fellow fan to take the picture.

“Sure,” he replies easily and moves to stand in between them. Two women flock to each side, and he puts his arms around them, giving a wide smile as they get their picture taken.

People start to swarm, moving in front of me, wanting to be next in line to get Rafe’s attention. He sees it happen and immediately jumps into action.

Pulling away from the women he was taking a photo with, he shakes his head and chastises the crowd. “Hey...hey...she’s with me. Don’t push her back.”

Everyone freezes, and then Rafe is once again reaching for me, his hand locking tight on mine. Once again, I’m by his side, and he resumes catering to the fans.

A mere forty minutes later, he has me at the end of the bar and is buying us beers. The furor has died down, most of the fans now back in their groups, drinking and celebrating.

A couple joins us, and Rafe introduces me to Garrett Samuelson, one of the best players in the league.

After we shake hands, Garrett introduces me to the beautiful blonde at his side. “This is my wife, Olivia.”

We barely get our own handshakes and pleasantries completed when more of the Cold Fury team starts to crowd in around us. It’s a bit overwhelming, meeting these stars that I watch on TV, and it’s utterly surreal that they treat me like the closest of friends because I’m here with Rafe. It’s clear by some of the knowing looks that I get that Rafe may have told them something about the history of our relationship, or at the very least that we are lifelong friends.

Regardless, I’m about to lose my shit when the crowd parts again and the incredibly beautiful and insanely intelligent general manager of the Cold Fury, Gray Brannon, starts walking our way. Beside her is one of the best goalies of all time, her husband, Ryker Evans. He retired about a year and a half ago from the Cold Fury, and he’s now the goalie coach for the team.

Talk about hockey royalty.

Rafe is amused when I get tongue-tied during introductions, but I manage to compose myself when Gray asks me what I do for a living. We chat for several moments, and I forget she’s the head of a dynasty. Ultimately, she pulls out her phone, and I get to see pictures of her son, Milo.

“You know,” she says, leaning in to me. My eyes move over to Rafe, who’s busy chatting up Zack Grantham, his second-line teammate. When I look back to Gray, she’s got an understanding smile on her face. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been an immense support to Rafe with everything he’s going through.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I tell her, just vague enough to keep things, well...vague.

“I heard there was a time you were a lot more,” she replies. And, yeah...Rafe must have spilled the beans to some of his teammates.

I take stock of how that makes me feel, and I realize it doesn’t make me feel anything one way or the other. It’s the absolute truth. There was a time when we were everything to each other, and then we weren’t. Rafe made a mistake and ended things, believing with a foolhardy nature that he knew what was best for me.

“We’re just friends now,” I hasten to reassure her.

“I think you’re more than that,” she replies with so much surety, I have to wonder if she has magical powers to see the future or something. I want with every fiber of my being to argue with her, but before I can, she continues on. “People make mistakes, and some deserve forgiveness. Others don’t. That’s up to you to decide. Regardless, I think it’s remarkable that you can put that aside and be here for Rafe. You’re the best type of friend a person could have.”

And just like that, Gray is pulled off into another conversation, and I move over to Rafe. I try to join in on the banter he has going with Zack and his wife, Kate, but my mind won’t stay on point. I keep thinking about Gray’s words, trying to figure out if it was wise advice that I should listen to, or just chalk up to her being a nosy busybody.

Except I have a pretty solid feeling that no one in their entire life has ever thought of or called Gray Brannon a busybody.

CHAPTER 11

Rafe

My phone vibratesin my pocket—the repetitive buzz that indicates an incoming call. I consider ignoring it, but I’m not doing anything I can’t step away from for just a little bit. I mean, I’m just holding vigil over my dad while my mom is at the grocery store.

I left for Boston five days ago to play games three and four of the second round of the playoffs. We swept them easily, and while it was an excellent respite to be lost in the thrill of playoff competition, I felt like I was missing something big back here in Raleigh.

Sure enough, when I returned late last night, I found that my father had taken a nosedive. I knew this could happen.

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