Sin Bin (D.C. Stars, #5) — Chapter no 17

SEVENTEEN

BRODY

THE MALL three weeks before Christmas is hell on earth, I decide.

A woman with her arms full of shopping bags hits me in the shin, and I scowl at her as she walks away.

“Do you think I should get Hannah a Christmas gift?” Olivia stands on her toes, looking at the jewelry counter in a department store. I pull the brim of my hat low when a saleswoman eyes me like she recognizes me from somewhere and regret agreeing to accompany my daughter on her shopping trip. “Or would that be weird?”

“I don’t think a gift is necessary,” I answer, folding my arms over my chest. “What about a card? I’ll throw some money in there.”

“That’s not very personal.” Liv rolls her eyes. “It’s the holiday season, Dad. You have to show people you care about them. That you listen to them, and that doesn’t include shoving a wad of cash their way.”

“Why not? Everyone loves money.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Glad to know that early SAT prep course I signed you up for is working.”

“I’m asking because it’s been two months, and my technique is only getting better. Hannah is a big part of that, and I want her to know I appreciate all the work she’s putting in with me.” Liv sighs. “She’s so talented. I hope she’s able to come back to skating soon.”

“What about a friendship bracelet? You have a million at home. I bet she’d love to wear something you created.”

“Ugh. She’s cool, Dad, and has like, so many Instagram followers. She wouldn’t like a friendship bracelet.”

“I like mine.” I hold up my wrist so she can see the five I’m currently wearing. Different colors, different beads. Some bright pink and others light blue and red, matching the team colors. “Am I not cool?”

“No. You’re old, and not many things bring you joy.”

“You wound me, kid.” I laugh and ruffle her hair, ignoring her when she tries to swat my hand away. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Mom says I get my bluntness from you.” Liv grins. “You can only

blame yourself.”

“I’ll say.”

“Are you getting Hannah a gift?”

“Why would I get her a gift?” I lead her away from the diamond bracelets she’s scoping out knowing I already bought her the one she wanted. “That also isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t know. You’re friends, aren’t you?” Her smile is anything but innocent. “Friends get each other gifts.”

“Yes, we are friends, but it’s not a gift-giving level of friendship.” I rub the back of my neck, bracing myself for an ambush. “We skate together. We spend Thanksgiving together. We don’t exchange presents.”

At least… I don’t think we do.

Have I seen her eight times in the last month?

Yeah, but does that mean I’m obligated to get her a gift?

Shit. Is she getting me a gift?

I can’t be the asshole who doesn’t get her a present.

What the fuck do you get for the girl you slept with once and can’t get

out of your head?

Socks?

“You spent Thanksgiving together?” Liv gasps, yanking me out of my gift spiral, and what a terrible fucking idea that was. “Dad!”

“No. No. That’s not—she was at the team dinner. I was at the team dinner. We spent Thanksgiving with my players.” I almost knock over a display of perfume bottles as we wind our way through the store. “Not… not alone.”

“Interesting. Do you ever think you’ll date someone?” Liv asks, switching gears. I’m fucking flustered. “Some of the girls at school have single dads, and they’re on dating apps. You could be out meeting people.”

“Why the sudden interest in my personal life?”

“Call it curiosity.”

“I’m not out meeting people because I don’t want to meet people. I have everything I need: you. The guys on the team. Hockey every day of my life.

What else could make me happy?”

“Someone who makes you laugh? You’re uptight, Dad.”

“Gee.” I shove my hands in my pockets. We pass a Dairy Queen and an Auntie Anne’s. A kid wearing a Stars jersey and waiting in line to meet Santa tugs on his mom’s dress to get her attention when he spots me. I give him the flash of a smile and he waves. “You’re piling on the compliments today, Livvy.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” She sighs in that exasperated way teenagers do. I’m the biggest pain in her ass. Why don’t I understand what she’s trying to say? “Are you ever lonely when I’m at Mom’s?”

“No.” A long beat before I decide she deserves more of an answer. “I prefer to keep to myself. I always have.”

“That’s sad.”

“I don’t think of it that way.”

