I laugh softly, trying to hide the sarcasm because I can’t help but ache right now. “It doesn’t feel that way to me. I’m up in the box by myself, and you’re down here. I want to be next to you while I watch your dreams of watching your son play in the AHL come true.” When she doesn’t say anything, I add in a teasing voice, “Maybe I need to bump up that trip to Hawaii?”
That earns me a sparkle in her eyes as she laughs and says, “Give me two hours, and I’ll have my bags packed.”
“It would be wonderful, right?” We share a look that’s heavy with longing.
“I want to kiss you so badly,” I whisper, my throat tight. I dip my head a fraction closer, so she can feel the warmth of my breath. “Don’t make me sneak behind the bleachers with you.”
Giving her head another soft shake, she holds back the faintest hint of a smile as the air between us becomes charged with electricity. In a voice low enough only I can hear, she mutters, “Careful. If you don’t walk away now, people are going to get the wrong idea about us.”
“Not the wrong idea,” I say quickly, my tone sharper than I planned, and I pause to soften my voice. “The right one.”
Her eyes linger on mine, shining with that dangerous mix of longing and restraint. For a heartbeat, she looks like she might say yes to finally letting go. Her lips pinch together like she’s struggling, but she exhales and whispers, “We will tell everyone, but not tonight. I don’t want to steal any attention from the team. This is their night to shine.”
She backs away, plopping on her seat, and pretends to check her phone. I totally understand her position, even though it’s not what I want. My gaze slides toward my suite. The amazing seats right behind the goal with trays of untouched food. I can’t get excited about going back up there. It’s too far from her and the team.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I head toward the players’ bench. They are still in the locker room, but I assert my position at the end. I’m sure some of the guys will find this intimidating. It’s not my plan.
I just want to share the win.
twenty-nine
Ruth
The game blurs past me in a mixture of slicing skates and echoing sticks. I’ve sat through plenty of hockey games. Everysingle one of Noah’s to be exact, but the tension has never been so thick. Every missed puck shot feels like it lands in my gut.
I wasn’t expecting Noah to get much ice time. I’ll admit, I’m ready to see him play when Coach Carlson finally calls his line. I hold my breath as he pushes off, skating as fast as he can. It would be easy for my chest to swell with pride, but this whole dream is so vulnerable. I know better than to get ahead of myself. He may have made it off the bench, but he still needs to play. He’s able to get in front of the puck, but his reach for it is clipped off by his opponent. My stomach drops, but he’s not one to give up. He chases after it. Seconds later, the horn blares, and Noah is back on the bench.
That was short.
Folding my hands in my lap, I squeeze them to prevent from shouting out something that would embarrass him. It’s hard to watch as the other team widens the gap on the scoreboard with another goal right into the net.
Bill’s presence sitting in front of me is also a gravity all its own. I’ve seriously never experienced anything like this, as it layers a whole new kind of tension into the air. I honestly believe he plans to respect my wishes to wait to let everyone know about us until I can find a way to tell Noah, but one part of me suspects he has a tiny bit of loose cannon in him. He may hit a point where he spirals and doesn’t think clearly.
The clock ticks down mercilessly.
The goals scored are ones that make us even more behind, and people start to look bored and reach in their pockets for their keys to start their cars. Many people don’t even wait until the end of the game, and they move toward the exit, as if they’ve already given up.
It’s a hard truth to swallow.
Just because Noah made it to the AHL doesn’t mean success will come easy. When the final buzzer blasts through the arena,three hours after the game started, the scoreboard confirms we lost.
All I can see is Noah getting up from his spot warming the bench. His expression is stone flat. I know him too well, and I see the disappointment shadowing his eyes. Instead of going directly into the locker room with the guys, he turns toward me. I instantly know to open my arms, and he falls into a hug that makes me take a step back. It breaks me to feel his loss, and I hold him, not caring for a second who sees it. “You played hard. That’s all that matters.”
“Thank you,” he whispers into my shoulder, voice raw.
Confused, I lean back enough to search for his expression. “What are you thanking me for?”
“For getting me here. There’s no way I’d be here without you.” There’s a faint glint in his eyes. Sure, it’s tired, but it’s there. And at that moment, the loss doesn’t matter.
He’s still my boy, who is chasing his dream.
And I’d carry every ounce of stress, every heartbreak, and every loss like I’ve always done, if it means I get to be here for him like this. “I’m so proud of you. You played with heart.”
He pulls away, aiming to follow the last of the guys off the ice. His gaze wobbles from them to me. “Wish we’d won.”
“It’s okay. We have all season, right? We can go home, and I’ll make your favorite homemade pizza.”
“Actually…” He hesitates, as his gaze goes back to the ice for a split second. “Some of the guys invited me to get wings.”
