Monroe sighs. “It’s the knee. Something tells me when these painkillers kick in, I’ll be asleep in seconds.”
I nod, because I know that if he’s taking painkillers the pain must be pretty bad. He’s so scared of ending up back where he was, he hardly ever takes more than ibuprofen, and only then if it’s under the watchful eye of the team staff.
“Don’t let me keep you up.”
Monroe gives a little suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, and I laugh. Like he doesn’t know how attractive he is to me. I wouldeasily lose sleep for the chance to touch him, see him . . . and more.
“You wear my jersey today? You could sleep in it.”
I damn near blush because it’s not that I hadn’t thought about doing just that.
“You’re imagining things.”
“Never. But you don’t have to admit it, Thatch. I know.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling now, and he knows it.
“I forgot I even had it.”
He tips his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
***
By the time the team is due back, I can’t stay in the house any longer, even with Jamie there.
Not when I know that Roe’s going to be back in town. I’m stumbling toward what it means to be with someone like this, but I’m still moving forward. I can’t just go to The Keep and pick him up. I’m not ready for that. But I can be in town about the time he should arrive.
I hear him before I see him.
Some chatter starts up outside The Blue Line, where I’ve just grabbed Jamie some water and coffee for me. The kid’s already run ahead, sprinting toward the ice sculpture displays that are still proudly out for people to admire, but I linger, like I knew Roe would show up. Like something in my gut told me to wait.
And then there he is.
Roe Monroe, back from whatever stretch of cold rinks and cheap hotels the Iceguard just left on the road. Still in his team-issued parka, duffel slung over one shoulder, sunglasses he doesn’t need pushing back his hair. He looks tired. And like he belongs here anyway.
He spots me. Pauses. And I swear the noise of the sidewalk dips just enough to let the tension crawl in.
“Thatch,” he says.
It’s not loud, but I hear it. So does Riley, leaning against the café door like he’s been paid to eavesdrop. So do the two older women at the café window.
I nod. “Roe.”
He steps closer, not quite into my space but close enough for the air to shift. He smells like cold air and something sharp, maybe nerves. Or hope.
“How was the trip?” I ask. I hate how dry it comes out.
He lifts one shoulder. “We won one, lost two. I missed you.” The last part drops, almost hiding the crack in his voice.
That does it. There’s a little gasp from somewhere. Riley straightens, smirking like the gossip gods just paid rent.
I don’t answer right away, mostly because I’m afraid of what’ll come out. Because I did miss him. And I’m not good at saying it.
“You look tired,” I manage.
“You look like you’ve been dodging town gossip.” He steps closer. “You okay?”
“Define okay,” I say.
