KELLER
Lawson: Still meeting at Top Shelf tonight to ring in the New Year, right?
Lawson: Just say yes, or I swear I’ll cry.
Hayes: I kind of think I’d like to see that.
Hayes: You crying, just so we’re clear.
Hutch: I have. It’s not pretty. You’re better off just agreeing to whatever it is he’s trying to cook up.
Fox: Aww. Why’d you cry, buddy?
Locke: I’m guessing it was one of the times Keller was mean to him.
Me: I’m not mean. I just say what everyone else is thinking.
Lawson: In the worst way possible.
Lawson: And no, Keller did NOT make me cry.
Hutch: It was at his brother’s wedding. Dude was slinging snot all over the place and everything.
Lawson: That’s because weddings are beautiful. You’re just cold-hearted!
Hutch: I am not. I cry.
Lawson: Oh, really? Name one time.
Hutch: Uh, when my BABY was born.
Lawson: Ha ha what a loser!
Hayes: Shit, Hutchy. That’s kind of sweet.
Fox: Awww
Locke: I mean, how could you not? She’s adorable.
Lawson: WAIT
Lawson: WTF
Lawson: You guys really aren’t going to make fun of him for CRYING?!?!
Locke: Nah
Hayes: No, dude. His girl just had his freakin’ BABY.
Fox: I would never!
Lawson: Keller? Anything?
Me: I got nothing. Like Hayesy said, he had a baby. Tears are expected.
Lawson: WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL
Lawson: If Daisy had a baby and I cried, I would NEVER hear the end of it!
Me: That’s because Daisy is your DOG. Why would you cry??
Lawson: Because it’s beautiful! Just like Jacob’s wedding, which is why I cried. Do you know how much of a love-hater that guy was before he met his wife? And how now he’s all sappy and in love and shit? It’s romantic as fuck.
Hayes: He was pretty bad.
Hutch: Worse than Keller?
Hayes: Is ANYONE worse than Keller?
Locke: Yeah, not sure that’s possible.
Fox: Come on, guys. Kells isn’t that bad.
Lawson: Foxy Baby, I love you, but you’re full of shit.
Fox: I love you, too, buddy.
Hayes: Yeah, sorry, but you’re delusional if you think that. He’s very clearly that bad.
Locke: Didn’t he block us all on Christmas because he didn’t want to see our family photos?
Hutch: To be fair, I think that was because Lawsy wouldn’t stop sending pictures of all twenty of his dogs in pajamas.
Lawson: It’s not twenty! I only have three…and one cat, though Hades is technically Rory’s. He hates me.
Lawson: And those matching pajamas were fucking adorable! Rory and I had them on, too. She even cracked a smile in one photo!
Lawson: He blocked us because he’s sad he’s the only single guy in the Serpents Singles Club now.
Me: He’s also in this godforsaken group chat and can see you assholes talking about him.
Me: And he’s not sad. He just doesn’t have the patience for anyone else’s bullshit.
Lawson: Soooo…you’re jealous.
Me: The fuck I am.
Lawson: J-E-A-L-O-U-S
Me: Congrats. You can spell. Want a sandwich?
Lawson: A sandwich? Aren’t you supposed to offer me a cookie?
Me: A knuckle cookie doesn’t sound nearly as appealing as a knuckle sandwich.
Lawson: See? All he does is resort to violence. I bet it’s all that pent-up rage he has because he’s jealous we’re all happy and in love, and he’s probably sitting on his couch like some lonely loser with nobody to hang out with on New Year’s Eve.
Hutch: Whoa
Hayes: Damn, Lawsy. You’re brave.
Lawson: Brave or just honest?
Locke: Definitely brave.
Fox: Or dumb.
Lawson: Hey, what the fuck, man?
Fox: Sorry, but you’re on your own with this one. Messing with Keller is like unleashing a barely restrained rabid dog.
Me: Thanks, Foxy. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.
Me: As for you, Lawsy, you can go fuck yourself.
Lawson: Oh, so YOU can be honest, but I can’t? How is that fair?
Me: Life isn’t fair.
