“Is that Paxton Naese?” a guy in the growing crowd asked. “What’s he doing here? Don’t they play the Sharks tonight?”
While this part of California wasn’t known for hockey, I was on a championship-winning team and one of the faces of the franchise. Clearly, even here, people recognized me.
But I didn’t want anything to ruin this moment with Hana; it was too important. I shifted so my back was to the guy who’d asked about me. “Can we go inside?” I asked.
“Yeah—”
“You’re Naese, aren’t you? The starting winger for the Wildcatters.” A small, excited blond sidled up closer, batting her lashes. “Will you give me your autograph?”
The way she said it was suggestive, and Hana’s eyebrows rose. I offered her a look that I hoped showed my discomfort and an apology. “Sure, but then I’m having breakfast with my friend.”
“You could join us instead,” she said, smiling enough to reveal dimples.
I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but we’d really like some privacy to catch up.” I fished out a pen and signed the receipt she handed me.
“Picture?” she asked, hopeful.
I sighed but nodded, bending my knees and offering a tight smile as she brought up her phone. As soon as it snapped, I snagged Hana’s hand and tugged her inside the café. I breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the prying eyes.
“Do you have a table that’s out of the way, please?” I asked the hostess. I handed her a fifty.
“Sure.” She was a perky college-aged woman with dark hair and eyes. She smiled at us as she grabbed menus. She led us toward a table in the back corner, closest to the kitchen. “It can get a little loud over here,” she said, “but no one can see you from the front.”
“Perfect.” I sighed with satisfaction.
“No problem, Mr. Naese. Good luck with your game tonight.”
I offered a weak smile. Once Hana slid into her side of the booth, I slid in on the other, pressing myself as close to the wall as possible.
“Is it always like that when you go out now?” Hana asked.
I didn’t want to answer that question honestly, but I knew I must. Hana and I were on rocky ground underlaid with quicksand. I had no choice but to put everything out there and hope—pray—she appreciated the truth.
“It’s worse, typically, because most of the places we go are hockey cities.”
“Ah, I see,” Hana said. She looked down at the menu in front of her.
“Hana, I need to tell you?—”
“That my mother bullied and manipulated you into breaking up with me? When Aiki called me this morning for our monthly chat, I confronted him. He told me he kept you from me the morning after you broke my heart.”
I blew out a breath, hating those words, hating her straightforward look—as if she no longer had a heart or I could no longer break it. I didn’t love either possibility.
A server stopped at the table. Hana ordered French toast and coffee while I ordered a three egg-white omelet with extra vegetables and a matcha latte.
Hana shook her head. “What surprised me was that Aiki said your father and my mother both wanted us to break up. I didn’t know your father disliked me—us—so much. That’s…shattering.”
“Their opinion doesn’t matter,” I said fiercely. I hesitated, then picked up her hand where it lay on the tabletop. Her fingers were cool, and I resisted the urge to squeeze them. “He and I haven’t had much of a relationship in years, and what we do have is definitely strained. I’m angry with him for pushing me to break up with you.” I swallowed the pain that had settled in my chest, burning my throat. “I had no idea about the accident. If I’d known, I would have been there, Hana. I would have given up my contract, I would have quit hockey—whatever—to be with you while you grieved your mother.”
She disentangled her fingers from mine and took a deep, slow breath. “I believe you, Pax. I do.”
“Thank God.” I slumped back in the seat. The server brought our drinks, and I offered a weak smile.
When the server departed, I asked, “Will you tell me about the accident?”
Hana stirred in cream and sugar, keeping her attention focused on her cup. I wasn’t sure she would answer me, but then she lifted her head, determination set in her features. “It was before the draft. After those pictures of you and Davis at the bar—you with that woman.” Her jaw tensed, relaxed, then tensed again. I tried to imagine how I’d have felt if she’d broken up with me and soon thereafter there were pictures of her with another man.
I would have wanted to pound someone to alleviate my devastation. Hana didn’t have the hockey outlet, so she typically turned her emotions inward, against herself.
