Several stop to stare at Declan. One takes a photo with his phone, and another asks for a selfie. Declan obliges with that easy smile I’ve grown accustomed to seeing him use with fans, the same one Dylan puts on when we’re out in public.
Once we’re alone again, Declan resumes our conversation like we were never interrupted.
“Dead serious,” he says. “I stopped by the house to see Mom and Dad. I floated the idea past Dad. Wanted to see how he’d react.”
“And?”
“He was surprisingly chill about it.”
“Dad and chill should never be used in the same sentence,” I say.
Declan chuckles. “True. But you know, it’s been a good thirteen years. Won a title, a few awards…”
“You’ve had an incredible career,” I say. “You should be fucking proud of yourself. If you’re ready to call it quits…”
“One more year,” he says to me. “Right now, I’ve got no one to retire for.”
“So step into a bar one of these days, and you’ll have your pick of women. You avoid dating like the plague.”
“You’re one to talk. You think all women are going to be like your ex.”
“I said I didn’t want commitment. I didn’t stop speaking to the opposite sex.”
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe one day I’ll meet someone I want to spend time with. But until then? I’m not going to waste my time when I know it’s going nowhere.”
* * *
I shove McLain into the boards and steal the puck away from him. Three quick strides, and I’m nearly there. This may only be practice, but we’ve been playing all out tonight.
But then my gaze lands on the net in front of me. And I pull up. I draw my stick back, but miss the goal badly. The puck ricochets off the boards behind, and McLain scoops it up.
“Hell, no!” Coach Craig blows his whistle. “Wild, what the fuck was that? You’ve been missing the net too much. You’re better than that.”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I unsnap my chin strap and storm over to the side of the ice. Not bothering to open the door, I hop over the wall and take a seat on the bench.
I rip off my helmet and toss it to the side. I’m breathing heavily, and I’m so in my own head that I don’t notice I’ve got company until I hear the clearing of a throat a few seats away.
I shift to the right. Savannah’s green eyes are fixed on me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to force myself to calm down. “Have you been watching the whole practice?”
“Most of it,” she says. “So what happened out there?”
I groan. “Not you too. Can’t a guy just miss a shot without everyone trying to fix him?”
“That wasn’t just a missed shot.” She purses her lips, and I resist the urge to lean closer to her. “You’ve been doing that on and off since you joined the team.”
I don’t want to ask her what she means, but she’s actually helpful about hockey. She’s helpful about everything.
So I take off my gloves and gesture for her to continue.
“You’re the most talented player we’ve ever had on the team,” she says matter of factly, and I bite back on a grin. “We’re already winning more than we have in forever. But you’resogood, Cam, that whenever we take the ice, I actually feel like we’ll never lose. And yet we do. We have a couple ofbadlosses this month against teams we’ve outcompeted for most of the game. And then…”
She tugs at her ponytail, a gesture I’ve learned means she’s worried about how to express herself. Because she’s worried she’ll be yelled at, maybe.
“And then…what?” I prompt her. “You can tell me.”
“And then it feels like you sabotage it.” Her eyes flare as she waits for my reaction.
