Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

15. Vegas vs. Toronto

15 /

vegas vs. toronto

Lila

As much as I like Las Vegas, Toronto will always feel like home for me. So it’s good to be back with my family for the annual Terry Family Hockey Smackdown.

My dad, Niles, is the GM for Toronto’s NHL team, so it’s always been a fun competition between my grandfather and my father, especially when their teams play each other. Even my mom comes to this game. So does my older brother, Rowan, who comes in from New York specifically for this game each year. My uncle Leo and his fiancée of seven plus years often come to this game. Not this year though, so we’ll get a pass on the recurring conversation about when their wedding might ever happen. Which is a bonus.

My grandfather has his arm around my father’s shoulders as they watch the first period unfold. They talk quietly, presumably about super-top-secret hockey business. “How are things going in Vegas, baby?” my mother asks.

“Pretty good. I really like working with Laura and Grant. They’re both creative and smart. I think it’s an awesome management team.”

“I heard Laura Gallant is a total babe,” Rowan says from his seat a row behind us. “I love a strong woman. She can be my sugar mama.”

“She is a total babe. And way out of your league. Like, seriously out. She wouldn’t give your entitled ass the time of day.”

“I’m young, hot, and rich—what else could she want?”

“A brain? And a dose of humility?” I answer my idiot brother, to which he throws popcorn at the back of my head in response.

Dad and Grandpa come to sit with us, my dad asking how I like the job in Vegas. I giggle, since I literally just answered this question.

“Welcome to the conversation, Niles,” my mother says.

“It’s good, Pop. I was just telling Mom and Row that I really like the GMs. I’m learning a lot.”

“And keeping Tripp Blackburn out of trouble,” Max adds on. “A bonus.”

“A bonus for who?” I ask, making a face at him.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t love it,” Rowan says. “You’ve been writing his name with little hearts next to it since you were twelve.”

“Thirteen,” I correct. “And it’s not like that anymore.”

“Oh, what’s it like? Picking out your wedding dress now?”

I turn and give my brother the finger.

“You two knock it off,” Mom warns. “You know, I love being an empty-nester.”

My dad chuckles at her. “Oh, but we do miss you two. But, Lila, why in the hell do you feel like you need to go all the way to Ohio to get a master’s degree?”

“Because it’s the best in the world. I’m really excited about it. People from Gaudreau University go to work for professional sports teams all over the globe.”

“But why do you need that?” he persists. “You don’t need the academic pedigree when you have Terry pedigree. I’ll literally give you a job here tomorrow.”

“You know I don’t want to build my career that way, Pop.”

“But why? Use your connections. You have them; why not put them to value?”

“Because I’m smart enough to do it on my own.”

Max jumps in with a subject change, then, God bless him. “Niles, what’s with the trade for Pryzbylski? He’s a little long in the tooth, isn’t he?”

“Says the guy who paid three million for a thirty-six-year-old this year,” Rowan chirps.

Max glares at Rowan and says, “I knew what I was buying. He’s in for one year only. And he’s putting the puck in the net, which is more than I can say for Pryzbylski, who hasn’t played more than ten minutes in any game since he was a rookie.”

“I was getting rid of a bigger problem,” Dad explains. “I had a kid who was really mucking with the chemistry of the team. I needed him gone, so I traded problems with Boston. How’s crotchety old Blackburn fitting in with your squad?”

“He’s okay. Quiet, which is zero surprise. Critical of team protocols—also not surprising. But he’s doing okay, I think. He knows he has to perform.”

“Speaking of which,” Dad says, lifting his chin at the lineup swap.

Tripp comes out with the swap, heading to that right wing spot, with Georg Kolochev at his back. They miss each other’s cues a few times and my dad snorts, “What a waste of money.”

“Did you pay him to say that?” Max asks, looking at me.

“What?” my dad says, his eyes going back and forth between us.

“Your daughter said the exact same thing, I recall, earlier in the season.”

“Okay, I have to interject here, guys. I can also now say that Tripp scored three goals this season so far. He’s been doing all of the nutrition and training protocols. Or so I’ve heard.”

