Was he?
“Good night, Anna.”
“Night. Say hi to Lucy.”
They hung up, and a feeling of lightness flooded her chest. That had been…a good conversation. She felt she owed Lucas athank youfor it.
She kicked off her shoes and inhaled deeply. Really, she should talk to Lucas again and clarify that they should keep their hands off each other from now on. Technically, he’d only told Austin he wanted to be friends, not her.
As she sank into the couch, her phone vibrated. She fully expected it to be a message from Lucas, but she was wrong.
It was another email.
Please answer me.
She stared at the three words, but this time, her heart didn’t sink. This time, the thought of responding to the email didn’t sicken her. Instead, something like…hope fluttered in her chest.
She recalled Lucas’ words.
She wasn’t the best mother. Didn’t know what to do with the child.
But she’d been a fantastic person. She’d just had her problems. Everyone deserved a second chance, right?
No one was perfect. Besides, she wanted to learn to confront the problems in her life head-on — and let go of whatever problems she couldn’t solve. Then she could really start living. Then she could…start believing in long-term happiness. She would become the best, most professional doctor the Hawks had ever seen. She and Lucas would be fantastic as platonic friends.
And she would talk to her father, if only to close that chapter of her life, and finally start a new one!
Hey Dad, I think I’m ready to meet. Where do you live?
Chapter Eleven
Eleventh encounter
“This is the scaphoid, the lunate, the triquetrum…” She traced the bones in his free hand. “The shoulder girdle, the clavicle…” She traced his shoulder. “Atlas, the first cervical vertebra, axis, the second cervical vertebra.” She slid her hand down to the back of his neck.
“Anna? What are you doing?”
She gave him a broad smile, making his heart skip a beat. “I’m practicing, so I can become the best damn doctor in the world.”
They won the first game of the best-of-seven series against the Arizona Wolves just as narrowly as they lost the second. In the final period, the opposing defenseman intentionally slammed Leon into the boards, injured shoulder first. He turned chalk white and, for a few seconds, looked like he might faint from the pain. That made the entire Hawks team so angry that they completely lost focus and unnecessarily belted the puck –and their opponents. Charkov ended up with a gash on his lip and Coach Gray with a hoarse voice, and the game ended 4-3.
Yes, ice hockey was a physical sport. Yes, any of them would have loved to immobilize Leon with a body check last week – heck, even yesterday.
But he was ontheirteam, damn it! They were allowed to pick on him, but shit, no one else was.
Either way, the mood in the locker room was about as cheerful as an anthill with a magnifying glass on it in the midday sun.
“Fuck.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, fuck!”
“Fucking bullshit.”
“Whoever curses next ponies up ten dollars for the swear jar!” barked the coach, who entered the locker room close behind them. However, since he was hoarse, he sounded more like a chain smoker complaining about losing his lighter.
“We have a swear jar?” West asked, confused.
