Harper
I didn’t say that.
Me
You didn’t have to.
“Everything okay Meers?” August asks, noticing my silence when the rest of the room is discussing what song Ella should skate to at our next home game.
“Yeah. I’m good.” I nod. My cheeks are flushed and I’m having trouble turning down the smirk spread across my face but yeah, I’m good. “Just talking to Harper.” August gives me a nod and heads to the shower so I glance down at my phone one more time and type out a quick text.
Me
Go be productive today. I’ll try not to distract you.
Her response seals it.
Harper
Too late.
Dayfour on the road and my body knows the routine. Workout number one, warmups, practice, workout number two, team meetings, PR, rest, game time, repeat. It can be a blur that’s for sure, but when you’ve done it for as long as I have, you just go on autopilot. My head doesn’t even have to always be in the game…which is good, because my head is somewhere else entirely today.
It’s in a kitchen I want to be back in with burnt garlic bread and Harper’s laugh. It’s at an arena full of kids watching my son do his thing prouder than I ever could have imagined. It’s back home in my bed, with my girl lying next to me sleeping peacefully in my arms. At least, that’s my dream anyway.
I’m in my hotel room halfway through a video review on my iPad when my phone buzzes. I don’t even pretend not to know who it is. There’s only one person texting me this late.
Harper
Connor says hi. He also says you owe him a goal.
I smirk, shifting on the bed.
Me
Tell him defensemen don’t score goals. We prevent heartbreak.
Harper
That feels like a metaphor.
Me
It might be.
There’s a pause. A longer one than usual before she writes back.
Harper
I had a weird moment today.
I sit up straighter, her message catching me off guard.
Shit.
Did something happen?
Is Connor okay?