Lawson: You’re the worst.
Lawson: Are you coming to the damn party or not?
Fox: Lilah and I are in.
Hutch: We’ll be there.
Locke: Yeah, man, wouldn’t miss it.
Hayes: Quinn is more than ready to let loose after this semester, so we’ll definitely be there.
Lawson: …Keller?
Me: What?
Lawson: *eye roll emoji*
Lawson: Are you coming to Top Shelf, or are you going to sulk alone all night while we have fun?
Me: Why should I?
Lawson: You shouldn’t. I don’t care what you do.
Me: Then fine. I won’t go.
Lawson: OH MY GOD ARE YOU SERIOUS WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BUTTHOLE RIGHT NOW
Fox: …butthole?
Hutch: I won’t lie, I laughed.
Hayes: I did too.
Locke: We’re all a bunch of twelve-year-olds.
Lawson: Except you. You’re still an old man, Lockey Poo.
Locke: I swear I’ll rescind my RSVP.
Lawson: Noooooooooooo
Lawson: I take it back. You’re not old, even if you do sound extra old saying shit like “rescind.” Nope. You’re not old at all.
Hayes: I could hear the sarcasm dripping from every word.
Locke: Me fucking too.
Lawson: Who? Me? Never! 😇
Locke: Keep it up, Lawsy. It’ll just be you, Keller, and that knuckle sandwich tonight.
Lawson: Rory will be there too, so I’m cool with that.
Me: Jesus fuck. Please don’t start with all that lovey-dovey shit. My stomach can’t handle that and tequila shots tonight.
Lawson: Then we’ll hold the shots.
Lawson: And also, that means you’re coming. NO TAKEBACKS!
Lawson: See you all at 10! Don’t be late or I’ll cry.
Hutch: What is with you and crying today?
Lawson: Just don’t be late, Hutchy. Okay? Okay. I love you guys. Bye.
Me: Does anyone else wish Lawson was never traded to the Seattle Serpents?
Hayes: Bro, we’re number two in the Pacific right now. Absolutely not.
Hutch: He’s annoying as hell, but no.
Fox: Do you really want me to answer that?
Locke: He’s a fucking champ on the faceoff dot AND he’s on pace to score 50 goals this year. Think it’s safe to say he’s an asset.
Lawson: OMG 🥹 I knew you guys loved me. I KNEW IT.
Me: Whoa. Calm down. Nobody ever said that.
Lawson: You didn’t have to. I can FEEL it.
Me: Like you’re going to FEEL my fist in your face later, right?
Lawson: I’m gonna kiss those knuckles, Kells. Right at midnight. 😘
Me: Touch me and die.
Lawson: Then I welcome death. 😘
“Fuck me,” I grumble, tossing my phone onto the cushion next to me as it continues to vibrate with incoming texts, most likely from Lawson. I swear, that guy never knows when to shut up, which would explain the yellow-green bruise I’m rocking after sticking up for him in our win over Vegas last week.
I don’t mind it. I love fighting. It makes me feel like I’m actually useful and not just a body keeping the bench warm. Because let’s face it—I am not a superstar. I’m that guy they send out when they need to get some energy into the team. I’m the one with grit, the guy who sacrifices his body to block shots and get the more skilled players in a better shooting position. And I’m okay with that. I’ve accepted my role. I love it.
What I don’t love? Filing into a crowded-as-hell bar on New Year’s Eve and throwing back shots of tequila when we’re in the middle of the season. Is it better than staying home and falling asleep before midnight? No, absolutely not, and I refuse to pretend otherwise. But am I going to go anyway? Un-fucking-fortunately.
I wish I could say it’s solely because Lawson will annoy me to death if I don’t, but that’s not true. Lucas Lawson is going to do that no matter what. That’s just who he is, which I’ve come to accept over the last few years we’ve been teammates on the Seattle Serpents, and even more so since he forced me to join his ridiculous “Serpents Singles Club.” The name is comical now, really. It began as a promise for all of us to stay single until we hoisted the Cup, but since that’s all been blown to shit with everyone being in committed relationships, we’re just a bunch of guys who like hanging out together. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud, of course.
