And like the idiot I was, the one who didn’t know how to process hints, or roll with things in a clever, cute way, I said the dumbest thing I could have said, “Oh. Okay.”

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

It haunted me the rest of the day.

The booing was overwhelming.

More than overwhelming. It was so deafening even my soul could feel it.

Three Hundreds’ fans in the stands were roaring with disapproval and disappointment. To say that they were pissed would not adequately describe the situation at all. The game had been awful. In the first quarter, Zac’s enemy, the team’s quarterback was sacked—or tackled—and had his arm broken. In the third quarter, Christian Delgado was tackled so hard his helmet flew off and he sustained a concussion. I didn’t cheer.

And that had just been the tip of the iceberg for bad luck. Zac, who was my bodyguard for the game, had been gripping his heart from the very beginning, and that was saying something from the man who hadn’t rooted for the Three Hundreds once since he’d been let go.

The offense played terribly and Denver had taken advantage of how rattled and distracted the Three Hundreds’ defense was. Well, every other player on defense other than Aiden. Every time the camera landed on him, and every time I managed to catch a glimpse of his face thanks to how close my seats were, he had that stone-cold expression on his features, like his role alone would be enough to get the team through.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been.

The booing had started before the game had even finished, and when the players for the Three Hundreds walked off the field and in the direction of the sidelines, the third biggest player on the team had stopped before making his way toward the tunnel that led to the locker rooms. Aiden stood there at the fifty-yard line, just shy of crossing over with his hands on his hips facing me. I knew those tendons along his neck well, I could see the tightness in his shoulders that no one else would be able to pick up on, even the angle in which he held his wrists told me a story.

Disappointment flowed deep in that big body.

I lifted my hand up and gave him a wave.

He didn’t wave back, and I wasn’t totally surprised. A male broken heart was a difficult thing to come back from.

So I did the only thing I could think of that he would understand, I lowered my waving hand, placed it in front of my belly and I raised up my middle finger like I had all the other hundreds of times I’d done it in the past when I thought he wasn’t looking.

And with his helmet still on, The Wall of Winnipeg shook his head, and I knew that was pretty much a laugh.

“Hey, you don’t fucking flip off Aiden Graves!” an angry male voice yelled at me from down my row.

I looked over, ignoring Zac’s closely looming body, more than likely preparing himself to defend my honor, and gave the man defending Aiden a calm smile. “He’s my husband.”

In the blink of an eye, the rough, older man who had yelled completely cooled down. I caught him taking a peek at my hand, where sure enough, my brand new ring was. I found myself looking at it at least twenty times a day and touching it another twenty times. I still couldn’t believe he’d given it to me. “You shitting me?” he barked.

“No.” I had a Graves jersey on.

“Oh.” Just like that, it was fine. “Carry on.” The man paused and seemed to think for a moment. “Would you tell him Gary from Denton hopes he doesn’t leave this shitty team? Excuse my French, but we’re fucked without him.”

What else was I supposed to say? “Okay. I will.” But by the time I glanced back at the field, the big guy had disappeared.

“That was awful,” Zac deadpanned.

The scoreboard was still lit up, mocking fans and the players who had by that point disappeared.

31-14.

Sheesh.

“I think we need to get the hell out of here,” Zac said from behind me as two people in the stands about five rows up started yelling at each other.

Yeah we did. “Come on,” I said, pointing toward where we needed to go. He put his hand on my shoulder and followed after me.

I squirmed my way through the masses walking up the stairs en route to the exit. The fans were so loud my ears ached. Fully conscious of the two passes in my pocket, I turned around by the concession stands as I found a small area that was out of the way of the human traffic trying to exit.

“Are you going to the family room?” he yelled so I could hear him.

The score loomed in my head and I shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you want to go?”

Zac shot me a look that reminded me of Aiden’s favorite one. “No.” That had been a stupid question, but he was kind enough not to point it out. “But you should.”

Going up to my tippy-toes, I said into his ear, “I don’t think he’d want to see me right now.”

He stepped back and clearly mouthed, “Go.”

I took a step toward him again. “I don’t like the idea of just dumping you and making you drive home alone,” I explained. “Plus, what if he doesn’t want to take me home?”

“Get outta here, Van. You’re not dumpin’ me, and we both know how Aiden’s takin’ this right now. Go. I might getta drink before I get home, but call if you need me.”

Yeah, I wasn’t feeling very optimistic or hopeful. I knew Aiden. I knew how he got after losses, especially a playoff loss that tanked so badly. Sure, maybe I’d slightly amused him by flipping him off, but I was pretty worried about going to see him.