It’s ‘on the ice’ and I’m flattered that you’ve been watching our games.
When there’s a pause in his response, I think I got him on that. My stomach flutters. He’s been watching hockey. For me?
Lemon Frost
Hockey is barbaric.
Hansley Bardot
Says the man whose sport is to slam into someone as hard as they can as soon as the play begins!
Lemon Frost
We’re not punching each other and trying to throw down on the ice. It’s like a big pissing contest.
Hansley Bardot
Trust me—there’s far less of that these days than there used to be. Rules have changed.
Lemon Frost
Not enough. And you just sit there and chase around a black dot and try to hit it with a stick! I mean, it might as well be baseball.
Hansley Bardot
Take that back! We have far more action in hockey than baseball.
Lemon Frost
Ohhh, hit a nerve!
We spend far too long bantering about hockey and football. Long into the night, I’m still chatting with him about nothing. Nothing at all. And yet, hours go by, and I don’t stop smiling. It isn’t until I’m falling asleep that I realize how sad that is.
Not because I’m connecting with him. Or because of the way my heart hasn’t stopped racing and my smile won’t fall away.
But because that’s not my wife. I need to crawl back home and beg for her forgiveness. Not forgiveness and take me back. There’s no turning back from this path now. My love for Jessica is not what it was.
My fault. It’s all my fault.
Nonetheless, I need to beg for her forgiveness, knowing that I don’t deserve it and I won’t be upset at all if she doesn’t give it to me. She deserves more and the best thing I can do at this point is let her go so she can find her better.
It’s just not me.
CHAPTER 17
LEMON
This is the longest I have ever stayed at the festival. I’ve been here for two hours. I arrive just before the auction starts and pop into the tent serendipitously right before Peyton is up.
Fucker spots me immediately. His eyes don’t leave mine. I shake my head, but this cheeky fucker just keeps nodding at me.
I don’t bid, therefore I don’t win. If it had been nearly anyone else who asked me to, I might have been convinced just to support them. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my kids if they ask. But I know Peyton and that would send the wrong message. It would say he had a chance.
He doesn’t.
When he steps off the stage, he walks right to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure I was clear, Coach.”
“You’ve been crystal clear, Peyton. Maybe I haven’t been clear. I don’t date my students,” I answer.
