Page 52 of For the Boys
“Who are they from?” Lexie asked. “Brent, I’m assuming,” she added, rolling her eyes. “You just saw him like twelve hours ago.”
“I don’t know who they’re from. Let me find the card.” She set the bouquet down on the coffee table and sifted through the mass of orange to find a slim envelope with a message written on the outside.
“Dear Berkley,” she read aloud. “I had a great time last night. See you soon. XOXO, Brent.”
“What’s inside?” Amelia asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Berkley slowly opened the back flap and peeked inside, keeping her expression neutral. Then she looked up at her friends and slowly smiled.
“Anyone feel like going to a hockey game tonight?”
It took the girls a solid two hours to get ready, mostly because everything Berkley put on she hated. One shirt made her feel fat. Another showed too much of her chest. One pair of boots didn’t go with the pants she wanted to wear, and her other favorite shoes would be too uncomfortable for a hockey game. She finally settled on her favorite pair of skinny jeans and a replica of Brent’s jersey she’d bought when he was playing for the Warriors minor league team. It was deep red with a big logo on the front and his last name and number—22—on the back. She completed the look with combat boots and her lucky cross necklace.
Berkley could admit she was nervous about seeing Brent again. Although she’d had a good time on their date the night before, she had been on better first dates. Fancy, expensive dinners with an exclusive ambiance and sophisticated clientele weren’t really her thing. She preferred hole-in-the-wall diners with greasy food and sticky booths, where the milkshakes were thick and the air of superiority was nonexistent. Places where she could relax and be herself instead of feeling like she had to be on her best behavior.
She couldn’t blame Brent for not knowing that about her. Going forward—if this was going to become a full-blown thing between them—she would just have to make sure that he did. And if she was being honest with herself, she desperately wanted it to become a full-blown thing.
Obviously Brent was incredibly attractive, but more than that, he was one of the kindest men she’d ever met. Brent was comfortable in his own skin, humble, and always taking care of those around him. The man didn’t have a malicious, arrogant bone in his body. He was just sure of himself, and he genuinely cared about people. She’d witnessed it from afar for years thanks to his work with local charitable foundations. Now, she had the unique opportunity to see it up close and personal and have that kind of man in her life. She couldn’t deny how badly she wanted that.
It was early December, and thus frigid outside, but Berkley’s apartment was thankfully only a block away from a People Mover station. The girls bundled up and walked over, catching the train right on time.
The line into the arena seemed to move at a snail’s pace, holding them up further. When they finally made it inside, Lexie and Amelia stopped at a concession stand to get some beers, and Kimber and Berkley hurried through the concourse in search of their section. They took their seats—on the glass near one of the blue lines—as the National Anthem began. This elicited some evil stares and choice curse words from the four teenage boys they’d had to kick out.
The Warriors were playing their division rivals, the Boston Golden Bears, and it was immediately clear this would be an intensely physical game. The Bears self-proclaimed “enforcer,” Stefan Madden, kept running into Brandon Roberts or showering him with ice anytime he covered the puck under his glove. Brent and his teammates became increasingly agitated; hockey players didn’t take kindly to opponents messing with their goalie. There were a few extra shoves and words exchanged after whistles, but the first period ended with neither team having scored.
The second period was more of the same. With about five minutes left, Chase Olsson was sent to the box for hooking, creating the first power play of the game for the Bears. Just as the penalty expired, Brent made a beautiful lead pass to Chase coming out of the box, who took it down to score.
Twenty seconds into the third period, a rival defenseman took a slapshot from the blue line that beat Roberts, tying the game. Barely a minute later though, Brent put one top shelf on a perfect pass from Cole.
Though Brent did his best to get into a fistfight and complete his Gordie Howe hat trick—a goal, an assist, and a fight in one game—he was unsuccessful. The 2–1 score held up, earning the Warriors a win. Berkley hugged her friends in celebration and stood staring at the ice for a moment, watching as the team gathered at the center to salute their fans. Since Brent had scored the game winner, plus notched an assist, he was named the game’s first star. Berkley cheered as loudly as she could when his name was announced and he skated back onto the ice.
As Brent and his teammates exited the ice, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Which one of you is Miss Daniels?” Berkley turned to find a woman in a smart grey pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun.
“I am,” Berkley replied.
“Would you and your companions come with me, please?” With that, she turned on her heel and started marching up the stairs toward the entrance to the concourse.
“Hurry up or we’ll lose her!” Amelia shoved Berkley into the aisle, and the four of them scurried behind the woman as quickly as they could.
Once they reached the concourse, she led them to an elevator. They all piled in, and she hit the button labeled: Suite Level.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Berkley inquired. “Where are you taking us? Did we do something wrong? I swear we have tickets for those seats. They were given to me by—”
“Yes, I know who sent them,” the woman said. “I am taking you to Mr. Jean’s suite per his request.”Per his request?At those words, Berkley’s heart rate skyrocketed. Feigning calm, she discreetly wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and gave her friends a reassuring smile.
They exited the elevator, and the woman led them down a short hallway, stopping in front of a heavy door with a plaque on it reading: B.J. 22. She ushered them inside, then said, “Wait here” before hurrying away.
Berkley turned on the spot, checking out her surroundings. The suite was tucked into the corner of the arena off to the right of the Zamboni entrance. An opening led out onto a small balcony with two rows of ten seats each, split into five a side. Inside the suite were four small high-top tables with chairs around them. The walls were dark paneling and covered in framed photos depicting different generations of the team and staff. A beverage station sat against one wall. There was a short countertop, some cupboards, a sink, and a mini-fridge.
In the corner sat three girls who kept shooting nasty looks at Berkley and her friends.
“This is kind of weird,” Berkley said, finally voicing her anxiety. “Why wouldn’t he tell me about this? I seriously thought we were in trouble or something!”
Amelia laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face when we got in the elevator. Priceless.”
“Wait,” Kimber said, eyes wide. “Does this officially make you a WAG?”
