Page 113 of Can't Kiss the Chef

So now I’m watching my current boyfriend play against my ex-boyfriend. The one that wasn’t the tiniest bit apologetic when a sex tape was released while we were together. The one that was filmed while we were dating.

If that’s not bad enough my parents are sitting with us and we are not one big happy family at the moment. I’ll give my mom credit, she did wait until the apple pie was served to remind me of what a disappointment I am for not following the life path she thinks will best suit me.

My parents and Byron’s are getting along swimmingly. I’m thankful for that. Now my anxiety can be focused solely on Byron and Dalton and how long it takes before they rip each other’s heads off.

“What number is Byron,” my sister asks me. Since Oliver is still the team’s starting goalie she decided to tag along. Despite all our differences and her being the perfect daughter, our relationship has gotten better as we’ve gotten older.

“He’s number twenty-one. The big buffoon who looks like he shouldn’t be able to move as nimbly as he does.”

That pulls a laugh out of my sister.

“He looks like he could crush you. Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

Now I’m the one barking out a laugh.

“Did you make a sex joke?”

“I can be fun sometimes too,” she says nonchalantly.

The moment the puck is dropped there is no more time to talk. My eyes are glued to the ice. Even without the personal pride that lies on this game for both Byron and Dalton, I knew this was going to be a physical, drawn out grudge match. Both teams are fighting for the number one spot in the standings.

Six minutes into the second period all hell breaks loose. Byron and Dalton have been tussling all game. It’s obvious that they’ve been chirping at each other all night. I’m sure each jab is worse than the last. Something is said after Byron ties the game at two apiece which throws Dalton into a spiral. He blind-sides Byron with a punch to the side of his helmet. Byron was clearly not expecting the blow and ends up pinned against the boards.

Byron’s only stunned for a second before he starts throwing blows that shake Dalton up. While the refs are trying to stop the two of them a full on brawl takes over the ice. The goalies even get involved and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Oliver fight.

Mine and Byron’s parents are shocked at the hostility shown not even halfway through the game. I’m not. This was brewing since the day I brought Dalton to Byron’s party at the beginning of the year. Maybe even before then with their childhood rivalry.

When they both get thrown out of the game I should have joined them in leaving the arena. Watching Westvale lose four to two is heart wrenching. Byron fucked up in retaliating. Byron pre his dad’s diagnosis would have just laughed at Dalton’s dirty tactics. His short fuse has been shortened to a thin string over the last few weeks. The more he gets to know his dad, the harder it’s been for Byron to control his emotions. I love this man, but watching the light dim from his eyes has been so difficult.

I need to remind Byron who he is.

Who he is meant to be.

I can’t lose him again.

44

Byron

Just add another tally in the Byron’s a fuck up collum. They have really been adding up lately. That and letting down my team. These guys deserve a better captain. I want to be better. Need to be better.

I push all that to the side the moment I walk through my front door. The sweet smell of Lola’s family sauce recipe wafts through the air. Aaron, Marcus and my parents are on my heels. Asking me questions that I just don’t have the bandwidth to answer.

I just want to see Lola.

I find her in the kitchen wearing the apron I got her for her birthday—it has bright colored flowers surrounding a cottage—assembling some chicken parmesan.

“It smells amazing,” my dad states the obvious as he slides off his boots.

“Thank Arie. I thought we could all use some comfort food after that game.” Her words trail off before flashing a sheepish smile in our direction.

I wrap my hands around her and pull her in so her back is resting against my chest.

“I hope you know that fight wasn’t your fault.”

I can feel the life drain out of her body.

“It’s hard to believe that my ex just happened to pick a fight with current boyfriend, the one that I started to date less than forty-eight hours after our break-up, and I had nothing to do with it.”

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