Just like I’d never admit the real reason I’m going out to join my teammates is I don’t want to sit on the couch and let the onslaught of horrible memories do a fucking jig in my head all night long. New Year’s Eve is the worst day of the year—hands down, no questions asked. It’s the day everything changed. The day I changed. The day we changed.
I fucking hate today.
I grab the controller I abandoned when my phone started blowing up the first time and focus my mind on taking out demons with my chainsaw shield. While it’s not the best use of my time, it’s better than letting the memories of what once was seep into my head. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them plant themselves, and I definitely can’t water them with my attention. It only leads to more of the same shit I’ve been living with for the last three years—heartbreak.
Eventually, my phone calms down, and so does my mind. For the next two hours, I think of nothing but taking out this demon king and being the scariest thing in all of hell. It’s not until Percy yells at me from across my apartment that I realize how long has passed.
“What’s up, little man?” I ask as the three-legged cat jumps onto the couch, his tail smacking me right in the face. If it weren’t for the two asymmetrical patches of black around his eyes, he would be all-white.
He turns, then nuzzles his face against my chin per usual. It’s his go-to move when he senses I’m about to leave him.
“It’s just for a few hours,” I say. “I won’t be out all night. I promise.”
He presses his head against me harder, almost like he’s saying, Okay, I believe you…but just this once.
I chuckle lowly. “All right. You’ve convinced me. Five more minutes of snuggles, then I have to get ready. Apparently, your uncle Lucas—whom you’ve never met but have heard me bitch about plenty—is demanding I show up for New Year’s Eve festivities.”
Meow.
“I know. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me, too.”
Meow.
I think about not going, about just sitting on the couch like this, holding Percy, and eating snacks until I pass out. Then I remember I’d have to face Lawson and the rest of my teammates tomorrow at practice, and they’ll be armed with a hundred questions, just like always, and I don’t want that. I’d rather bag skate for an hour straight than have to answer why I hate this day so damn much.
Meow.
“I’m going anyway, bud. I have to. You understand, right?”
Meow.
He accepts this answer—or at least that’s what I tell myself—and I keep an eye on the clock as I run my hand up and down his back, loving the soft purrs he emits. When it gets close enough to ten that I know I’ll have Lawson annoying the piss out of me again if I procrastinate any longer, I peel myself off the couch and head to my bedroom.
Percy jumps off, following close behind, and I grin. I was never one of those kids who begged for a puppy or a kitten. The only thing I was ever interested in was hockey. I would have taken new skates or new gloves over anything else. But with Percy, I wandered into the clinic on a whim, we locked eyes, and I knew we were meant to be. Maybe it was because we had just lost our shot at making the playoffs, or maybe it was because I was lonely. It doesn’t matter. I’m stuck with him now, and he’s stuck with me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The cat hops onto my bed as I swap my joggers for jeans and my old t-shirt for a long-sleeved gray Henley. I’m sure most of the group will be dressing up more than this, but it’s not like I have anyone to impress.
“All right,” I say to Percy once I’ve finished getting ready. I stand by the front door, slipping my shoes on. “I’ll be back by twelve thirty at the latest. Keep an eye on the place. If anyone breaks in, gouge their eyes out, then scream like you always do at three in the damn morning.”
Meow.
I give him one last ear scratch and head out, making sure to lock the door behind me. Phone in hand, I order a rideshare on the way to the elevator. I have no plans of drinking until I’m shit-faced tonight, but I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. Because who knows? Maybe Lawson will annoy me just enough that I might need alcohol to survive until midnight.
As I wait for the elevator, I pray nobody I know is inside. With Whitlocke and his girlfriend, Vanessa, living here, I run into them far too often for my liking. I’m glad the old man is happy—truly—but do they have to make out in the elevator even when someone else is in there with them?
I’m relieved to find the car empty as the doors slide open, and I step inside. I rest against the back railing, closing my eyes as I descend, trying to extinguish the urge to march right back into my apartment and become one with my couch.
