Then, because I can’t handle the tension, I say, “Maybe she was just cross-checking.” It can’t be helped. The corner of my lip lifts because that was a good pun. After all, I am my father’s daughter.
His lips quirk. “A penalty for sure.”
“I’m sorry to have been the one to tell you. My father’s team won against the Mustangs in the finals the year he retired. Got the Stanley, so I suppose he got his form of revenge. As for me, it was in the past and I don’t hold anything against anyone,but I did promise my father that I’d never date a hockey player.”
“I do hold a grudge, Nina. I had my suspicions about my father, but—” His fists tighten. “If you knew the pressure he’s put on me from every direction. I can’t very well listen to, no less respect, someone who lacks integrity like that. He and my mother got married before he was drafted, so that means he cheated.”
Not sure what else to say because I certainly didn’t prepare for this, I repeat, “I’m sorry.”
As if suddenly exhausted, Lane rubs his big palm down his face. “Nina, no, I’m the one who is sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Neither did you.”
“That makes two of us.”
Our eyes meet briefly and I break the connection with a shrug, having long since reconciled my parents’ failed relationship as having nothing to do with me. They split up well before I was old enough to remember Suzie Bass. Thankfully, I had Papa and Bibi.
“I can understand why your father would want to protect you.” His tone is tender, almost affectionate.
“And not turn out like my mother.”
As if suddenly having a startling realization, Lane looks up at me, reminding me instantly of last night when we held each other’s gazes. “Nina, I’m not my father.”
I’m afraid to ask, but do anyway. “How do I know that?”
The question hangs between us, burdened with old wounds and broken promises. The sun sets early this time of year and dusky shadows fill my otherwise bright and happy bakery.
“We haven’t even talked aboutus. But I could show you.” He rubs his shoulder as if it aches, then suggests we try thejacuzzi at his rental. “It’s honestly the only thing I like about that place,” he admits with a wry smile.
I hesitate—this feels like crossing some invisible line—but the warmth sounds delightful on this cold winter’s evening and reminds me of visiting Denmark with Bibi when I was a kid, so I agree, knowing this might be an even bigger risk than last night. What if I fall for my accidental husband?
CHAPTER 7
Lane offersto drive and brings me to my house on Sweet Corn Court so I can grab my bathing suit before we go in the hot tub at his condo. Once in the safety of my home, I consider not going back out.
I could just text him and say that a pipe burst and I need to bail water out of my kitchen. But then he’d offer to help. Seems like that kind of guy.
Maybe if I turn off all the lights, he’ll think I dozed off and drive away. No, he’ll be worried and call in a wellness check or just do it himself.
Stuffing my dark blue full-piece bathing suit with little sailboats in a bag along with a towel, I return to Lane, who waits with headlights beaming into the darkness and heat running to keep us warm.
Yes, we still have to discuss our situation.
Sure, I can’t help but wonder what he meant about “showing me” he’s not his father.
Am I uneasy? You bet.
At every crunch of my boots in the snow along the path, I hear my father’s voice in my head, warning me about promises.
And yet I get in his truck.
Considering it’s New Year’s Day night, the drive to Omaha is swift and traffic-free. Lane fills me in on relocating here from Wisconsin. “It was a lateral move, just flatter ground. Same bleak, cold winters.”
Clicking my tongue, I dare to say, “But one could argue that the Knights are a better team.”
The faint strains of a rock song play through the speakers, highlighting his silence until, with a wry smile, he says, “One could argue that.”
I take it being traded after so many years with the Warriors might be a tender subject, so I leave it at that.
