I stared down into my wine glass. “I was positive he was the one.”
Chapter 11
Chapter
Lennon
* * *
I inhaled the cold, crisp, faintly chlorine smell of fresh ice, letting the familiar smells and sensations ground me. Nearly five months had passed, and I missed Vivian more with each passing day. I fucking hated February. Dark, short days with too many hours in the night to remember.
I’d been looking forward to this game, though. And I forced myself to focus on that. Montreal was a tough team, one we’d likely face in the playoffs. I closed my eyes and let the pleasure of the rink take me someplace good.
“How are you doing, Cruiser?” Naese asked as he skated up next to me.
“Fine.” I tapped my stick on the ice, shifting it back and forth, back and forth, warming up my forearms and shoulders.
“When are you going to call Vivian?” he asked.
“I’m not.”
He scowled. “Why not? She’s perfect for you?—”
“I’m not. Leave it alone.”
“Fine. Pull your panties from your ass. Jeez.”
He skated off, but Cormac took his place. “What was that about?” he asked, frowning. He followed my lead, copying my stick work.
“Nothing.”
“Hmm...”
“What?”
“You’ve been a grumpy bastard the last few months. Even Maxim noticed—said you’re acting like him before he met Ida Jane.”
“I’m fine,” I said, stressing the words.
“Hmm…”
“Don’t you have a team to see to?” I snapped.
“I am,” Cormac said. “But I can tell you’re not ready to actually deal with your problems, which means the rest of us will have to pick up the slack.” He pivoted on his skate and darted away.
Thankfully, no one else bothered me during warmup. I kept to myself, not interested in talking.
As I stood during the national anthem, I looked up into the crowd. I smiled, but my heart ached. Hana, Naese’s girlfriend, was there. Hana had arrived in November, and he’d talked her into moving in with him from the get-go—the bastard hadn’t wasted any time. I didn’t blame him. If I could have, I would have asked Vivian to move in with me that weekend we’d had in Michigan.
I couldn’t believe our weekend together had been almost six months ago now.
Six months.
I had the worst February blues ever, and it had nothing to do with a midseason slump. In fact, I had a damn fine looking stats sheet. I dropped my hand as the song ended. Stats meant practically nothing to me. Worse, I was too busy with hockey to connect K-9s with their former handlers. I missed that work, badly.
Amber thought that project was good for me, that I needed some positive outlet in my life. My mother had said the same thing.
The game was fast-paced and hard-hitting—my favorite kind because I had to be totally focused. Thankfully, we secured another win, and a good one, too. I managed to get an assist when I smacked the puck to Naese, who re-aligned his stick so the momentum carried the apple straight into the net under the goalie’s pads. It was a sweet move, and one I wished we could recreate. I had a feeling Coach was going to try to recreate it, but that was the magic of a live game. Sometimes the timing was just there.