“Well, if you ever do decide to date, I’d be okay with it.” Liv smiles. “I like Bryant. I’m sure I’d like whoever you started seeing. Especially if they’re a pretty figure skater who could keep coaching me.”

“Olivia Elliot. Knock it off.”

“This is when I wish I had a twin sister so we could plan some ‘Parent Trap’ level scheming.” She sighs, lighting up when she spots a photo booth.

“Can we go in and take pictures?”

I’ve never denied her anything, so I cram into the tiny stall with a curtain that shows off my entire lower body. Liv holds up a peace sign and I stick out my tongue. I give the camera my best menacing face and she puts her hands under her chin, batting her eyelashes. Two copies of the four snapshots print out, and I fold one up and stow it safely in my wallet.

“I’ll split a milkshake with you before I take you to your mother’s,” I say, my attention catching on a store with lava lamps in the window. I squint at the racks of clothes and art prints hanging on the wall, veering left so we can step inside. “We’re making a detour first.”

“What do you want in here?” Liv rifles through a stack of shirts.

“Whoa. Look at these cool graphic tees! What does I survived Y2K mean?”

“Jesus. I feel ancient.” I scan the shop, smiling at the keychains on a back wall. “Bingo.”

With Liv distracted, I touch the metal trinkets Hannah told me she likes to collect. They’re not from halfway across the world or a memento commemorating one of her competitions, but they do make me chuckle.

And, well, it’s better than showing up somewhere empty-handed.

I grab two off a hook—one that’s a jar of pickles with BIG DILL ENERGY written on it and another in the shape of a lemon with the words when life gets tough, squeeze me—and take them to the register. The bored- looking guy behind the counter asks if I want a bag and I politely decline, slipping the tiny knickknacks in the pocket.

“Do they have any of these clothes in a museum somewhere?” Liv asks when I track her down. “Is this how our founding fathers dressed?”

“You’ve reached your age joke limit for the day. Let’s get you to your mom’s so you can make fun of her instead. I’m going to drown my old man sorrows with my assistant coaches tonight,” I say.

I walk slow so she can keep up with me, her stride impossibly short compared to mine. Our stop for milkshakes takes double the amount of time it should after a group of teenage boys in CCM beanies and Georgetown Hockey sweatshirts notice me. They ask for a photo and show me a video of their practices, asking for a couple of tips to improve their skills.

“Maybe you’ll coach one of them one day,” Liv tells me, handing over the cookies and cream milkshake.

“Maybe,” I say, the keychains pressing into my thigh on our walk to the car.

“NO HOCKEY TALK,” Mikal says when he sets a pitcher of beer on our table. “This is our one night a month where we’re not obligated to talk about the sport we coach.”

“Great. I can stare at the wall instead.” I pour a cup for each of us, nudging the drinks to him and Parker. “That’s my favorite pastime.”

“I could talk about my kid,” Parker suggests, tapping his phone and showing off his son on the lock screen. “But Mikal is scared of babies and Brody hasn’t held an infant in years.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’m not scared of babies. They’re just… judgy.” Mikal shudders and brings his cup to his mouth. “When they stare at you, it’s like they’re staring into your soul.”

“It’s called a good judge of character.” I flip a coaster in the air, catching it between my thumb and pointer finger. “Babies and dogs. If they don’t trust you, I don’t trust you.”

“Did you see that guy from the San Diego Iguanas got cast on a reality dating show?” Parker asks, holding up his hands when Mikal shoots him a look. “I said guy, not ECHL player. It could’ve been anyone.”

“A reality dating show is my idea of hell.” My phone buzzes on the table with a text message, and I discard the coaster. “You’d have to drag me on camera.”

“I’d pay money to see that,” Mikal says.

They start talking about the other reality shows they watch, but I’m distracted by Hannah’s initials on my screen. I swipe my thumb across the notification, waiting for her text message to load.

H.E. *Attachment: 1 link* Buzzfeed ranked the hottest coaches in professional sports.

Guess where you finished?

ME At the bottom, I hope.

H.E.

Do you have any self-confidence? You were first!

Pretend I’m tossing streamers and confetti in the air.

Anything to say about this accomplishment, Brody?

