Hansley doesn’t move. I adjust so my legs fall through the sides of the chair under the armrests, silently noting that if there’s a fire, we’re basically dead. We’re going to be burned to death just like this. But I settle in and hug him.
For several moments, he doesn’t move. Then his hands land on my lower back, unsure. I’m about to demand that he hug me properly when his arms finally slide around my middle and he does. Almost harshly. His hold reminds me of Cody’s. Almost desperate. Filled with sadness and the need for someone to understand and comfort him.
Minutes go by. A lot of minutes. We don’t speak. I hold him until he releases me. Only then do I sit up. His eyes are red and I wonder if they were like that when he got here and I just hadn’t noticed.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“You needed a hug,” I answer.
He raises a brow.
Sighing in exaggeration, I tell him, “I spend a lot of time learning my kids.”
“Your kids?” he asks.
“My team. They’re not kids, of course. I only call them kids to myself or other staff. They get offended when I call them kids.”
He snorts. “No kidding.”
“I have a lot of kids,” I continue, emphasizing that I’m getting back to the point. “A hundred -twelve, to be exact. It takes a lot of time and effort to learn them, but I do. I make it a point to know who they are, what they’re studying, what they hope to achieve, what their goals are for the year. I want to know them as people. That way, I can tell when something is bothering them. I can see when their mental states change. I’m not sure about your barbaric sport, but football is as much mental as it is physical and skill.”
“Hockey is barbaric?” he asks, huffing.
“You break into fights like every two minutes,” I point out.
“You have entire positions whose only job is to run into people,” he says incredulously, as if we haven’t had this debate many times. “Like, their job is to be built like a house and as immovable as a wall.”
“You guys literally throw down on the ice,” I argue. “Like pads off. Punching. The whole thing. They have to go into time out when it gets too bad.”
He’s watching me and I’m a little disturbed when a smile climbs on his lips. Fuck. What did I just do?
“You’ve been watching, haven’t you?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly.
“You’ve been learning hockey for me.”
“I have not,” I snap.
He laughs. I smile inwardly at the small victory of having made him laugh. But too soon, his head falls back and he closes his eyes. I stare at him and then get back to the point I was trying to make.
“The ‘normal’ in the world is that men especially, are not allowed to show weakness. No emotion. It’s not masculine. But I’ve learned that sometimes, you just need a hug. Whether you’re having a bad day or your grandmother’s in the hospital and you’re scared, sometimes a hug can give you a little more strength. It lets them know I see them. They’re not fighting alone.”
Hansley sighs. “Thanks.”
We’re quiet again. His hands are resting on my thighs, but his head is still back, and his eyes are closed. I chew the inside of my lip. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
The small smile on his lips in response isn’t genuine. It’s almost sad. It’s another minute before he says, “Two days ago I told my wife that I’ve been having an affair.”
My stomach drops. Eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Not like how everyone says sorry on reflex, but… it’s kind of my fault and I’m sorry.”
Hansley picks his head up and gives me an almost amused look. He lifts a hand and tugs gently on one of my curls before letting his hand fall again. “It’s not your fault at all. I’m a grown ass man and fully capable of telling someone no.”
“I’ve been told I’m hard to say no to,” I point out. “Something about me being demanding and spoiled and always getting what I want.”
“You never say no to a queen,” he says.
I smile because the way my stomach flutters, I just can’t stop myself.
