“Not with how I’ve been practicing lately. Be grateful you’ve missed the last several practices. My reaction times have been slower than last spring, and I’ve given up the puck more this training camp season than I did the entire regular season last year.” He flicks a sugar packet back and forth.
Without thinking, I reach out and slap it to the table, drawing Silas’s attention back to me. Forcing him to actually look at me instead of hiding behind distractions.
It takes a moment for him to glance up, and I use the time to study him, taking in the dark puffiness under his eyes, the stress lines that weren’t there the last time I saw him in person, and the overwhelming weight of exhaustion that clings to him.
My heart breaks at the realization that he’s been trying to do this all on his own.
“Silas, baby.” My voice waivers, the endearment slipping out on its own. As my hand grasps his over the sugar packet, he clears his throat and glances toward the kitchen area, his head already shaking at me. I lean in to keep his eyes on mine. “What can I do to help?”
The sigh he releases holds so much weight. How has no one stepped in yet?
How did I not notice?
I want to smack myself for that thought. I didn’t notice because I’ve distanced myself. Sure, I cheer him on and I talk to Aubrey when I can, but I don’t talk to him…not really. My heart couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I didn’t bring you to breakfast to ask for your help, Kates,” he grumbles, still avoiding my eyes.
“What do you mean? I thought the point was to talk about Aubrey? You need help when the season starts. That’s what Noah implied.”
“Course he did.” He shakes his head. “I’ve got it handled, Kates. I want to know what’s going on with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t give me a straight answer last night. Don’t try to tell me everything is fine. Something more is going on. Something you haven’t told them yet.”
Damn him for being able to read me so well.
One of the waitresses appears with our plates, and the sight of a pancake with strawberries and blueberries positioned to look like a ladybug takes me back to a simpler time. Back before pro hockey contracts and miscarriages and talks of weddings and big fenced yards with wraparound porches and a hammock swing off the corner to watch both the sunrise and the sunset.
As the waitress steps away, Silas drizzles syrup over my plate and cuts the pancake into bite-sized strips.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I ask, giggling softly at his obsessive need to take care of me.
You don’t just turn off a lifetime of memories and love when you break up with the love of your life. It doesn’t work that way. Might be easier if it did.
“Why’d you quit, Oakley?” he asks as he slides my plate back and hands me the utensils.
“Ah, the government name comes out. Must be serious, yeah?”
Maybe I take a tiny bit of pride in the exasperated look on his face.
Just a smidge.
He places one of his giant hands over mine as I go to take a bite. It looks so yummy.
The food, not his hand.
Well…maybe both.
“I’m worried about you.”
And just like that, the fantasy building in my head shatters as irritation bubbles up.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Baggy Eyes.”
He lifts a brow as he fights the smirk tugging at his lips. “Mr. Baggy Eyes?”
“Shut it,” I mumble.
