“No lie—I blocked the damn shot with my ass,” Hewitt is telling me. “I had a bruise the size of a grapefruit for weeks.”
Eriksson snickers. “Hey, you’re a d-man. It’s your duty to sacrifice any part of your body for the cause.”
“Okay, I can totally beat that,” I say. “I was sixteen and it was the final scrimmage at hockey camp. Third period, my team was up by one and scrambling to keep the lead. The opposing left wing snaps a wrister at me. I stop it, but one of my d-men gets pushed into me and suddenly we’re tangled together on the crease, and the puck is loose. Somehow I’ve lost my stick—andmy glove. But I see that puck flying toward me again, and I don’t even stop to think—I just slap that motherfucker away with my bare forearm.”
Eriksson and Hewitt look impressed. “Dude, that’s insane. Did you break your arm?”
I sigh. “In two places.”
“That is hardcore,” Eriksson says, whistling softly.
Wes pipes up from behind the couch, not as impressed. “Are you telling them about the time you broke your arm trying to be Superman?”
“Yup,” I call back.
“I’m marrying a crazy person,” Wes informs his teammates.
I snort. “Ha! Says the guy who snuck out at four a.m. to go skinnydipping and then cut his foot open. And let’s not forget the tetanus shots from falling off the fences you tried to climb, and that rusty nail you stepped on while hiking barefoot—because you were drunk. And the guy who—”
“Okay, okay, you win,” Wes says, holding his hands up in surrender. “We’rebothinsane.” He turns back to Blake, whostarts blabbering on about his own past skinnydipping adventures, while I’m drawn into more hockey talk with Hewitt and Eriksson.
By the time Katie announces that it’s time to go, I’m feeling a bit shell-shocked. But I can’t deny I had a blast getting to know Wes’s teammates and their WAGS.
“Uh, thanks for everything,” I say to Katie and Estrella as I walk them to the door.
One at a time they hug me like we’re long-lost friends.
“Take care, Jamie.”
“Text me before the Sharks game! We’ll save you a drink!”
I say a quick goodnight to Wes’s teammates, and when the door finally closes behind them—even Blake takes the hint and leaves—I turn to face Wes. “That was…” I trail off.
He hesitates, gauging my expression. “They mean well,” he says lightly.
“I know. It’s…cool.” A smile tugs at my lips. “It’s overdue, you know?” Wes and I had always looked forward to the day when we didn’t have to hide. But I never gave any thought to how we’d fit into the clubhouse. I’m still not sure, but neither of us can deny that tonight was a screaming success.
“Yeah.” He smiles, too. “It was nice. For the first time since the season started, I finally feel like I…” He scrunches his face as if searching for the right word.
“Belong,” I supply, my voice gentle.
His head jerks in a nod. “Yeah. That.”
My heart gives a squeeze as I place both hands on his cheeks, stroking the dark stubble on his face. “You do,” I tell him. “You belong on this team. You belong with these people. You belong with me.”
His silvery eyes suddenly look damp. “I love you, Canning.”
“Love you too, Wesley.”
But in the back of my mind, I’m wondering whereIbelong. Or rather, where I’ll end up. Wes is my home. He’s my heart. But he can’t be my everything. The uncertainties surrounding my job gnaw at my insides. Tomorrow I’ll have to go in and meet with Bill, maybe face Danton, see the kids who’ve been playing so well without me.
I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. But tonight… I meet Wes’s gorgeous eyes, a smile forming on my lips despite my uneasiness over my job. Tonight I’m with the man I love, and that’s all that matters.
THIRTY-ONE
JAMIE
On Monday I walk into the rink at nine a.m. sharp. The familiar smell of ice and sweat hits me immediately, and I feel it right in my gut. This job means a lot to me. If I lose it, I know I’ll get over the disappointment. It won’t ruin me.