I can feel myself blushing. Dammit. At least Rowan can’t see my cheeks turning red. My grandfather, however, can. He gives me a wry grin and quickly turns his attention back to the game.

After the Crush take Toronto by one goal, and Max and I are alone in a town car riding back to my parents’ house, I can feel him deep thinking into the heavy silence.

“If I didn’t know better,” he says after a few moments of quiet, “I’d think that raging crush you harbored for Tripp Blackburn when you were a kid might not have dissipated into adulthood.”

“Bah,” I say, swatting away his comment.

“Don’t give me that. Surely, you’re not mooning over a man thirteen years your senior.”

“I’m not. Don’t you worry about that. I just see his value as a player now. I’m trying to be on your side here, Grandpa.”

“By now, my dear, you must know that I don’t give a hoot what people think of my business choices. I do very well without everybody else’s opinions to consider. I made a choice and it’s working out just fine.”

“And I’m agreeing with you. But it doesn’t mean I still have a crush on him,” I insist.

Gratefully, he lets it drop after that and we both keep quiet for the rest of the ride home.

At my parent’s brownstone, I can see several Blackburn family members are already here, as usual. We’ve shared this game party with the Blackburns since Max bought the Crush, so it would be a lot weirder if they weren’t here. I make a beeline for Tripp’s sister, Jenn, who’s in from DC with her partner, Gayle. The long months since we’ve seen each other in person fall away as we hug it out.

“Little Lila Jayne,” she says, pinching my cheeks like some crazed, older aunt. “Long time no see.”

“I’ve missed you! How’s life in pro football?”

“Delightful,” she says. “Apart from the vast and discriminatory pay gap between men’s and women’s sports.”

“Oh boy,” Gayle says, rolling her eyes. She’s heavily pregnant.

“Was that an admission of gender?” I ask cheekily.

“It was not,” Gayle says, hand on her belly. “We are not telling. You can’t make us. You can’t bribe us. You can’t trick us.”

I snap my fingers. “Thwarted again.”

Gayle and Jenn have been together for three years. They decided last year to try artificial insemination, and it worked immediately. The baby is due in maybe a month or two. I’m betting on it being a boy.

“So, why do you think women don’t make as much as men in the same sport?” I ask Jenn even though I know the answers; I just want her take on it.

“We don’t fill huge stadiums. We don’t get prime time television coverage or big advertising contracts. Women’s sports are viewed as inherently less interesting to the average viewer, therefore are promoted less. If no one ever sees us play, there is no money to be made. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“It’s bullshit,” Gayle adds. “But thankfully, you have a loving partner who makes lots of money in government contracting, all while providing an oven in which our child can cook.”

“Wow, that’s so romantic,” Jenn says.

“Turkey baster babies are totally romantic,” Gayle jokes.

“Ooh, the prodigal child has arrived,” Jenn says, looking at the door.

Tripp’s just come in, wet-haired and freshly showered from the game. As soon as he sees me, he turns around and beelines for another part of the house. So, it’s like that, then. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

“Nice to see you, too, brother,” Jenn says. She’s had a few beers already. Her tongue gets looser with each one. It’s always been that way. She pulls off the DC ball cap she wears, scratching her head, her short, sandy hair going wild. It reminds me a bit of Tripp when we were out on the trail.

“It’s not you, Jenn,” I say with a sigh. “It’s me.”

“Why would it be you?”

“We’ve been on shaky ground since he got to the Crush.” I shrug.

“Oh?” Jenn asks, concerned. “Give up the tea.”

“He’s not the most enlightened when it comes to women’s issues. And he treats me like I’m a kid he has to babysit. He’s nearly torn the heads off two of his teammates for just talking to me. It’s like having a hulking big brother lurking around all the time. And I’ve told him, like, a thousand times that I can handle myself. I’m not some helpless little…whatever.” I groan and blow out a frustrated sigh.

“Yes, I can see how that could be annoying,” Gayle offers.

“Some things never change,” Jenn adds on.

