“Four.” Our knees bump under the table. More accidental touching. More moments where he doesn’t pull away. “Grant was playing hockey, and I was jealous he got to spend his summer in the air-conditioned rink while I was on the playground sweating in the Florida sun.”
“Have you always been good?” He sets his menu down and folds his hands over the list of specials. “I, uh, watched some of your World Championship routines. I think I know the answer.”
“Brody Saunders.” I shove the ketchup bottle out of the way and lean forward. “Look at you being interested in me.”
“Research. For Liv,” he mumbles.
“Of course. For Liv.” I grin. “I don’t love that question. It negates the hard work I put in that no one sees. Like being gifted at something doesn’t require hours of perfecting the craft.”
“Ah. That’s a good point. Let me rephrase. Does skating come naturally to you? In hockey, I can tell the guys who are naturally talented on the ice pretty easily.”
“Which are you?” I ask.
“A natural. I was on a mini mite team when I was four. Played through middle school. Earned a spot in the United States Hockey League when I was sixteen. Won the World Junior Ice Hockey Championships that first year. Boston College offered me a full ride, and I took it knowing I’d only be there one season. Left the NCAA for the NHL, and here we are.”
“My god. You’re like a prodigy.” I laugh. “I didn’t pay attention to all those stats when I looked you up.”
There’s a lull in our conversation when we order our meals, both going with a burger and fries. I try to stretch out my legs, but Brody takes up too much room. My knee bumps his again. He accidentally steps on my foot, and I give into the fact that we’re not getting through this meal withoutmore goddamn touching.
“It’s funny you call me a prodigy when you have multiple important medals.” Brody sips his water. On the table, his phone lights up. He checks the notification then turns it face down. “What about the Olympics?”
“I hear they happen every four years,” I answer.
“I meantyouin the Olympics. Have you ever been?”
“Beijing, two and a half years ago. I fell in my performance and didn’t medal. That was the beginning of my demise, I think. Where it all started to go downhill.”
“Would you go back?”
“If I felt like I could medal and give my program a fair and honest attempt? Yes.”
“Going through waves is normal.” Brody’s thigh lines up with mine. “When I came back from my injury, I hated hockey because I wasn’t as good at it as I used to be. Now that I’m coaching, I’m deeply in love with it again. When you give everything to a sport, it’s hard when it doesn’t give that love back to you. If it’s not working, it doesn’t mean it’s the end. It’s just time for a different path.”
“I’m learning that.” I hesitate before sharing this next part. “Working with Liv is showing me other ways I could have skating in my life, but it’s really hard to separate myself from something I’ve been attached to for so long.”
“I need you to do me a favor, Hannah,” Brody says, and I swallow.
“What’s that?”
“You said you were going to be honest, and I want you to be honest. When we’re working together on the ice, I want you to talk to me. No shutting down. No pretending like you’re okay when you’re pissed—and you’re allowed to be pissed. I can’t fix things if I don’t know what’s going on. Okay?”
Brody tries to act like he’s not interested in things. He gives off the impression of being unapproachable. Easily bothered by those around him, but deep down, under the gruff and all the ways he grumbles, there’s a different man.
A helper with a big heart, and I’ve never found him more attractive than I do right now.
“Okay. I can… yeah. That’s fair.” I play with the ends of my hair, needing a distraction. “I’ll remember that going forward.”
“Good.” A faint smile. His shoe tapping mine. “We’re friends. We’d still be friends even if you never skated in another competition. But if you do, I’ll be there to cheer you on. And take credit for your edge control.”
A laugh whooshes out of me, but at the same time, there’s a fist clamping around my heart. It gets tighter when he pays forour meal and drops me off at my apartment, letting me keep his hoodie.
Brody isn’t broody at all.
He’s fucking magnificent.
NINETEEN
BRODY
