Because I do look at him.
And when I think back—road games, carving wood in the quiet, the sound of his laugh echoing off the kitchen walls—I realize I haven’t really stopped.
There’s still a part of me that wants to keep him at arm’s length, but that’s getting hard to do.
Marge moves off, and before I can get any thoughts together, Roe slides next to me and hands me a cider.
“How was the skate today?” I ask.
“Good. Benji got called up for at least three games due to injuries. He could go in fourth line.”
I blink. “I forgot how fast that happens.”
“He was on a plane within two hours of the call. It was wild. I didn’t realize it either, until I saw it.”
I nod. “First game’s tomorrow? We should have the guys over and watch. Cheer on Benji.”
“Yeah?” Roe smiles. “That sounds cool. They’d love that. Especially if you’re cooking.”
I feel my cheeks burn at his easy compliment.
“Would be great if we had a bar for those kinds of watch parties too,” I add, knocking my knee against his.
He gives me a smile that feels like a secret shared just between us. “Yeah. The town could use one.”
“Hey, guys,” Liz says, standing awkwardly in the aisle, but Roe leans into my side and I slide down the bench to make room for her.
Roe smiles at her, but he keeps a knee pressed against mine, our thighs together. We might as well be holding hands.
I see Liz’s eyes flick to us, and to where Roe’s hand is subtly teasing under my knee or detouring to run down my calf. My feet are resting on the bleachers in front of us, so I doubt anyone else can see. I like it, though. Just like his closeness.
Again, I wonder about Roe now that Liz decided to just show up. Does he need some sort of added reassurance from me? Liz and I were never a long-term thing, but we have a kid together, and slowly the ways in which this all got complicated makes sense.
“Tell your friends, Roe,” I tell him, leaning in to whisper in his ear in a way that makes no doubt there’s something between us.
Fine. Let the gossip about me and Roe drown out any ideas people may have about me and Liz. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if she heard about us from everyone in town, that old possessive streak rising. “About tomorrow night.”
He looks at me, staring into my eyes so hard I’m about to promise him anything. “Alright. What if we come by at six?”
“Six is great.” I lean forward enough to see around him. “Liz, if you want to come to dinner—a loud dinner with too many grilled meats and hockey players yelling at hockey players on a screen—we’re hosting any of the Iceguard who want to come tomorrow.”
“Oh. Okay.” She nods, and then the kids hit the ice and like me and Roe, her focus turns to Jamie.
They win the game with a solid 2–0 shut out, but also, I watch Liz’s face as she takes in what it means to play at the level Jamie is at his age. This is serious, competitive hockey. These kids havenational rankings and stats to back it up. Maybe she had to see it to get it.
For his part, Jamie is back on his game, the top scoring player for his team.
Later, when we all converge on the parking lot, Liz suggests pizza.
“I have to FaceTime with my group on a project for class tomorrow,” Jamie says. He’s a little put out with his mom just breezing back into his life, and he’s incapable of not showing it.
“Why don’t you take Jamie back to the house, Liz?” Roe suggests before anyone can say anything else. “Thatch and I will grab pizza and meet you there. That way Jamie can shower—”
“Which is not negotiable,” I gently remind my son just in case he tries to get out of something with his mom in charge, and Jamie rolls his eyes. “Same with putting all the hockey gear in the laundry. You know the drill.”
Jamie sighs. “Fine. But I want extra cheese.”
“Deal,” Roe says quickly. “But you will also eat the salad I know your dad already made.”