I’m trying my damnedest to hold back a smile. It’s a losing battle.

ME

Is there nothing better to report on?

And who did I beat?

H.E.

The football coach for the DC Titans. Shawn Holmes? Do you know him?

ME

Yup. Good guy.

H.E.

There’s a coach for the Sacramento hockey team. He’s cute.

What’s his deal?

Irritation prickles at the top of my spine. I don’t like that she’s calling that dickbag cute, and my fingers fly across the keyboard to give her an answer.

ME

He’s been divorced twice. Cheated on both wives.

H.E.

Darn. I knew he was too pretty to be true.

ME They always are.

Three dots appear and disappear on her end of the text thread. I wait, wondering if she’s going to say anything else. Just when I’m about to turn my phone face down, a new message pops up.

H.E.

What are you up to tonight?

ME Out with my assistant coaches at a bar.

H.E.

Such a social butterfly. I’m so proud of you!

ME

What are you doing?

H.E.

I’m also at a bar. I got stood up? I think?

She told me she’d meet me at seven. It’s now almost eight, and she’s nowhere in sight. I’m still sitting at this high top alone, but the server was nice enough to bring over mozzarella sticks.

Nothing fried food can’t fix!

I blink, something like anger bubbling in my stomach.

I don’t like to picture her sitting alone, checking the door every time it opens and being disappointed when it’s not who she thought it was. I shouldn’t be asking this next question—there’s nothing I can do to fix the problem—but I do it anyway, because for as hard as I try, this woman has

me wrapped around her finger.

ME Where are you?

H.E.

A sports bar called Intermission. It’s near the arena, actually.

My head jerks up. I look around the crowded room—the same room she’s in, and… there. At a table tucked away in the corner, under one of Maverick Miller’s jerseys, is Hannah.

The universe has a sense of fucking humor.

I lock my phone, finishing off my beer.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, and Mikal blinks at me.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Just need to help a friend with something.” I hop off my stool and smile. “I’ll be quick.”

“He has friends?” Parker asks, and, it’s a valid question, because, no. I don’t have a ton of friends, but Hannah has somehow become one of them.

And I don’t like how sad she looks.

I dodge a group of drunk finance bros and round the bar. I run a hand through my hair then push the sleeves of my sweater up my arms, warm and loose from that first beer. Hannah exchanges her phone for a mozzarella stick, enjoying a long pull of the cheese.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask, and she nearly falls out of her chair. “Easy, Tiny Everett. It’s just me.”

“Brody?” she sputters. “What are you doing here?”

“Told you I was out at a bar.”

“And it’s the same bar where I am?”

“What a coincidence.” I sit across from her and swipe a mozzarella stick

from the basket. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Your date stood you up?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date. We’ve talked on a dating app a few times, and we were meeting up to see what our connection was like in person.”

Hannah dusts off her hands and shrugs. “I guess I wasn’t her type.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“My biggest fear is finding out she walked in, saw what I looked like, and left.”

“If she did walk in, she wouldn’t have left. She would’ve come over and stolen one of your mozzarella sticks.” I dunk the appetizer in the cup of marinara sauce. “You’re the best-looking person in this bar.”

“You’re just saying that.” A throaty laugh. A lift of her highball glass and the sip of what smells like whiskey neat. “And buttering me up so I’ll let you eat my food.”

“Hannah.” I lean over the table, tapping her elbow. She freezes. “Do I look like the kind of man who would butter someone up?”

Her lips part. Her eyes move from my hair to my chin. Lower, to my throat and down to my chest. She takes her time, and when she finds whatever she’s searching for, her mouth quirks up with a smile.

“No,” she says slowly. “You look like the kind of man who says exactly what he’s thinking and gets whatever he wants.”

“Not always.” I pull my hand away, knuckles rapping on the table to give them something to do. “It’s her loss.”

“You know what? Yeah, it is her loss.” Hannah snorts. “The first red

flag was her name.”

“Uh oh. What’s wrong with her name?”

“People with J names tend to bring on higher disappointment than the other twenty-five letters. I’ve never met a Justin I liked.”

