"The players need people who always show up, not just when it's easy. When it's hard too."
"I can do that," I said.
"Yeah." He said it like he'd decided something. "I think you can."
Then he was gone. Desrosiers and MacLaren headed to their cars behind him, MacLaren catching Hog's eye with a nod as they passed. The whole team had been listening. Everyone would have an opinion.
Finally, it was just Hog and me in the parking lot, breath fogging between us.
"So," Hog said. "That was—"
"A lot," I finished.
"Yeah." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Jake was—"
"Protective. As he should be."
"He'll warm up. Eventually. Probably. You did well, though. Really good."
"I'm not sure I passed."
"You didn't fail. That's better." He stepped closer. "Was it too much? We're a lot. I know we're a lot."
I thought about Jake's testing questions and Evan's sharp gaze.
"No," I said. "It was exactly what it should've been."
"Like what?"
"Honest." I touched his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "They love you. They're making sure I know what I'm getting into. That's not too much. That's family."
His breath caught. "And you still want—"
"Yeah," I said. "I still want this. Want you. Want to earn my way into this."
"Earn your way?"
"I'm not in yet, Hog. They're still considering me." I smiled slightly. "Jake made that clear. Coach too. And that's okay. I'd rather earn it than have it handed to me."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he kissed me. I gripped his hips through his jacket, pulling him closer and feeling the solid weight of him against me—all that size and strength that could break things but chose to be gentle.
His beard scratched my jaw. His breath came fast against my mouth. The cold air bit at my face everywhere he wasn't touching, making his heat more intense.
"Definitely considering," I managed. "Pretty sure Jake's watching from the window."
Hog glanced back at The Drop, where sure enough, several faces were visible through the glass. He grinned. "Let them watch."
He pulled me back in for another kiss. When he pulled back, he was still smiling.
"I should go," he said. "Laundry. Existential crisis. The usual Sunday routine."
"Text me later?"
"Yeah." He kissed me once more—softer this time, sweeter. "Thanks. For showing up. For—all of it."
"Thanks for letting me."
My eyes followed him to his Prius and watched him fold himself into the driver's seat with that careful maneuvering that made the car look even more ridiculous. He waved once before pulling out, and I waved back.
