“Can I ask you something?” Jace said after a moment.
“Depends on the question.”
“Your playing career. You said it ended early. What happened?”
I took a bite of apple, buying myself time. “Knee injury. Cartilage damage. Wore a brace for my last two seasons, tried to keep playing through it.” I shrugged. “But the knee kept getting worse. Lost my speed. Lost my edge work. Became a liability instead of an asset.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirty-one.”
He winced. “That's young.”
“Yeah.” I looked out at the water. “Felt like the end of the world at the time. Everything I'd worked for, gone. Had to figure out who I was if I wasn't a player.”
“Is that when you started coaching?”
“Eventually. Took me about a year to accept that I was done playing. Tried to have a normal life for a while—got married,got a real job, pretended I didn't miss the rink.” I smiled without humor. “Lasted about six months before I realized I was miserable.”
“What changed?”
“Got offered an assistant coaching position in the AHL. My wife—ex-wife—told me to take it. Said she'd rather have me happy and absent than miserable and present.”
“That why you got divorced?”
“Part of it. Hockey was always going to come first for me. She knew that. I knew that. Eventually we both accepted it and moved on.” I took another bite of apple. “She's happier now. Remarried. Has a kid. Lives a normal life.”
“You ever regret it?”
“The divorce? No. We weren't right for each other.” I paused. “The career? Sometimes. Not the coaching part—I love coaching”
“What happened to him after? The player.”
“He got traded to a team across the country. Last I heard, he washed out of the league within two years. Couldn't handle the pressure.” My jaw tightened. “I tell myself it wasn't my fault. That he had problems before I came along. But I still wonder if I made it worse.”
Jace reached out and his fingers brushed against mine where they gripped the railing. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to feel the warmth.
“We should keep walking,” I said, because if we stood there any longer I was going to do something stupid like kiss him in broad daylight.
We found a bookstore tucked into a side street—one of those independent places with narrow aisles and books stacked floor to ceiling. Jace disappeared into the fiction section while I browsed sports memoirs, and for twenty minutes we existed in separate spaces doing separate things.
It felt normal. Easy. Like we were just two people who liked books and coffee and each other's company.
When we met back up at the front, Jace had a paperback in his hand—some thriller with a dark cover.
“Impulse buy?” I asked.
“Maybe. You?”
I held up the memoir I'd grabbed. “Research.”
“You're such a coach.”
“You say that like it's a bad thing.”
Jace paid for our books even after I told him no but he was stubborn. Outside, the clouds had thickened and the air smelled like rain.
“Want to find somewhere with a view?” Jace asked.
