I pull out my phone and whip out a quick text to him. I’m in the back of the restaurant near the restrooms.
Once sent, I move that way, intent on waiting for Rafe to have time with his jubilant fans. I watch in amazement, wondering if he’s used to this kind of fame and adoration. It’s a life I would have led with him, but who knows if I would have ever gotten used to it. Right now, it seems alien and slightly scary, being at the center of such a huge spotlight.
I lean against the wall that separates the entrance to the alcove that holds the bathrooms and watch the celebration at Houlihan’s play out. Then I sense the crowd seem to swell again, pushing outward and then miraculously splitting apart.
Suddenly, there’s Rafe, eyes locked on me, walking purposely toward me. People try to get his attention for photos or an autograph, but for the moment, he ignores them all.
When he’s ten feet away, he reaches a hand out to me, and I’m powerless not to reach back. Our fingers touch, and then they lace together. Rafe steps into me, lowers his head, and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Didn’t want to leave you alone. Let me sign a few autographs, and then we’ll get a drink.”
“Okay,” I murmur, completely thrown that he’d even bother to make me a priority right now. He’s got fans to cater to.
As soon as I’m tucked into his side, he lifts his head and smiles openly at the first fan approaching. A woman—very pretty—standing with three of her girlfriends. She holds out a game program and a Sharpie, silently requesting an autograph.
Rafe signs her program, then her friends’. They gush and welcome him to the team.
“Can we get a picture with you?” one girl asks and hands her phone off to a fellow fan to take the picture.
“Sure,” he replies easily and moves to stand in between them. Two women flock to each side, and he puts his arms around them, giving a wide smile as they get their picture taken.
People start to swarm, moving in front of me, wanting to be next in line to get Rafe’s attention. He sees it happen and immediately jumps into action.
Pulling away from the women he was taking a photo with, he shakes his head and chastises the crowd. “Hey...hey...she’s with me. Don’t push her back.”
Everyone freezes, and then Rafe is once again reaching for me, his hand locking tight on mine. Once again, I’m by his side, and he resumes catering to the fans.
A mere forty minutes later, he has me at the end of the bar and is buying us beers. The furor has died down, most of the fans now back in their groups, drinking and celebrating.
A couple joins us, and Rafe introduces me to Garrett Samuelson, one of the best players in the league.
After we shake hands, Garrett introduces me to the beautiful blonde at his side. “This is my wife, Olivia.”
We barely get our own handshakes and pleasantries completed when more of the Cold Fury team starts to crowd in around us. It’s a bit overwhelming, meeting these stars that I watch on TV, and it’s utterly surreal that they treat me like the closest of friends because I’m here with Rafe. It’s clear by some of the knowing looks that I get that Rafe may have told them something about the history of our relationship, or at the very least that we are lifelong friends.
Regardless, I’m about to lose my shit when the crowd parts again and the incredibly beautiful and insanely intelligent general manager of the Cold Fury, Gray Brannon, starts walking our way. Beside her is one of the best goalies of all time, her husband, Ryker Evans. He retired about a year and a half ago from the Cold Fury, and he’s now the goalie coach for the team.
Talk about hockey royalty.
Rafe is amused when I get tongue-tied during introductions, but I manage to compose myself when Gray asks me what I do for a living. We chat for several moments, and I forget she’s the head of a dynasty. Ultimately, she pulls out her phone, and I get to see pictures of her son, Milo.
“You know,” she says, leaning in to me. My eyes move over to Rafe, who’s busy chatting up Zack Grantham, his second-line teammate. When I look back to Gray, she’s got an understanding smile on her face. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been an immense support to Rafe with everything he’s going through.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I tell her, just vague enough to keep things, well...vague.
“I heard there was a time you were a lot more,” she replies. And, yeah...Rafe must have spilled the beans to some of his teammates.