“Yes,” I lie. It isn’t what I want, but I know it’s for the best. It has to be. That’s what I’m going to keep telling myself. “I’m sorry for being weird this morning, but now we can just go back to normal. Back to how things were before.”
His jaw tightens, and I think for a second he’s going to argue, or at least push back a little. But he simply nods once and slowly steps back, dropping his hands from the wall at the same time.
“Okay,” is all he says.
I can feel the loss of warmth immediately as he backs away—not just the heat radiating from his body, but the closeness and intimacy of his body language. A few seconds ago, he was all around me, pinning me in place with his presence.
Now he’s standing two feet away with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. So I close it again as the disappointment sets in.
I don’t have a right to feel it, and I’m not even sure whether I’m disappointed in myself or in him, but the feeling is still right there in the pit of my stomach. A dull ache that makes me want to curl in on myself.
He’s agreed to give me exactly what I said I wanted. So why do I feel like shit?
Chapter 22
Grant
The arena lights are blinding, and there’s a blast of freezing air that makes me turn my head as I step out onto the ice, but there’s comfort in the discomfort. I feel more at home here in my pads and gear, with thousands of strangers watching and cheering, than I do at the fortified, guarded mansion across town where I sleep every night.
This is where I belong. This is what I’m good at. This is where everything makes sense.
I skate to my net and pretend that I’m not dying for a glimpse of dark blonde hair or listening for April’s enthusiastic cheering above the general noise.
But I’m a shitty liar, even to myself.
I know that if they’re here, they’re sitting in the first row behind the glass, just like always. And just before I give in and take a look, I can feel Heather’s gaze on me.
There’s something warm and familiar about it that’s unique to her and that I can legitimately feel in my gut, down to my core, even though she’s at least fifty feet away from me.
Somehow, I avoid looking, at least for the moment. Knowing she’s here is good enough for now. It’s enough to let me focus onthe other things in my life that matter at the moment—the puck, the net, and the game.
I stretch through my pre-game routine and tap my stick against the goal frame.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The ritual helps me as much as anything can, and keeps me from thinking about the conversation in the hallway that’s been replaying in my head for the past two days. Or the way she looked at me when she said she wanted things to go back to normal, like she was trying to convince herself as much as me.
All those thoughts and vivid memories get pushed aside the moment the game starts. I’m focused and determined, so locked in that my teammates keep telling me I’m like a machine tonight.
That’s what I like to hear. I’m in the zone, and there’s nothing better than being able to tune out everything but the opposing team, the puck, and the six-by-four-foot net that I’m guarding with my life.
I don’t let a single shot get past me during the first or second period. By the third, I’m on fire. Time seems to slow down, and I can read every play as it develops, track every movement on the ice, and anticipate every shot before the stick even makes contact with the puck.
The final buzzer sounds, and we’ve won three to nothing. It’s a shutout. My teammates swarm me, tapping my pads with their sticks and shouting congratulations. Noah pulls me into a quick hug, grinning from ear to ear.
“Fucking amazing, Parker. Best game I’ve seen you play all season.”
Reese skates by and slaps my helmet. “You were a damn wall out there, man. They couldn’t get shit past you.”
“Great work,” Theo calls out as he skates backwards in front of me. “Seriously, that was fucking insane.”
I accept their praise and offer some of my own, even returning a couple of grins along with some high-fives. This should feel good. This is what it’s all about, and it should be exactly the validation that I need. I’m still at the top of my game, and this is proof that nothing has changed and that I can still shut everything else out when it matters.
