“Yeah,” he huffs. “That’s what some of my teammates said, too, and since they have no idea what the fuck my hurry was, they for sure think I’ve lost my damn mind.”
“What about your game?”
“I can get a quick nap and make it back for warmups.”
“I can drive you,” I offer. “Or we can grab a quick flight.”
“You wanna come to my game?”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see my expression through his closed eyes. “I mean, I may as well since you came all this way to get me.”
“A flight would be good,” he says with a yawn. “If you think you can arrange one last-minute.”
I smile, not bothering to respond because, of course, I can arrange a last-minute flight. His hand starts to fall away from my shoulder, but then he adjusts his grip, apparently not ready to release me. “Can I ask you something?”
My stomach drops, knowing him, asking permission to ask a question is indicative to an incoming question I won’t want to answer. Even so, I shrug. “You can ask.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his hand stroking my shoulder absently until I start to think he’s not going to go on. But then he asks, “Why’d you choose me?”
Grimacing, I force myself to remain pressed into his side. I go to respond, but he interrupts me. “Don’t say red, Cass. Please.”
His tone is soft, almost desperate, and my chest constricts, torn between protecting myself and not wanting to hurt him. So, after a short pause I confess, “It was an off the record response you gave during a recent interview.”
“What are you talking about?” he huffs, confusion evident in his words. “What question? And how’d you get an off the record answer?”
“I was there,” I admit, even as I want to sink into the mattress and disappear. My heart pounds in my chest, my sudden urge to confess all my sins all but sending me into a tailspin. “So, I guess I was eavesdropping.”
He chuckles softly, and I relax slightly as he says, “Always such a brat.”
I hide my smile against his side, my fingers playing with his shirt. “Yeah. But my ability to not be seen in plain sight has served me well.”
He shakes his head then jostles me as he prods, “What was the question?”
My stomach drops again, and my urge to run returns. I clear my throat, once, twice, and then he jostles me again, urging me to explain further. So, I whisper, “She asked why you haven’t come close to settling down.”
“What did I say?”
Again, I clear my throat, wishing the room was completely dark so I could at least hide from his searching gaze. “Youcredited your parents. How much they love each other. How they doted on you while still managing to work on their relationship. How even on days where they couldn’t look at each other they always managed to put your needs before their own wounded feelings.”
“You decided to trade your hockey team for my idyllic account of my childhood?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I know that sounds crazy.”
“Crazy is all relative, princess.”
“Well, when I speak it out loud, it sounds stupid.”
“I don’t think there’s anything stupid about choosing a partner who had decent role models throughout their life. Or someone you feel will put the health and wellbeing of your children first while also having respect for your relationship.”
“I wanted that,” I confess. “And since I didn’t get that growing up, I wanted to know my sons or daughters will have it.”
He adjusts his hold on me, pulling me away as his head comes up, our eyes meeting. “They will. I promise.”
Once again, my eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, not wanting to embarrass myself by crying again. Luckily, he doesn’t continue to stare at me, instead resuming our previous position of him hugging me to his side, and we fall into an easy silence.
There’s an ache in my chest that matches the ache behind my eyes, and I rub my cheek against his shoulder, enjoying the slow slide of his fingers along my arm where he’s still clutching me.
Normally, the first glimmer of an emotional response would have me hightailing it out of here, but this feels different. Steady. Solid. Scary but not outright terrifying in this moment.
