I’d like to say my lack of focus was a random one-off, but the truth is, I know where my head was tonight.
It was stuck on my roommate who I was texting with pregame when she dropped the bomb that she was driving rideshares tonight. She was stoked it was going to be busy thanks to the drives to and from the arena. However, all I could think about is her being stuck in her car with strangers. Doesn’t she realize how potentially dangerous that could be? Doesn’t she understand how drunk some of these fans are after a game?
Worse than that, she hasn’t texted me back since I got to my phone.
“Ry.”
My zoned-out daze is broken to find Zanders casually leaning on the wall outside my locker room, one leg crossed over the other.
“Hey, man. Were you here for the game? I thought Stevie said you were out of town for some sponsorship deal.”
“Just landed and headed here.”
I push the door open. “Want to come into my locker room?”
“You mean my locker room?” He wears a smug smile.
“Not until tomorrow night.”
The Raptors and the Devils share the United Center, so on nights where I’m not playing, there’s a good chance you could find my sister’s boyfriend on the ice.
“Are you picking up Stevie or what?”
Zanders takes a seat in one of the locker stalls as I collect my phone, wallet, and keys, still frustrated from the lack of Indy on my phone.
“No, she’s home already, and doesn’t know I’m here. I wasn’t sure if Indy was at your place, and I was hoping to talk to you alone.”
Well, that catches my attention. I turn around to find Zanders’ expression completely serious, an uncommon occurrence for the defenseman.
“Everything okay?” I take a seat in my stall, elbows on my knees.
“I wasn’t at a sponsorship deal. I was in Nashville.”
Stevie’s and my hometown.
“To talk to your dad.”
Oh. Oh shit.
“Do you remember the night we met, and I told you I wasn’t going to ask for permission to date your sister?”
I attempt to hold back the slight tug on my lips remembering the charity gala where I formally met the arrogant hockey player. Going into that night, I hated him. He was a walking stereotype, but here we are, almost a year later. The guy sitting in the stall across from me is one of my best friends and loves my sister in the way she deserves.
“I’m all for Stevie making her own decisions, so again, I’m not going to ask your permission, but this time, I do care how you feel.”
“Zee, you’re being sappy as fuck about this,” I laugh. “Spit it out.”
“Ryan Taylor Shay.” Zanders gets on one knee in front of me. “Will you be my brother-in-law?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m kidding.” He retakes his seat, laughing. “But I would like to know how you’d feel my asking Stevie to marry me. You’re one of my best friends, but I also want both of you to be my family. Officially.”
I’m not an emotional man. I don’t cry often. I’ve shed a few tears in my younger days if I didn’t make a game-winning shot or if I felt like I let my team down. Now, the only time emotions hit me is when my sister is involved. She’s my gray area in a world of black and white. I want her happiness more than I want my own and knowing the guy across from me makes her happier than she’s been in her whole life causes a slight burning in my eyes.
I exhale a deep breath, centering myself. “You’re about to make me lose it, man.”
“Good. You can get on my page. I was a crying mess talking to your dad today.”
I can picture that perfectly. My dad is a sweet man, caring and kind and Zanders is as in tune with his emotions as I’ve seen almost anyone. Well, maybe besides Indy.
“So, what do you think?”
“What do I think?” I contemplate for a moment. “I think if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” I stand with a smile on my face, repeating the phrase I used the first night I met my future brother-in-law. “But yeah, I’d love for my sister to marry you.”
He stands as well, both of us throwing our arms around each other in a hug. I smack his shoulder a couple of times before pulling away.
He holds me at arm’s length. “You played like shit tonight, by the way.”
A silent laugh heaves in my chest. I almost forgot about my terrible game, but it’s one of eighty-two and I’m not going to let it ruin my night any longer.
“Thanks, Zee. Always supportive.” I exit the locker room with him following behind.
“Just keeping you in check. At the very least, I need you to make the playoffs because I’ve got a Stanley Cup win under my belt and it’s becoming a heavy burden to be the only champion in this family.”
“I’m so glad I make more money than you.” We head to the players’ parking lot. “Do you need a ride?”
“Nah, I drove.”
As we find our cars, I hesitate, knowing I’m going to sound like a complete stalker, but fuck it. This guy is about to be my brother. If I can’t ask him, who else can I ask?
“Hey, Zee.” He turns to face me, his hand lingering on the handle of his G-Wagon. “When you’re on the road, Indy…She’s good?”
His lips lift mischievously. “Is she good at her job? Yeah, the best.”
“No.”
“Oh, you mean is she good at getting hit on in every bar we walk into? Yeah, she’s fucking great at that too.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs from his core. “She’s good, man. She usually comes out and grabs a drink with Maddison, Rio, and me if we have the night off, but other than that, she’s in her hotel reading or sewing or whatever the fuck she does with her shoes.”
“The guys though, they don’t mess with her?”
“Ryan, if you’re asking if any of my guys are getting with her, the answer is no. Are they trying? I’m fairly certain a few of them have tried, but she’s not interested in the slightest. But if you’re asking if she’s good as in, is she happy? She seems happier than she has been in a long time.”
A quick nod of my head. “Thanks, man.” We both get into our cars that are parked near each other, but I roll down my window to add one more thing. “And keep your teammates in check. If I hear that one of them tries anything with her again, I’m coming to you.”
Zanders folds over his steering wheel in laughter. “Ryan, my guy, you’re so completely fucked, and you can’t even see it.”
“Indy!” I hang my keys on the hook by my front door. “Blue, are you home?”
All the lights are off in the apartment which means I was the last to leave. Indy leaves a symbolic trail of breadcrumbs behind her in the form of open cabinet doors and unnecessary lights on whenever she exits a room.
I quietly walk by her open bedroom door to be sure, but it’s empty. Her pillows are still stacked on one side of the mattress from last night, yet to work on her bucket list.
Grabbing my phone, I dial her again, which makes it my third call since I left the arena twenty minutes ago.
“You’ve reached Indy!” her voicemail repeats once again. “You can leave a message if you want but I probably won’t call you back. Bye!”