Page 126 of Spiced!

“Sky!” Jacks said, a massive smile blooming, as the rest of him barreled toward Skyler.

“Surprise,” Skyler said, grinning back. The moment Jacks was in reach, Skyler pulled him into a hug that, to those who knew them, spoke of two people who had been apart because of a four-day road trip and were determined to make up for lost time. Jacks’s feet left the ground as he laughed into Skyler’s neck like some love-drunk teenager.

Behind Skyler appeared Tyler Chen. Tyler was shorter, broader, and had the irrepressible energy of one of my Fantas that might have just received a Mentos donation.

Finally, moving with the deliberate, unhurried inevitability of a glacier that had broken free of its arctic home to drift toward the party, came Erik Lindqvist, the Tampa Bay Lightning’s six-foot-four Swedish defenseman. Erik held what appeared to be a handmade sign rolled into a tube under one arm.

“What’s the sign?” Benji asked immediately, as Jacks and Skyler’s hug morphed into a deeply emotional kiss.

“A great contribution,” Erik said solemnly, his voice booming.

“To what?” Benji set a bottle down and stared at the Nordic giant.

“The occasion,” Erik said.

“What kind of contribution?” I asked, now curious.

Erik looked at Benji, then shifted his gaze to me with the patient solemnity of a man who had answered fully and completely and couldn’t fathom why we kept asking for more. “An appropriate one.”

Benji shot me a look. I cocked one brow and shook my head. We’d both known Erik long enough to understand that he would give us more information on his timeframe and not a moment before he was ready.

“Fantastic,” Benji said. “Thank you, Erik.”

“You are welcome, little man with the bright hair,” Erik said, and set the tube on the bar.

Tyler had already made it halfway around the room, shaking hands and slapping shoulders. He reached me and grabbed me by both shoulders.

“ADRIAN. Five years. This is a moment.”

“It really is,” I said, trying not to shrink beneath the brilliance of his sun.

“We wouldn’t miss this. Right, Sky?”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Skyler confirmed from where he and Jacks had found a booth and were holding hands across the table. Jacks said something I couldn’t hear that made Skyler laugh, full and unguarded. It was the glorious laugh of a man who still found his husband funny after a year of marriage.

This was the scene Brendan walked into.

He stepped through the back at four with our headcount folder under his arm. He froze in the doorway, taking inventory before committing. I went to him before the room could reach him first. With Tyler present, this was always a limited window.

“Hey,” he said. “I brought the—”

“I know. Come meet everyone.”

I grabbed his arm, gave him a gentle squeeze, then steered him toward the bar. Benji watched our approach, a lion who’d just spotted his prey.

“You already know Benji,” I said.

“We’ve met,” Brendan said. “He gives me whiskey every Saturday, via Jacks mostly, but I know it comes from Benji.”

“Excellent whiskey,” Benji corrected. “There’s a distinction.”

“It is excellent,” Brendan conceded with an Edwardian nod.

“The tall one in the booth with Jacks,” I said, nodding toward our resident lovebirds, “is Skyler Shaw, captain of the Tampa Bay Lightning and Jacks’s husband. You might not’ve seen him much lately, not since the season started, but he practically lives here in the off-season.”

Brendan glanced at the booth. “I’ve seen him once, I think, though I didn’t know who he was.”

“He doesn’t usually announce it. Sky’s surprisingly low-key for someone whose face is on a billboard on I-275.”