Fuck, maybe I should get shit-faced on tequila shots tonight. Maybe then I’ll forget just how much I hate this fucking holiday.
If only I didn’t know Coach Smith has a long morning planned for us tomorrow. He always makes us come into the rink early after a holiday. It’s his way of keeping us all in check, making sure we don’t get too rowdy. I used to hate it, mostly because I had an actual reason to celebrate, but now? I don’t care. Drag me out of bed at six AM. Hell, do it at five. It’s not like I get much sleep anyway. What’s it going to matter to me?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check it, just in case it’s my rideshare.
It’s not. It’s my brother.
Stefan: Broooooo
Stefan: new
Stefan: shit
Stefan: HPPY NEWSPAPER YOUR
I laugh, knowing that since it’s already midnight on the East Coast, where he’s attending law school, he’s likely drunk as hell. There’s a ten-year age gap between us, and though it’s easier now that he’s older, it’s still funny to see how differently our lives have ended up. What I was doing at twenty-one is vastly different than what he’s doing.
I shoot him a quick text back, wishing him a happy New Year, then pocket my phone. It doesn’t feel like a happy New Year, though, not even close.
My fingers climb their way up my chest and to the chain that’s dangled around my neck for the last couple of years. The metal is warm from resting against my skin, but it still somehow feels cold. I’m sure it’s because it sits so close to my heart.
When the elevator stops on the lobby floor, I drop my hand away and shove it back into my pocket, along with all the thoughts and longing for what I’ve lost that come every time I close my eyes. I give a nod to security as I make my way out of the building. The ride I ordered is already waiting, and I slip into the back seat without saying a word to the driver. The low thrum of whatever’s on the radio fills the silence as the driver merges in and out of traffic—another reason I didn’t take my Audi R8 out on the town tonight—and we’re pulling up next to Top Shelf before I know it.
“Thanks,” I murmur as I climb out of the car.
I tug my phone from my pocket, rate the driver five stars, and drop them a twenty-dollar tip for leaving me the hell alone. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself as I yank open the door, where I’m hit with the smell of stale beer, loud music, and the desire to run away. I turn on my heel, ready to do just that, but I’m caught before I can get far.
“Keller!”
I wince as his hand lands on my shoulder. I try to shake him off, but—per usual—it’s pointless.
“You’re not trying to run away, are you?” Lawson grins at me. “Because if you were, I might have to—”
“Cry?” I finish for him with an eye roll, shrugging off his touch once again. “What is with you and crying lately?”
“What? Is it so bad for a guy to be in touch with his emotions?” Not taking the hint that I don’t want him touching me, he slings his arm around my neck as he pulls me farther into the bar. “Come on. We’re over here.”
He leads me over to the same booth we always occupy whenever we come here, which is admittedly quite a bit, but we knew right away that Top Shelf was a safe place for us to unwind after and between games. The owner made me and the rest of my teammates feel at home from day one, and it has now turned into the Seattle Serpents’ official hangout.
“Keller!” our number one goalie yells, a wide, toothy grin gracing his face. I would blame it on the free-flowing alcohol, but that’s just Arthur Fox for you. In the time I’ve known him, I think I’ve seen him without a smile twice.
I nod his way. “Foxy.”
“Oooh Foxy! I love that they call you that,” Lilah, his girlfriend-slash-former fiancée, says with a giggle. I can see she’s already taken advantage of the drink specials tonight too.
“Sit, sit.” Lawson shoves me into an empty spot. “What do you want to drink? Nessa can get it for you.”
“Um, excuse me. No, she cannot. Nessa is not working tonight,” says the woman in question, turning her nose up at Lawson’s suggestion.
Locke reaches out and smacks Lawson’s stomach. “She’s not your barmaid, Lawsy. Get Keller’s drink yourself since you’re so dead set on playing host tonight.”
“Fine. Anyone else want drinks?”
It opens a can of worms the forward clearly wasn’t ready for as eleven people shout their orders all at once. We eventually get it sorted out, and Rory, his veterinarian girlfriend who is far too smart and good for him, follows behind to help.
