The fact that she’d been the one to walk out had left a hurt that went deep. These days the pain was so familiar as to be a part of him, like the twinges in his lower back, old injuries from his days playing for the University of Minnesota.
She’d made him choose between work and love. But when it came down to it, he loved to work. He didn’t just do his job, hewashis job—and when she’d rejected that part of him, it’d felt like she’d rejected all of him. If she’d really understood him, she’d have respected that he didn’t coach for glory or a paycheck... He did it because it was what he was meant to do. And yeah, the grueling NHL schedule demanded that sometimes he’d miss an event or a birthday, but he’d do his damndest to make it up. He’d established a FaceTime date with his daughter every night he was on the road. But his efforts were never enough. Maddy had crafted a narrative wherein she played second string to hockey and eventually he gave up and gave in to her story, becoming less emotionally involved.
Until she was gone.
He wasn’t proud. But that’s how it happened.
Inger called it “growing apart.” He didn’t know what to call it except a failure.
And he hated failing.
He bit down on the toothpick in the corner of his mouth, snapping the thin wood in two before spitting the shards onto the parking-lot asphalt. He’d given up smoking cold turkey when Olive was born. Toothpicks still took the edge off.
Two guys stumbled out of The Watering Hole front door doing a bad rap impression of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.”
“What’s going on over there?” Inger asked, her words slurry, sleepy.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m getting a drink with Jed.”
“Ooooh,Jed WestJed?” She perked. Woman always did when hearing that name. “How’s he doing in post-Hellions life?”
“Good.” Great actually. The asshole was happier than he’d ever been, coaching on the college level and in love. Tor wanted to be happy for his friend, and he was, most of the time, when he wasn’t cursing him as a son of a bitch for his good luck.
He’d found a woman who loved him for who he was. No apologies.
“Wow, thanks for the newsy gossip,” Inger teased. “Hey.” She yawned. “I should get some sleep. Jason will be back soon and the nurses wake me up every two hours on their rounds.”
“Go. I’ll check back in tomorrow.”
“Love you, Twinkle Toes,” she said sleepily.
“You too.” And he did, even if he could never bring himself to say it. When he looked for the right way to express feelings, the words formed a logjam in his throat. He knew he could be dismissed as an asshole, but that was bullshit. He just didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.
The way he’d grown up, it was far safer to hide it behind a fortress of bone and ice.
His phone buzzed. He checked his texts. Nothing. He frowned. That was weird. Then he noticed his Byways app had a message. He clicked it open and a stupid grin tugged the corner of his mouth.
NeverL8:Hey! Not to sound like a stalker, but are you at The Watering Hole by any chance? I’m on my way and spotted your avatar. Maybe we could meet up and curse Prius drivers in person?
He lowered the phone and stared at the brick wall of the popular neighborhood bar.Shit.He wasn’t prepared. He’d been chatting with this woman online for a month, the sassy one who used an avatar of angel wings. It didn’t mean much, just idle conversation when stuck in gridlock. And yet...
His stomach muscles tightened. And yet ithadmeant a lot. He’d found himself looking forward to the short encounters. He wasn’t a guy who made easy small talk. He wasn’t given to flirting. He knew he was too serious and should smile more.
A Jeep Wagoneer tore into the parking lot and hit the curb. Music blared from the windows, some bubblegum pop song that made his teeth hurt from all the sugary sweetness.
“Damn it,” he muttered. The racket from that tin can was making it hard to calm down. He dragged a hand through his hair and released a frustrated breath.
His contact with NeverL8 was such a small part of his day, and yet it felt... fuck it... pure. A moment where he wasn’t the coach. Or Daddy. Or the ex. He was just a guy in traffic who could share a joke. It had always been a talent of his, remembering punch lines. Guess it was the one good quality Dad ever gave him.
Nils Gunnar was the man of the party. The self-proclaimed King of St. Paul. He had a joke for every occasion and a booming laugh heard down the block. The problem was that the jokes ran out the minute he got back home.
It took effort to put those memories on lockdown, but Tor tried his best.
Instead he scanned the busy road, bustling with Saturday-night traffic, and waited to meet his mystery friend. What would she be driving?
“Tor? Oh my God, itisyou!” Breezy Angel ran across the parking lot, the smile on her face bigger than her tiny black shorts. “Jed didn’t mention you were here too!”
“Surprise, surprise.” Tor gave a tense smile. His buddy hadn’t mentioned that he was including his new live-in girlfriend in on their beer plans, but what the hell, it was impossible not to like Breezy.
