Shane’s hair was slightly longer now, swept back in a way that looked effortless. A neatly trimmed beard sharpened his jaw. His suit jacket stretched over broad shoulders that spoke of strength rebuilt over time. His cheeks were flushed from the game, and his loosened tie made him look relaxed and confident in a way I’d never seen before.
He looked good.
He looked healthy.
He looked sure of himself.
It felt as though the injury, the depression, and the broken pieces I had seen in Boston had been smoothed over and reforged into someone steady.
It felt as though he had healed, and he had done it without me.
“Is he really an assistant coach now?” Georgie asked, turning to me with wide eyes. “That is insane. He’s like, what… thirty-three?”
“You called meoldwhen I turned thirty,” I teased my younger brother. “Now thirty-three is young?”
“To be an assistant coach in the NHL? Yeah.” Georgie shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. “And you threw your back out like the day after you turned thirty, so…”
I grabbed one of my t-shirts and tied it into a knot before chucking it at my little brother, who laughed and caught it with ease. The brat.
When I looked back to the TV, Shane lifted his chin toward the reporter, and the familiarity of the gesture made something deep inside me twist.
“Coach McCabe, there are rumors swirling that you may already be in consideration for head coaching roles as early as next season,” the reporter said. “Anything you want to comment on?”
Shane smiled, and the sound of his quiet laugh reached directly into a part of me I had tried so hard to seal off.
“Rumors are just rumors,” he replied. “My focus is here with this team. Tonight’s win belonged to the players. They earned it.”
“That’s humble talk,” the reporter teased. “But you’re one of the youngest assistant coaches in the league. What would it feel like, to become one of the youngest head coaches in the future?”
“We will take the future as it comes,” Shane said with a small shrug. “For now, this is where I want to be.”
My fingers closed slowly around the shirt in my hands. I felt my pulse beating in my throat, sharp and unsteady. The reporter said something else to dismiss Shane, and he smiled at the camera, giving a little wave before he excused himself.
I found myself smiling, too.
“Good God, Georgie.”
I jumped a little at the baritone of my husband entering the room.
Husband.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to that.
My heart bloomed even as it beat double time as Nathan swept into the room, like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing rather than folding laundry. But I also beamed at his presence, at my handsome husband joining us. Any time he walked into a room, I lit up like a firework.
Nathan swiped the bag of chips out of Georgie’s hand. “Wejusthad dinner.”
“That was thirty minutes ago!” my little brother defended with a grin.
It was then that I noticed the tumbler of dark liquor in Nathan’s hand.
That’s odd, I thought.He doesn’t usually drink at home.
“You’re going to eat us out of the house,” Nathan said, which made us all laugh, even if the joke did sound a bit aggressive. “Might be time to get a job so you can contribute to the grocery bill. God knows your sister doesn’t.”
That comment killed the laughter.
Both my and Georgie’s smile faltered. He glanced at me, a question in his eyes, and I flushed furiously before smiling to cover my confusion.