“Is it just me or did he look like that Winona Ryder GIF where she’s looking around like she’s completely unsure of what’s happening?” asks Quinn with a laugh.
“He did, but can we also please discuss just how hot that woman still is? Like good grief. I can’t get over it.” Auden fans herself while her fiancé, our captain, nods in agreement.
The table delves into discussions of all things Winona Ryder, and I tune out. It has nothing to do with the subject—Auden is spot on with her assessment of Winona—but because I’m still trying to figure out how exactly I’m going to slip out of here before midnight.
I could fake being sick. Or I could start a brawl. I could even pick a fight with Lawson until everyone else is uncomfortable and the best thing would be for me to leave.
But no. None of that would work. I am very clearly not sick, and starting a fight would just land me in trouble with the team. Plus, making Lawson mad is almost impossible. I swear insults are some sort of turn-on for him.
I’m stuck here. Even worse? I’m stuck here with the reminder of everything I lost.
“And for you, my favorite grumpy bear.” Lawson ruffles my hair as he sets a pint of delicious green apple cider in front of me. It’s from a local cidery-slash-farm that makes one hell of a drink.
I don’t even bother flipping him off or yelling at him for touching me again. I just grab my glass and down half the contents in one go.
“What?” I ask Locke when he lifts his brows my way. “It’s just cider. It’s practically apple juice.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
“Your face is looking better. Less yellow than it was yesterday,” Hayes comments. “Still can’t believe that jackass from Vegas landed a punch like that.”
I smirk, thinking of the fight that let me feel alive, even if just for a few moments. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him back when we play them later this month.”
Hutch grunts from beside me at the mention of the asshole who almost blew up his whole life a few years back. I went toe-to-toe with him then, too, and I have no problem doing it again, especially not after last week and the cheap shot he landed on Lawson.
“How’s the back, Lawsy?” Hutch asks, concern lacing his words as he leans closer to the obnoxious forward.
“Better. Still feel like I’m skating a little slow, but give it another day or two, and I’ll be as good as new.” He beams across the table, and if I didn’t know him so well, I might believe it, but I see the wobble at the edges of his smile. He’s still hurting, but he’s playing through it in stride.
Say what you want about hockey players, but there is no denying the toughness these guys show. We go to war every night, and while we come out with the broken bones and bruises to prove it, we still stand tall for the next battle. It’s one of the things I respect about every one of my teammates sitting around this table, even Lawson.
“You’re hitting fifty goals this season. I can feel it,” Rory says, running her hand through Lawson’s hair. He leans into her like the golden retriever he is, looking at her like she’s the only woman in the world, and I take another drink of my cider.
This is going to be a long, long night if I have to sit around and watch my teammates and their partners kissing and touching each other the whole time. They think I’m being dramatic or that I’m jealous when I’m subjected to these little gatherings of ours, but it’s not that. I just know firsthand what it’s like to have it and lose it all in the blink of an eye.
One day, you’re living your life with no worries. You have the career you’ve always wanted, the house, the nice cars, the fenced-in yard, that one person who makes you feel like you’re on top of the world…it’s all there. Then, suddenly, it’s gone. Poof. Vanishing like it never happened at all.
So, no, I’m not being dramatic, and I’m not fucking jealous either. I’m merely trying to exist when my heart stopped beating a long time ago.
Conversations ebb and flow over the next hour and a half, and though they try to get me to join in, it’s pointless when I’d rather be anywhere else. Finally, midnight sneaks closer, and when we’re just five minutes from the clock ticking over into the new year, we stand and gather in the best semicircle this many people can form.
“Here’s to another year and another Serpents Single down!” Lawson announces. I swear he gets a thrill out of being the center of attention.
We all clink our glasses together, everyone looking at their partner with love in their eyes. My stomach rolls at the thought of having to watch them all kiss while I stand here with nobody next to me. Maybe I could sneak off to the bathroom. With how crowded it is, it’s likely they wouldn’t even notice anyway.
I’m just about to step away when Lawson speaks again.
“Guys, I have an announcement.” He waits for all eyes to be on him before adding, “I love you all.”
