There would always be prima donnas in every sport. Despite thethere’s no I in teamslogan, there would forever be an element of personal stats to contend with. However, the NHL scouts and teammates knew showboats. Cal had one season as a freshman to turn his shit attitude around or he wouldn’t see playing time in the big league. I knew a part of me was bitter because I wasn’t good enough to go pro. I could have all the tools when it came to character, but Cal had natural talent I never did.
To see him waste it on a shit attitude was absolute bullshit.
“You were a captain?” she asked, her voice smaller than before. I glanced at her for a moment. She wasn’t watching the game. Naomi studied me with her large brown eyes fringed by long dark lashes. She had beautiful eyes, and they pulled me in like a damn magnetic field. Curiosity swirled behind the shades of golden brown, and my shoulders relaxed.
“Alt-captain.” I leaned back into the seat and watched as Coach pointed at some of the guys on the bench and barked at them. They nodded and got ready to go in. Peters, Hansen, and Pollock were all second string, but we could afford to shake up our offense since we weren’t scoring.
“You miss it.”
“Playing was like breathing, and now I’m figuring out how to breathe again without it,” I said, my muscles tightening at how much I shared with her. What the fuck? I just blurted those thoughts out to her? I normally kept my cards close, but damn… something about her made it just come out.
My ears burned, and I cleared my throat, but Naomi let out a little hum of understanding. The small sigh hit me right in the chest, and our gazes met.
She pushed her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. “My parents divorced because my dad was too focused on his job, and I always felt… hockey was the reason our family broke up, so it’s never been appealing to me.”
“Fletcher is your mom’s last name,” I said, this little piece of information helping put together more of the Naomi puzzle in my mind. That made sense. Focusing on her and not my internal battle was way easier. “Okay, so answer this. If you hate hockey, why are you doing this project that requires you to attend games?”
“The same reason you’re interning here, I guess,” she said, her voice small and her attention moving toward the game. “To figure out what’s next. To figure out how to breathe without hating my dad.”
There was too much pressure in my chest, and I ran a hand over my heart, digging my nails in like that would relieve the tension. Two things struck me. The first—I was right about Naomi and I being similar. Our stories were different, but our wounds were fresh. The second observation was that every interaction I’d witnessed between her and her dad had felt awkward, but I couldn’t place why. Now I knew.
“Also, hey,” she said, her cheeks tingeing pink. She twisted her hands in her lap. “I was okay with you sitting with me. Earlier. When I said you didn’t have to—I just...it’s easier to push people away, you know?”
Boy did I ever. I smiled and fought the urge to put my arm around her in a hug. It wouldn’t have meant a thing because I loved hugging people, but I didn’t want to go too far with her. Instead, I clapped my hands. “Fletcher,” I said, making my voice go a little softer.
“Hm?”
“We’re more similar than you think.”
She met my gaze, and I held it a beat, wanting her to understand that I could be her friend. The blush spread from her face to her neck, and she let out a little laugh. “We’ll see.”
Oh, I liked that challenge. I sat up a little straighter and found myself watching her more and more throughout the rest of the game. She took notes and scrunched her nose when she erased something. A few freckles on her neck peeked out every time she leaned forward.
The stupidest, briefest vision of dragging my tongue along those freckles had me adjusting my spot in the seat. I could think a friend was attractive andnotimagine how good they would look naked. It had been done before.
It was easier to focus on her than the raging emotions about not playing. Hearing the skates on the ice, the sound when the stick hit the puck, the chatter between the guys where nothing else mattered but the team. That was my family. My home.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Ryann: Hey, I know tonight will be tough for you, but I’m proud of you.
Ryann: Jonah said, and I quote, ‘he’d make a good coach,’ which let’s be honest, that’s like a five star review from him.
Thank god for my sister. Her endless support meant the world, and I took a quick selfie to send back to her.
“If you’re sexting, that was a horrible photo.”
“Naomi,” I said, letting out a loud cackle. “Please tell me you’ve never sexted ifthat’swhat your impression is. God, I can’t even with you.”
She let out a little giggle, and I liked how it sounded. Soft, gentle, cute. She didn’t ask, but for some reason, I felt compelled to tell her about Ryann. “It’s my sister, Ryann. She knew tonight would be hard for me.”
“Does she live far?”
“Yeah. Back east. Thousands of miles away but we talk a lot. It was part of our deal when I came to grad school here.” I smiled at the memory of the sit-down I’d made my sister have, where we wrote out our expectations. She wanted independence and to not have a hovering older brother, but I felt protective of her beyond just a brother. It was hard to explain, but her happiness and success wasminetoo, maybe it because it was just us in the world. Not talking to her wasn’t a reality I could imagine. “She’s my best friend.”
“That’s wonderful, Michael,” she said, her voice soft. It was the first time she used my first name.
I liked how it sounded from her lips, more than I should’ve.
