“He loves it. And it’s nice to be able to give him something other than stress and gray hair.”
“I’m sure you’ve been the model daughter.”
“Not entirely. Let’s just say they’re happy I’m home and finding myself a life here.”
“They just missed you.”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “I missed them, too.”
“You’re lucky to have them. To have them worrying about you.’
“I know. I’m so grateful for both of them. They’re incredible parents and people.”
“I agree.”
“You haven’t even met my mom,” Freya points out.
“I don’t need to. I know her daughter.”
She smiles up at me. “You can be smooth when you want to be, Cole Hansley.”
“Only with you.”
Her eyes widen, but she chooses to steer the conversation in a different direction. One I’m not overly keen on broaching.
“So, who’s here for you? Family? Friends?” She looks around as if she’s about to spot someone related to me.
“Uh…no. Not today,” I say, hoping it’ll be enough.
“Your family must be so proud of you. You’ve made yourself an incredible career.”
“Yeah,” I muse.
“Bet you terrified your mom when you were little and strapped a pair of skates to your feet.” She laughs as she imagines what it might have been like.
I feel anything but joy.
“Freya,” I start, unsure what I really want to say. “I…um…I didn’t grow up like you did.”
“What do you mean?”
I glance at Brian, laughing with Killer and now Monroe, who’s also joined us.
“My…my parents weren’t like yours.”
Her eyes widen as realization hits her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think. I just?—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, Cole. It’s not okay. I just assumed that…” Her words trail off. I don’t know if that’s because she can sense I don’t want to talk about it or if she’s too busy chastising herself for saying anything in the first place. Suddenly, she stands a little taller, her shoulders rolling back as if she’s made some big decision. “I’ll be here.”
“You’ll be where?” I ask, confused.
“Here,” she states. “In this arena, for your home games, cheering you on. Waiting for you in this suite whether you win or lose. I’m pretty sure I won’t be the only one, either,” she adds, shooting a glance at her dad.
“Freya, that’s not?—”
My breath catches as her warm fingers press against my lips, cutting off the rest of my sentence.
