Well, he sounds like he’s in good cheer. He continues, “In fact, things are more than okay, Turley.”
I lengthen my spine, and even though I’m still stationary in the truck, I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my fingers turn white.
His gruff voice softens slightly. “The team doc gave me your final clearance report this morning. You’re back on the active roster after Christmas.”
My entire body feels like it was lit by the buzz of the goal-scoring lamp, jolting my heart. “Seriously? That’s—that’s incredible!”
“You’ve put in the work and maybe this injury was a blessing in disguise. Gave you time to sort through your priorities.”
I tuck my chin. “What do you mean?”
He chuckles. “Marriage, Fletch. Never thought I’d see you settled down.”
“Yeah, well ...” I trail off, unsure how to explain the complicated arrangement that’s become increasingly uncomplicated.
“Make sure you bring her to the team party. I hear she’s an author. My Kathleen loved romance. She’d have liked to hear what inspires all her ideas, what she loves about her job.”
I take it he’s referring to his late wife. Coach Badaszek is largely a mystery, but I’ve gleaned that not only is he a master at making cohesive player matches that routinely keep us at the top of the league and somehow premeditates plays like the game itself runs through his blood, but the guys have suggested that he fancies himself something of a matchmaker and believes in true love.
If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of his whistle and the subsequent lecture at full volume, you wouldn’t believe the guy could so much as spell the word.
L-O-V-E.
Each letter floats through my mind and then the image of Bree lands there, beaming. My heart beats out a new rhythm as I hang up with the coach, thanking him profusely.
I sit in my truck, letting the news sink in.
Back on the ice.
It’s what I’ve wanted for months, what I’ve worked toward. But the thought of returning to the demanding schedule, the travel, and the intensity forces me to ask how it could affect what’s growing between Bree and me.
I drive to her childhood home, where Mikey’s dad’s crew is finishing up the major renovations. The Victorian looksreborn—fresh paint, new windows, repaired roof. Inside, they’re nearly done with the kitchen, having installed new cabinets and flooring throughout.
“Whatcha think?” Mr. Cruz asks, wiping his hands on a rag as I enter the living room.
“It’s incredible. You guys are like Santa’s elves, but instead of making toys, you transformed this place from,” I lower my voice even though Bree isn’t here, “a place that was coming close to needing to be condemned, to a show-worthy house. And you’re fast.”
“We do our best,” he says modestly.
Mikey hollers from the other room. “Ma keeps us fueled with cookies, but I put the pressure on. Figured you and your bride needed a proper place to live.”
I chuckle, but I am grateful. “Is the writing room finished?”
“Custom shelves were installed yesterday. Perfect place for an author.” Mr. Cruz leads the way and leaves me to admire the space.
I touch the smooth wooden surface of the desk that faces the bay window. I can picture Bree here, laptop open, creating her worlds while looking out at the snow-covered yard. I’ve designed this space specifically for her, though I haven’t told her yet. It’s part of my Christmas surprise—if she wants it.
The rest of the house is coming together, too. The leaks have been fixed, the creaky stairs reinforced, and the drafty spots sealed. It’s becoming a home again, not just a house with stale memories.
Back at my place, I’m eager to tell Bree about the good news from Coach Badaszek, but then trepidation hits me like a snowball to the face. What will it mean for us if I’m traveling more? What about the thirty-day deadline?
With each step I take, my thoughts turn into a snowy whirlwind of white-out conditions. Fortunately, it’s not currentlysnowing, but there is some in the forecast in the coming days. All of Cobbiton is hoping for a white Christmas.
I find Bree and the dog cuddled on the couch. She’s typing furiously on her laptop but looks up when I enter.
“Hey, how was the toy delivery?” she asks, a soft smile spreading across her face.
“Great. The kids are going to have an amazing Christmas.” I sit beside her, and the dog immediately places his head on my lap.
