“Missed you, too.” He sounds awkward, and his face goes redder. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Like a million bucks,” I assure him. “But here’s a tip for you—never get pneumonia.”
He snickers. “I’ll try to remember that.”
I hop over the wall and skate around in a few quick circles. Fuck, it’s so good to be back on the ice. I cock my head for Dunlop to follow me, and we glide toward the net. My goalie sets his helmet on top of it, still grinning a goofy grin.
“Did you see our record?” he asks me.
“Damn—” I hastily correct myself. “Darnright I did. A four-game winning streak, huh? You guys are rocking it.You’rerocking it.”
He averts his gaze, but not before I see the flash of pleasure in his eyes. “Two shut-outs,” he says shyly. “And I only let in one goal at the last game.”
“I know. I’m proud of you.” Despite my genuine happiness that the team is back on track, I can’t fight that niggle of insecurity. I mean, you didn’t see them winning four consecutive games whenIwas around. “It looks like Coach Gilles showed you some new tricks,” I say lightly.
Dunlop wrinkles his forehead. “He did?”
“I watched a few of the games. Your confidence has skyrocketed since I left.” NowI’mfeeling awkward. Damn it, why am I laying my own insecurities at this poor kid’s feet?
He gives me another funny look. “You think I’m doing better because you left? That’s nuts, Coach. You know what happened when you got sick?”
It’s my turn to wrinkle my forehead.
“We were all really worried,” he mumbles, staring down at his skates. “And I was like, crap, I gotta get my shit together because Coach Canning doesnotneed one more thing to worry about. You know, us losing all the time.” He flushes again. “I thought if we were winning, maybe you’d get better faster.”
I have a hard time keeping my jaw closed. This kid stepped up his game because he didn’t want me to worry that the team waslosing? I’m embarrassed to feel my eyes stinging, so I give a manly cough and say, “Well, whatever it is you’re doing, keep at it. You’re playing like a champ.”
A whistle blows. Gilles is at the blue line, barking instructions at some of our forwards. When he catches my eye, he smiles and nods for me to join him.
I skate over, and the kids he was working with all go silent.
Shit. Is this going to be weird? Dunlop welcomed me back easily, but what if the others don’t?
I cough to clear the gravel from my throat, then call the rest of the team over. Everyone is staring at me. Waiting expectantly. I clap my hands together. Then I hesitate.
"So," I start awkwardly. "You have another tournament coming up, so we have to put in some work. But before we get started, does anyone, uh, have any questions for me?"
There’s a long silence.
Finally, Barrie raises his hand, and I hold my breath as I wait for his question.
“Will Ryan Wesley come to one of our games?"
I blink in surprise. Okay. Well, I wasn’t expectingthat. And when I scan the kids’ faces, I don’t see horror or disgust. Only curiosity. I can work with that. Except I wonder…if I was marrying some random dude off the street, would they have more trouble with this? Maybe I’m not supposed to worry about that. In fact, I’ll take their support any way I can get it.
“I’m not sure,” I answer. “I’ll look at our game schedule and his game schedule and see if it works out. But I know Wes would be happy to come if his schedule allows it.”
All of their faces light up.
“Anything else?” I prompt. When no one speaks up, I clap my hands again. “All right, then let’s get to work.” And just like that, their expressions turn serious, fixed on me as they wait for me to start the practice.
Damn, it’s good to be back.
Practice lets out at six-thirty.As I head into the locker room to change, I text Wes to find out if he’s already outside. He’s picking me up this evening because we’re having dinner with his teammates, which is why I brought an extra set of clothes to the rink today. Instead of the jeans and hoodie I walked in with, I put on a blue button-down, a navy blazer and khakis.
My getup draws the attention of Gilles, who’s changing into—what else?—a plaid shirt. “You going to a country club or something?” he cracks.
“Dinner with my—” I stop abruptly. I’d been about to say “my roommate”, but I guess that’s a habit I need to break, huh? Wes and I are no longer hiding. “With my boyfriend,” I finish.I suppose I could’ve said fiancé, but I haven’t told my coworkers about the engagement yet, and it’s not really a bomb I want to drop on my first day back.
