Chapter 169
Half an hour later, I’m curled up on the Becketts‘ ridiculously comfy couch, half–buried under a fleece throw with Angel bouncing beside me. Angel is bouncing excitedly next to me, wearing an oversized NYC Titans jersey that nearly touches her knees. Liam gave it to her back when he and Cam were still technically my bakery staff.
God, that feels like another lifetime.
“I look just like Liam now,” she declares proudly.
“You look better than Liam,” I say, adjusting her pigtails. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”
She gasps. “I won’t! But I will tell Cam.”
Mrs. Beckett chuckles from the armchair, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and Theo asleep in a bassinet beside her. The Titans–Boston game flashes on the screen. The commentary is already fast and energetic.
“They’re on the road?” she asks.
“Boston,” I nod. “Tough crowd, but Liam said he was feeling good about it.”
The puck drops.
And we’re off.
The moment Liam hits the ice, I zero in on him. Number 27. Skating with such fluid precision that it makes the rest of the team look like they’re moving in slow motion.
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Not that I was looking at anyone else anyway.
“Is Liam playing? I can’t see him,” Angel pouts.
“He’s number 27,” I point. “Like your jersey.”
Her brow furrows. “But I can’t tell them apart. They all look like ants.”
Mrs. Beckett laughs. “Welcome to my world, sweetie.”
A Boston player tries to check Liam against the boards and Liam ducks out smoothly, already sliding the puck to someone streaking up the left side.
“Fast,” I mumble absentmindedly. One second he’s chasing the puck, the next he’s halfway across the ice with Liam trailing after him.
“Ah, that Cobalt boy,” Mrs. Beckett says, offering me the popcorn. “My husband nearly had a heart attack when there were trade rumours. Thank God they were just that.”
I blink. Right
—
Aaron Cobalt. Liam’s mentioned him a few times. The pass he just caught was smooth, but then it lands with Lyle, and I
tense.
Within seconds, the puck’s stolen.
Boston rushes the other way. Goal.
I almost puke blood.
“Oh, come on!” I groan, “Why is he even on that line?”
Angel perks up. “Who’s he?”
“That guy who just fumbled the puck like it was made of lava,” I mutter, dragging Angel into my lap for a whispered gossip session.
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“Isn’t that guy a loser?”
Angel tilts her head seriously. “He’s not a loser. Because then the Titans are losers too.”
“Good point.”
“But,” she says with a sage nod, “he does look like a frog.”
Mrs. Beckett nearly chokes on her popcorn, laughing.
―
The first period blurs by in a blur of tension two insane saves from Cam that earn full claps from all of us, a very questionable slashing penalty that I loudly protest, and a Boston defenseman who looks like he bench–presses motorcycles trying to crush Liam into the ice.
He dodges, of course.
By the time the horn sounds, the first intermission begins. The score is
1-0. Boston.
Mrs. Beckett rises from the chair, smoothing her blouse. “I just need to take a quick call.”
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She smiles. But something in it falters. “Just something from work. Be right back.”
She steps out of the room, and I try not to dwell on how pale she looked just before.
Angel crawls up next to me, showing me a new drawing she made with markers. Liam, in full uniform, holding a cupcake bigger than his
head.
“He has sprinkles in his beard,” she says proudly.
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I consider the possibility of Liam with facial hair deeply, before grinning and patting her on the head. “Good work, kiddo.”
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I tell Theo (even though he’s asleep) all about Liam’s first visit to the bakery, how he insisted on taste–testing every single cookie and called the lemon tart ‘divine.‘
When Mrs. Beckett returns, she doesn’t say much. Her smile is back, but I can tell something’s shifted.
Still, the second period starts, and we let it go.
Cam blocks a near goal with a flying save that gets me and Angel shrieking. Aaron gets an assist, then follows it up with a clean goal that has even the Boston crowd muttering.
Angel throws both fists in the air. “GO LIAM!”
I grin and tug her back down. “That wasn’t even Liam.”
She blushes bright pink. “I knew that.”
—
The third period begins. Liam’s everywhere – weaving, circling, stealing pucks. Lyle gets benched for a bad change. I smirk.
2-2.
The tension is unbearable. Even Mrs. Beckett’s muttering under her breath. I don’t breathe for a full minute.
–
–
And then with just under a minute left Liam drives straight through the defense. Dodges one. Shoulder–checks another.
