She’s close enough now that I can see the tiny smudge of gold near her eyebrow. She smooths a palm down the leg of her jeans like she’s not sure what to do with her hands. When her eyes meet mine, the whole room goes quiet in a way noise can’t touch.
“Nice tuck,” she says, mouth quirking. “Kinda rude of you to undress their goalie like that in front of children.”
A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. “He’ll live.”
She tilts her head. “How’s your knee?”
I glance down. Of course, she noticed the block. “Sore.”
“Do you want ice when we get home?” she asks, easy, like we’ve saidwea thousand times in the last few years instead of a handful of days.
“Yeah,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray how much that word cuts and heals at the same time. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Mm.” She nods like she’s letting me have the illusion that I take care of anything myself. Then her voice drops just enough for only me to hear. “You played angry.”
I open my mouth to deny it. Close it. “I played.”
“That, too.” Her eyes soften. “Felt like you were breathing again.”
I don’t have anything to give back that won’t sound like a confession, so I shift Aubrey to my hip and kiss her hair again to buy a second. “You two eat?”
Aubs lights up. “Hot dogs! And a pretzel. And Dippin’ Dots. Kate says this counts as dinner, because game day is a holiday.”
I raise an eyebrow at Oakley.
“What?” She shrugs, no shame. “I can’t cook with crutches. It’s in theHarrison Survival Guide.”
“Pretty sure it’s not,” I deadpan then cave. “Fine. But I’m making eggs when we get in.”
Aubrey groans like I suggested freeze-dried sardines. “Eggs are gross.”
“Eggs keep you running.”
“I don’t run.”
“They keep you skating, then.”
She considers this. “Scrambled with cheese.”
“Deal.”
Rooks wanders by, sticking a fist out for Aubrey, and she thumps it like she’s been on teams her entire life. He winks at Oakley. “Good to have you two in the building.”
“Fun to watch you actually shoot the puck,” she fires back, and he laughs like he’s been waiting to hear that from someone other than me.
We don’t linger, partly because the room is too crowded, and partly because I can feel the adrenaline crash coming and I don’t want it to happen in public. On the way out, Hannah and Thorn catch us near the player lot.
“You skated like you had something to say,” Thorn tells me, hands in his coat pockets.
“Maybe I did.”
“Say it again next game.” He tips his chin toward Oakley and Aubs. “I spoke with my cousin down at the precinct. They’re running regular patrols in the neighborhood. He’ll call if anything pops up.”
“Thanks.” The word is too small for the shape of what I feel, but it’s what I have.
Hannah squeezes Aubrey’s shoulder. “You were the loudest fan in the building.”
Aubs preens. “I know.”