I roll my eyes, finishing off my second cider of the night.
“Knock it off, Lawsy,” the captain grumbles.
“What he said,” Hayes agrees.
“Yep,” Locke adds.
“Aww, I love you too, buddy.” Fox grins, patting the forward on the back. I wish I could say his palpable excitement is due to his buzz, but he’s only had one drink. It’s all him.
“Finally!” Lawson throws his hands in the air. “Someone cares about me!”
I barely hold back another eye roll. Leave it to Lawson to be dramatic tonight. The guy loves an audience, and he has a big one right now. While the people who frequent Top Shelf are used to professional hockey players being here, this isn’t a usual night out. The bar is packed with more people than I’ve ever seen before, and we’re getting more stares than I’d like.
A few people try to catch my eye, but I avert my gaze before they get any ideas or think I want to talk to them, which I don’t. As I’m dragging my eyes through the bar, a flash of red hair catches my eye. Is that…
No. I shake the thought away as soon as it enters my mind because it’s not possible. There’s no way it could be.
Still, I find myself squinting against the dark lighting and leaning forward. Anything to get a clearer glimpse of the woman standing across the room, partially hidden by the horde of bodies. Someone shifts to the right, giving me another peek, and I hold my breath as that same red comes into view again. It’s familiar, achingly so, but I tell myself I’m overreacting. I’m imagining it. Because there is no way she’s here in Seattle. There’s just no chance of it.
Then, almost as if I’ve willed it to happen, the crowd parts, and every ounce of me that’s felt dead for the last three years springs back to life. My breath whooshes from my lungs, and my hands shake harder than ever before.
Either this cider has hit me far harder than I anticipated, or the impossible has happened.
“What? No comment, Keller?” Lawson asks, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m acutely aware everyone is staring at me, but it doesn’t register. Not fully. How can it when she’s standing just a hundred feet away?
Is this…is this a dream? Did I fall asleep on my couch and imagine this?
But then she laughs, tossing her head back, and I know it’s not a dream. This is real. She’s here.
Finally! my mind screams as I rake my eyes over her, and fuck, I swear she’s gotten even more beautiful with time. Her deep red hair is as gorgeous as ever, though shorter than the last time I saw it, now hitting just below her shoulders. She’s wearing a navy dress that sparkles when she moves and hugs her curves—the same ones that felt like sin beneath my fingers—just the right way. The freckle I’ve run my tongue over more times than I can count still sits on her right shoulder, and the urge to touch it has my fingers buzzing.
She leans her head back, laughing again, and I wish more than anything I were closer so I could hear it. Does it sound the same as it once did? Is it raspy and just a little too loud at the worst of times?
I want to know. I have to know.
I take a step toward her, ready to march over there and slant my mouth over hers, then I realize she’s not alone.
She’s. Not. Alone.
A guy—one I already hate with every fiber of my being—leans into her, his arm linked with hers, his mouth moving as he whispers something in her ear, and now my body is vibrating for a whole different reason. I want to hit someone. More specifically, I want to punch this man who has dared to lay a hand on what belongs to me.
My eyes fall to her left hand, the one absent of the ring I slid on it ten years ago, and all it does is exacerbate the fury.
“Keller, you okay, man?”
I don’t know who asks the question, but I find myself biting out a single word. “Fine.”
It’s a damn lie. I’m not fine. Not even fucking close. My body is thrumming with more anger than I’ve felt in…fuck, I’m not even sure how long. All I know is this can’t be compared to how I felt last week pummeling that guy from Vegas, and that’s saying a lot because I fucking loathe that team.
It’s more than that. This is rage. Blinding and white, and it has me gnashing my teeth so damn hard I’m afraid they’ll break.
I don’t care, though. Let them. I’ll happily lose them all if it means he’ll stop touching her.
“Do you know her or something?” This time, I know it’s Lawson who asks the question, and that’s only because I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so somber before. It’s fitting for how I feel in this moment.
“You could say that,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her even as the guy inches closer and her smile widens. “She’s my wife.”
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