PAXTON
“Jesus Christ, you weren’t kidding,” I mutter, dropping the last of my pads into my gear bag, ignoring the humming noise of the locker room around me.
I immediately drop into a calf stretch, trying to keep the cramp from getting worse. The last thing I need is to have shin splints. I’m already going to be a mess tonight for dinner. No way am I backing out of going out, though, no matter how much my body hurts. It’s Billie’s first day here, and she already made sure Rhett was going out with us.
She gave up her job and followed me across the damn country. The least I can do is make sure she has a nice steak dinner the one day this week I’m actually home.
Rhett has the audacity to laugh in my face.
“Yeah, they don’t fuck around with technical time,” he says, way too at ease given the absolute hell that was our drill. “At least no one threw up this time.”
I grimace, but he doesn’t notice.
He’s much slower to pack up his gear, carefully arranging each pad in the bag so none of the straps overlap and risk getting tangled together.
“I forgot you did that.”
I abandon the calf stretch after only a few minutes and sling my bag over my shoulder, digging out my phone from one of the side pockets. Rhett glances up, his eyebrow raised.
“Did what?” he asks.
I lift my chin toward his bag. “Organize your bag so meticulously.”
He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Saves me time before warm-ups.”
I snort and pull up the text from Billie that’s waiting for me.
Sorry running a bit late getting back. Be there soon!
No worries, bee.
No longer pressed about getting to Billie, I drop onto the bench and do another leg stretch. A couple more teammates filter in from the showers.
Ashton grunts, running a towel over his hair again. “Yeah, saves you time so you can indulge all six of your pre-game rituals. Maybe adding a seventh will actually help us out this season.”
Rhett shoves his shoulder and then slings his own gear bag over his shoulder.
“It’s three, not six. And anyway, I did add a new one. Did you miss the fact there’s two of us now?” He gestures with his chin to me. “My sweater now has a fancy ‘R’ in front of the James and everything since announcers having to say ‘P. James’ didn’t go over too well.”
Ashton smiles but doesn’t quite laugh, grabbing his own gear and walking with us to the lobby of the practice rink. Marilyn is standing with Ares, her hands clasped behind her back. Ares looks less than thrilled, a frown turning down his lips. Marilyn’s gaze locks right on my brother, an unreadable look on her face.
Rhett sighs beside me, and Ashton chuckles just a bit, clapping his hand on my brother’s shoulder.
“See you for morning skate,” he says.
Rhett gives a noncommittal grunt, one of those sounds he makes when he’s irritated but trying to not take it out on thewrong person. Then he’s crossing the lobby, pulling a folded piece of paper from his gear bag. As Marilyn takes it without comment, her eyebrow arching, the front doors open and Billie steps inside the lobby, pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head.
A smile curves her lips, her eyes happier than I typically see surrounded by unknown people. Her arm is looped with another woman’s. That must be the coach’s daughter whose number I was given before getting on the plane last week. She leans toward Billie, angling her mouth to where I can’t see her lips. Her eyes flash toward Ares as she says something. Billie nods, that shy smile growing larger, and follows the blonde woman as she walks toward Ares, Marilyn, and Rhett.
Her shoulders are relaxed. She’s genuinely enjoying the coach’s daughter. My heart swells. Billie hasn’t ever made friends quickly or easily. It has to be a good sign that she’s clicked with someone here after only one practice, right? Maybe Nashville won’t be a complete mess of an experience for her.
I close the distance between us, taking her hand the moment I’m able.
She leans into me without dropping the other woman’s arm, her eyes still soft and unguarded. Surprise lights through me. Billie isn’t into public displays. It took almost a year for her to be comfortable holding my hand in public. I take advantage of her nearness now, though, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the faint, sweet bite of her peach scent that blends with her floral shampoo.
“Carys bug,” Ares says with more warmth in his voice than I’ve heard all day.
The blonde woman blushes.
