Hendrix: A Pittsburgh Titans Novel
Hendrix: Chapter 11

“You know he’s totally buying my approval,” my dad grumbles as we move down the steps of the arena to our seats. Down, down, down we go until we hit row B, just two back from the Titans’ bench. “I’m mean… look where we’re sitting. It’s total bribery.”

I snicker as I step in and replace our seats. The teams are already out on the ice warming up, and I search for Hendrix. I lower myself carefully while balancing my beer, and then I see him.

Number 63.

We watch in silence as the guys run two-on-one warm-up drills and then move into single breakaways against the goalie. I’ve only been to a few games over my life. The tickets are super expensive, so it was a bit of a luxury purchase growing up, and as an adult, I don’t go at all unless someone invites me. I’ve been twice with Harlow—once last season and once this season—but this is the first time my father and I have seen a game together in years, long before I was an adult. He loves hockey, but his true love is football, so if he’s going to spend a lot of money on a Pittsburgh sport, it’ll be to watch a showdown on the gridiron.

Seeing Hendrix on television and seeing him out on the ice are two very different things. When I watch him on TV, there’s almost like a shield between us. But sitting here two rows back, feeling the same chill from the ice that he does, it brings to the forefront the reality that I’m dating a hockey star. I have this weird moment where my life doesn’t seem real as I look around the arena. In a million years, I never thought I’d ever meet a Titans player, much less date one.

And I certainly never considered I’d be in one’s bed, getting fucked like there’s no tomorrow.

My cheeks turn hot as I catch my dad watching me.

“Your guy keeps looking over at you,” he mutters before taking a sip of his beer.

I look to the ice, but Hendrix isn’t looking at me. He’s standing in a line, rocking side to side on his skates while talking to Bain, who I don’t quite recognize with his helmet on but his last name—Hillridge—is on the back of his sweater.

And then, he does it. Twists his neck slightly to look to where I’m sitting with my dad. I smile when we make eye contact, and he winks before turning away.

“Christ, you two are adorable,” my dad grumbles.

“Why don’t you like him?” I ask, giving him my regard.

“It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s that you do.”

I frown and angle my body toward him. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Yeah, it does, Carrots.” His eyes move from the ice to me. “I’ve never seen you look at a guy like this. I’ve never heard you talk about a guy like this. So I know this is serious, and because it’s serious, I care about this situation. I’m going to make him prove himself, not to me, but to you. Until he does, I’m reserving judgment.” He leans to the side and bumps his shoulder against mine. “You deserve nothing less than the absolute best.”

I grin at my dad, but my voice is soft. “I love you, Peas.”

He harrumphs and turns his attention back to the ice, and I do the same. In a low voice, he admits, “It wasn’t a bad move getting us nice seats. That’s a point in his favor.”

Laughing, I watch Hendrix take the puck, then zig and zag with a quick wrist shot at Drake McGinn who easily bats it away. “I’ll transfer some of the points he’s racked up with me over to you.”

That gets his attention back on me. While I’ve filled my dad in on how my dates with Hendrix have gone—minus the sex details—I haven’t spoken about how he makes me feel.

I boil it down into something succinct he’ll understand. “He’s the exact opposite of Mom.”

“Aah,” my dad says, rubbing thoughtfully at his beard. “That means he’s mature, stable, genuine, caring, has a solid work ethic, and doesn’t give up easily.”

“Pretty much.”

“What does he think about your mom?” my dad asks curiously. This is where Hendrix could’ve scored major points with my dad if he’d told me to run far away from Mandi, but I decide to be honest.

“He said there’s nothing wrong with me wanting to have some type of relationship with her.”

My dad grunts and turns his attention back to the ice. His expression is impassive, so at least he’s not shooting daggers at Hendrix.

“He also told me I didn’t have to love her.” That gets my dad’s eyes back on me. “He basically affirmed it’s okay to have all kinds of fucked-up feelings about her, just as it’s okay to try to work through them to achieve something meaningful.”

With a heavy sigh, my dad drapes his arm over my shoulders and leans in closer to peer at me. “You know I don’t like your mom.”

“Understatement,” I mutter. It’s one of many reasons I’ve not turned to him for advice on replaceing the money to help her. He’ll tell me to turn my back on her and then will be disappointed in me when I don’t.

“But I do want you to have whatever in this world makes you happiest.” He motions out toward Hendrix. “So if preppy boy makes you happy, you go for it.” He pokes me in the upper chest, just below my shoulder. “If you want your mom in your heart, open it to her. If you need to set boundaries, I’ll validate their enforcement.” Once again, he turns his attention to the players. “If you want me to sit down to a meal with you and your mom, ain’t fucking happening.”

I bust out laughing and snuggle into him for a second. “I’d never ask that.”

Just like I’d never ask him to help me replace her a way out of this jam she’s in. My dad doesn’t deserve to be weighed down with her shit.

