I frowned, hating how she harped on this issue. “Working with kids was always my goal.”
“And it’s noble, if ridiculous, for your long-term plan.”
“I can eat and have a car to drive. I’m fine. Plus, I get smiles and hugs every day. Who else can say that about their job?”
“Every other nearly-homeless teacher working two jobs to afford their shitty place in the world.”
“Stop it. I love what I do. I adore my students.”
Marian sighed as she shifted to rest her head on my shoulder. “Fine. This guy’s messing with your feelings. That’s uncool. And the school’s not paying you a ton, and you have a nasty popcorn ceiling.”
I rested my head on top of hers. “I’m going to make you scrape that ceiling with me one of these days.”
Marian popped up off the couch so quickly that I yelped. “I brought supplies! And I know you’ve watched at least fifty hours on YouTube about how to do this correctly.”
I pulled my butt off the couch, frowning. “That is what you want to do with your Sunday?”
She scoffed. “No. I’m not getting dirty. But this will keep your mind off the sexy-hot hockey asshole and improve your house’s value all at once. Plus, then I don’t have to look at the hideous ceiling anymore.”
I accepted the scraper tool she handed me. “I’m not sure.”
“Fifty hours of YouTube, Keelie. You’re sure. Now, where’s your ladder?”
A few hours later,I was alone with my sander. Marian had gone, but I finished the project—even though my arms were tired, and my shoulders ached from being over my head.
Finally, covered in grime but smiling, I felt satisfied with the effort. I placed my hands on my hips and smiled at my newly-smoothed ceiling. “Much better.” Too bad this home improvement had come at the expense of my pride, but hey—that was a small price to pay. Cormac and I’d had a nice date. I’d misunderstood the connection, but I had a fun story to share at cocktail parties.
After washing my hands, I picked up my phone and noted a voicemail from a number I didn’t recognize. I pressed play. “You leave Cormac alone,” a woman growled into my ear.
I pulled the phone away, shock bouncing through my system. I wasn’t sure what to make of that at all, but at the moment, I was too tired to even try.
I took a long, hot shower and fell onto my bed, asleep basically before my head touched the pillow—and before I’d set my alarm.
That’s how I ended up running late the next morning. Nearly twenty minutes behind schedule, I never looked at my phone, just grabbed it from the charger and stuffed it in my bag.
Chapter10
Cormac
As I sat in my car, staring at the long, low-slung elementary school where Keelie worked, I ran my fingers through my too-long hair. Nerves sizzled through my midsection, causing me to grunt in annoyance and pain. I hugged my ribs, thankful they were just bruised, not cracked as I’d worried after they took the brunt of the impact when the 270-pound D-man for the Flyers rammed into me. I was also thankful this impact had occurred a half-second after I’d flipped the pass to Nik for our one-nil win.
Frustration was the next emotion to wash over me because I’d missed out on seeing Keelie and instead spent Sunday evening at home, pacing my house, worried that she wouldn’t forgive me for standing her up—even though I hadn’t. At least I hadn’t meant to.
On top of my concerns about Keelie, seeing Shannon after the game had sealed it for me: she was my ex for a reason, the woman of my past. That’s why I was here now. Unfortunately, Shannon now seemed interested in spending more time together. That bomb had led to a deeply awkward conversation outside the locker room. I closed my eyes as I groaned.
“What’s wrong?” Maxim asked.
“Keelie’s never going to believe what happened. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t experienced it firsthand.”
“But it’s the truth,” Maxim said.
“So I should just go in there and say, ‘After ignoring your call on Saturday morning, I met up with my ex-wife, who suddenly wants to get back together, probably because she saw the picture of us I posted. Oh, and the reason I didn’t let you know about all that was because my good friend tossed my phone in Cruz’s ice bath after our Saturday-evening skate.’”
I thought we’d wait to show until the end of the school day, but as soon as we exited the car and walked toward the school building, a ring of kids formed around us, and it continued to grow. I shuffled closer to the front steps as the group morphed around me.
“It’s Cormac Bouchard!” a boy yelled.
Great. I hadn’t considered being recognized and mobbed by a posse of schoolchildren.