“You know what?” I nod in agreement. “I haven’t either.”

“Cheers to that. Wow. I can’t believe you’re here. I like seeing you—”

Hannah waves her hand with a smile. “Like this.”

“Like what?” I fix my collar then touch the hair at the back of my neck, wishing I had worn a hat. It feels like I’m on display right now, waiting to hear what she has to say. “This is how I always am.”

“Like without the whistle or the skates…” She trails off with a hum.

“Makes you look more human.”

“A shame, since I do love the robot allegations.”

“Stop.” Hannah laughs and swats at my arm. “It’s a good look. Are you sure it’s really you?”

“Brody Saunders, reporting for duty. If you think this is impressive, you should see the photos Liv and I took today,” I say. “I squeezed into a photo

booth.”

“You have to show me.”

“Hang on.” I dig my wallet out of my back pocket, pulling out the thin strip of photographs. I hand it her way, watching her hold the corners with her thumbs so she doesn’t make any fingerprint smudges. “She asked. I couldn’t resist.”

“These are fucking adorable. Can I please take photo of this photo and put it as your contact information in my phone?” Hannah taps the one of me sticking my tongue out. “I promise I won’t use it as blackmail.”

“Go ahead. But only because I know how intimidating I look in the next one.”

She laughs and snaps a couple pictures, her smile never dimming as she assesses the grainy photos one more time. “You love Liv so much, don’t you?”

“More than words. She’s my greatest joy.”

“She’s lucky to have a dad like you. Who invests in the things she likes.

Who’s involved, even when he’s busy as hell.” She puts a hand on my forearm, right on my bare skin. “It’s so wonderful to see.”

“That’s the bare minimum.” I don’t look at where she’s touching me.

“Do you want to come sit at my table? Socializing isn’t my favorite thing in the world, but Parker and Mikal are good people. I can’t promise your mood will improve, but you’d get free drinks out of it.”

“Thanks for the offer, but my best friend invited me over. I’m going to curl up on her couch and wallow in how undesirable I am.”

I’m still trying to understand why someone stood her up. “I bet there are ten people in this bar right now who would fight to the death to talk to you.”

“I’ve always wanted someone to duel for my affection. Thanks for cheering me up, Brody. Seeing you has been the highlight of my night.”

My chest warms with pride. I’m tipsy without having anything else to drink.

The Hannah Everett effect.

Everything is always brighter when she’s around.

“Glad I could help,” I rasp. “You want me to call you an Uber?”

“I’ve got it covered. Thanks for the offer.” Another smile, and she climbs off her chair. She gathers her purse, but she doesn’t leave. Not yet.

“That code Grant was talking about on Thanksgiving.”

I straighten my spine. “What about it?”

“You never told me if there’s anything in there about a coach touching their player’s sister.” Her sweater shows off her sharp collarbone, the spot on her throat I’d like to kiss. “Or does it only apply to teammates?”

I knock over the salt shaker. I’m pretty sure my ears are ringing. “I, ah,

haven’t read anything about that. No.”

“Good to know,” she says.

If she’s going to play this game, I am too.

“By the way, Hannah.” I hop out of my seat. I walk toward her, our chests close to fusing together. “You should go to sleep tonight knowing you’re anything but undesirable.”

She tips her chin up. Her lipstick is smudged on her bottom lip from drinking, and I want to wipe the rest of it away with my thumb. “Really?”

“Really.” A shaky hand tucking away a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. Another brief touch. “Her loss, remember?”

“Yeah.” She puts a palm on my sweater, fiddling with a loose thread.

Nails grazing my chest. “Her loss.”

Hannah steps away. With a last look at me she heads for the door, hips swaying as she walks out into the December night. I’m practically floating on the way back to my table, like ten minutes with her were the highlight of

my day.

I think they were.

“There he is.” Parker clasps my shoulder. “We were getting worried about you.”

“Told you I was talking to a friend.” I pour myself another beer, sipping it like it’s water. “It was good to see them.”

“Must’ve been some friend,” Mikal says with a smirk. “Brody is smiling.”

I touch the corner of my mouth, a grin sitting there.

Guess I am.