Page 40 of Sweet Redemption

“Serena,” A glass of wine appears in front of my face. “You look gorgeous, honey.” My mom pushes my hair behind my shoulders, smiling as her gaze drops to the neckline of my dress. Her brows lift, but not in disappointment. “I had an interesting conversation with a friend today.”

“Oh yeah?” I take a sip of the wine, fortifying myself for whatever she’s going to say next, and turn back to the ice as the puck drops and my traitorous heart thumps in my chest as my eyes lock on Hendrix. I used to love watching him play. In high school. In college. Even when he wore Chicago’s colors. It wasn’t the Revolution, but it was Hendrix, so it was my team. A fact I could never share with my die-hard family.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen him in Revolution red, and damn if it doesn’t look good on him. Sinclair stretched across broad shoulders. The number thirty-one beneath it. He’s had that number since we were kids. I may still have a jersey, a few tees, and an old Kroydon Prep hoodie with that name and number on them buried deep in my closet.

Nixon wins possession immediately and sends it to Leo, who takes it down the ice and behind the Kraken’s net as Ares slams one of the Kraken players against the boards. Leo sends it across the ice. Hendrix downs it, and in one smooth, beautiful move, buries a slapshot in the corner of the net before sixty seconds have even come off the clock.

The dozen or so people in the suite explode, and my heart fights to keep a steady rhythm.

“Serena . . .”

Shit.

“Sorry, Mom.” I tear my eyes from the ice below and focus on her. Or at least try to. “What were you saying?”

She sips her wine and looks at my neckline again. “Meeting someone after this?”

“What?” I look down to make sure my boobs are still contained, which they are. “Mother? Are you judging me?” I tease. Mom has always been the more body positive parent. Dad would have forced me into a nun’s habit if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

“Not judging. Admiring.”

A snort comes from my left as Aurora and Saylor slide in next to us, a tower of nachos between them. “For what it’s worth, I forced her to unbutton it, Aunt Daphne.”

Saylor points a chip at my chest. “Yup. Pro boob over here too. If you’ve got them, flaunt them. But maybe share who we’re flaunting them for . . .” She eyes me knowingly. She doesn’t actually know. But both of these women should have a pretty good guess, even if it’s never been confirmed to anyone other than Liv.

“Thanks for your support . . . ?” I ask more than state because the cheese-covered chip is still pointed at my dress.

“Always.” Saylor pops the chip in her mouth. “Kingston girls have to stick together, considering the man we’re damning is our fathers.”

“Umm . . . are we damning the man?” I ask, a little confused, and look at Aurora. “Has she been on an Empire Records kick again?”

Aurora closes her eyes and nods. “You’re not the only one with the eighties movie obsession, Serena.”

“Can we just have a minute of silence for young Ethan Embry,” Saylor sighs.

“What is wrong with you?” Mom asks, as all of our focus swings her way. “What? He didn’t even have tattoos back then.”

“Cohen Kingston has the puck,” an announcer says over the speakers, and we all look down in time to see Cohen flying down the ice and a Kraken defenseman coming right at him before Hendrix slams the defenseman into the boards hard enough to rattle the glass.

“Ohh.” Aurora winces. “That man’s ancestors felt that hit.”

“This isn’t Mulan,” Saylor laughs.

Aurora flips her off. “Disney movies are better than eighties movies.”

Cohen fires the puck off to Hendrix, who with one lethal crack, rockets it past the goalie’s glove.

The suite erupts again.

One of my uncles shouts, “Welcome home, Sinclair!” like Hendrix has any chance of hearing that over the roar of twenty thousand screaming fans.

Holy. Shit.

He’s scored twice in the first five minutes of a preseason game, and my heart stupidly slams painfully against my ribs.

Nixon throws an arm around Hendrix before Leo crashes into both of them.

All three Sinclair brothers in Revolution red, together on the ice.