“And if pretty boy hurts you, I’ll kill him,” he says gruffly.

“You can tell him that yourself. I’m not about to interfere with your desire to be an overprotective dad.”

Chuckling, my dad is silent a moment before nudging me off him, and I sip my beer. I bet he gives Hendrix those exact words tonight after the game.

The warm-ups end, and I watch as Hendrix skates off the ice. We have twenty minutes before the game starts. No one is sitting in the seats in front of us yet, so I kick up my booted feet. “Okay, I’ll give you the rundown on Hendrix—the good and the bad—so you have a head start in figuring out how to best threaten him.”

I tell my dad pretty much everything I’ve learned about Hendrix over the past week. Mostly about his family, and my dad thinks it’s cool Hendrix’s aunt loves Stevie Nicks as much as he does.

By the time the puck drops, I have my dad begrudgingly admitting I might have found someone who could meet his high expectations. I have to remind him that I’m not really looking for anyone, although it’s been a cool twist of fate to have met Hendrix.

The game is intense. The Titans lost their last game to Nashville, and tonight there seems to be an almost palpable ferocity to their play. It seems they slam their opponents harder into the glass and scrabble more intently for loose pucks in front of the goal.

By the time the game concludes with their 3–1 win over the San Diego Renegades, I can feel the team’s exhaustion. Only once more does Hendrix’s gaze cut to me, just after the third period buzzer. He was on the bench for the final line shift and before exiting to congratulate his teammates, he shoots me a smile.

I give him a double thumbs-up to indicate how happy I am for his win. His gaze flicks to my dad but doesn’t linger.

As planned, we make our way out of the lower level and to an elevator halfway around the concourse where Hendrix directed us to go. Two Titans employees—an older man dressed in black with a purple vest boasting the Titans’ logo, an iPad in hand—and another holding lanyards with visitor passes attached. We give our names to him, and he locates us easily.

“Take the elevator down to the basement level, and there will be an usher to direct you to the players’ family lounge.”

Hendrix told me about the family lounge—a place the Titans’ organization outfitted to host family members and friends who come to watch games. While its main purpose is a gathering place for those family and friends who’ve traveled from out of state, everyone uses it to congregate before and after games. It’s furnished with round tables and chairs, as well as scattered couches and love seats.

I immediately spot Harlow across the room talking to a young blond woman with a curvy figure and even curlier hair. I head that way, my father following along.

Harlow sees us approach, and her smile widens. She hugs me and then my father before introducing us to Tillie Marshall, Coen’s girlfriend. Hendrix told me they started dating this summer after Coen bought a place in Coudersport, Pennsylvania, and that Tillie still lives there. While Hendrix didn’t give exact details, he said that Coen credits Tillie as being the only person who could get his head out of his ass after his suspension from the team and the decision he’d made to quit hockey for good.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Tillie says as she shakes my dad’s hand, then mine. “Hendrix has told Coen all about you and it got passed on to me. I particularly enjoyed the story of how he won ten minutes with you, during which time he got you to agree to a date. He won’t tell Coen or any of the guys what happened in that ten minutes, but here we are.”

“I’d like to know what happened in that ten minutes too,” my dad rumbles, and we all laugh.

“That’s just for me and Hendrix, but let’s just say he didn’t have to try too hard. Just something he said that resonated.”

Harlow loops her arm around my shoulders. “Who would’ve thought the two of us would end up dating hockey players, huh?”

“Oh, please,” I say, giving her a tiny nudge to her ribs with my elbow. “You could have any man on this planet.”

I’m only joking, of course, but it’s true, thanks to Harlow’s near flawless good looks and the fact she’s a successful attorney from a wealthy family.

Harlow scoffs but doesn’t chastise me. She’ll do it later when we’re in private, and I love her for it. She always bolstered me through our high school years when I had issues with my confidence. Those were things my dad just couldn’t help me with, but Harlow always made me feel pretty and interesting in my own right.

“Are you guys going to Mario’s tonight?” Tillie asks.

“I think just about everyone is,” Harlow replies.

It’s why Hendrix really wanted me and my dad to come to tonight’s game because while many of the players will go out after, it’s not often most of the team—including significant others—go out together. Most of the SOs have full-time jobs or are mothers, and late nights are a luxury.

Tillie touches my arm. “I’ve asked Coen to bring me to your bar. He had such a good time there and I know some of the other guys have been. Who knows… maybe that’ll be the new after-game hangout.”

“Nah,” I say with a wave of my hand. “It’s too far from the arena to make it easy, but maybe on some off-game nights.”

“Regardless, Coen and I will plan something in the next few weeks on a night you don’t have to work.”

“I’m actually switching my shifts to days to open up my nights for Hendrix.” My eyes cut to my dad over that proclamation, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it. I’m guessing he’s figured out that Hendrix is here to stay, by the looks of things, and he’s going to sit back and watch.