“What do you mean?” I can’t help asking.

Gayle gives her partner the side-eye, but Jenn just says, “My brother’s been creepin’ around you since you were like sixteen. He’s being a hulk because he’s harbored a thing for you since before it was legal.”

“ No .”

Time stops as all the metaphorical oxygen is sucked out of the room.

“Yeah. Duh.” Jenn nods her head with her arms crossed over her chest.

“No,” I repeat on a whisper. “He’s never had a crush on me. If anything, it was the other way around.”

“Oh, we all knew you had it bad for his stupid ass. Which I get, kind of. I mean, I get having a thing for the older guy. He was a successful hockey player at a really early age. And I guess he’s not hideous. For a dude.”

“Well, he looks just like you, so it would be bad if you thought he was hideous,” Gayle reminds her.

“I’m clearly the best-looking Blackburn spawn; what are you talkin’ about?” she grins at her mate. “Five Blackburns to choose from and you picked me.”

Gayle laughs and shakes her head. “The only Blackburn kid without a penis. Slim pickings if you ask me.”

“But wait,” I interrupt. “Let’s stay focused here. I still think you’re confusing things. Tripp couldn’t have had a crush on me.”

“Why? Because you were sixteen and he was damn near thirty and that’s fuckin’ creepy?”

“Well…yeah,” I answer honestly, my emotions starting on a little free fall of shock and disbelief.

Jenn puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “Look, I know my brother. I know he’s always had a thing for you, and I also know he’d never say anything about it. He can be a pig at times, but he is not a pedophile.”

Total. Complete. Shock. At this admission. And my first thought that comes to mind? I’m not underage anymore, Tripp Blackburn.

My dad walks over and joins us to ask Jenn how things are going in the world of American football. I use the moment as an excuse to take a bathroom break. Really, though, I need some air. I need to process the possibility that this wasn’t just a one-way crush. But, just maybe, Tripp wanted me too? I can’t believe it. I know it would have been wrong—very wrong—if we’d ever acted on it while I was underage. But now? Does it really matter? I’m a grown woman and he’s a grown man. What would keep us apart now?

I step out the back door onto the sprawling deck strewn with fairy lights and hanging baskets of flowers. It’s a magical space. And, as magical places often do, it manifests Tripp. He’s out here, in the flesh, leaning against a post.

His eyes flick to mine and he stands up straight, like he’s ready to bolt. Oh no, Mister. Not today, you’re not. I take a step closer. “I’m not a child, Tripp.”

I see him stiffen. “I know that,” he says softly, swallowing hard, still looking like he’s about to bolt.

“No, you don’t.” I take another step in his direction and breathe in, hoping I can catch his scent on the night air.

“Lila, I get it. You don’t need me to babysit you. Made it crystal clear.” The tone of regret in his words makes me feel sad.

“No. Listen to me, please.” He lifts his turquoise eyes and stares at me, wary as I take more steps until I’ve pushed right up into his personal space. Only then does he put his hands up in defense for whatever I’m going to yell at him, like he just doesn’t have it in him to fight back anymore.

But I just look him in the eye and tell him like it is. “I’m. Not . A. Child. Not anymore.”

And then I kiss him.

God help me, I kiss him. At first, it’s soft lips, just an exploration of mine melding with his. But then his arms are around me and I’m lifted up and his tongue is in my mouth. Every nerve in my body is alive. My lower belly is filled with heat and butterflies and want and glee. He’s kissing me. Tripp Blackburn is kissing me. And it’s so good. After all this time…it’s so good.

But then he pulls away, and I protest with a whimper.

“Lila.” He whispers it like a prayer, his voice pleading.

“What?” I’m searching his eyes for any kind of hint of what he might be feeling after sharing our first kiss together.

But I don’t find it, not really. He’s blocking me from knowing.

Tripp looks at me with longing before running a shaky hand through his hair, making it stick up wildly. Then he shoves both of his hands into his pockets as if for security from the temptation to touch me again.

He says exactly two words to me.

“I’m sorry.”

And then he’s gone.