It’s another thing I’ve grown more dependent on over the last month, and I’ve given up trying to stop it. I’ve accepted that I’ll go through withdrawal when she leaves, but for now, I’m not even attempting to stop falling.
She’s at the back door, staring out at a yard that’s still winter-bare.
I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. “You might be waiting a while if you’re hoping to see the flowers bloom.”
She leans back against me. “I love spring. It’s not as dramatic in Nashville. I bet it’s even better up here, watching everything change. How seemingly dead things come back to life with a little warmth and sunlight.”
“Sounds a bit like people, too, if you ask me.”
She beams up at me, and yeah, it tracks.
“I have to go soon,” she whispers.
“I know.” But I tighten my arms around her waist.
“Next week istheweek.”
“Are you nervous?”
She’s been talking about it since she got the details from her manager. Cash Walker is flying in, and they’ll have two weeks with Boone to write and lay down tracks. She wants it stripped down and acoustic, the kind of sound Cash is known for. I don’t know much about music, but I know Summer. It’ll be brilliant.
“Terrified,” she mutters.
The last time I heard doubt in her voice was two months ago when she cried in my arms, questioning everything. All I want to do is chase it away again. “It’s going to be great.You’llbe great.”
She turns in my arms and nods once.
I brush hair back from her face. “Cash is lucky to be working with you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You might be the only one who thinks that.”
I shrug. “I’malwaysright.”
She pats my chest. “Sure you are.” She kisses me, but we’re cut off by Grace winding around our ankles, meowing for breakfast.
“The princess needs your attention.” Summer ducks out of my arms.
Grace confirms, yowling her displeasure at the delay.
Summer starts the coffee, like she does most mornings, and as usual, I can’t look away. She sways a little, quietly humming, and my chest tightens with how badly I want to keep this.
Keepher.
“King!” Coach’s voice breaks my focus.
I’m locked in today. Every pass finds tape, and every transition flows. When we run a power-play drill, I’m seeing plays develop before they happen.
Fox connects with my pass and buries the puck in the net. He skates past me. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
“Feeling good,” is what I say, but it’s an understatement. I’ve never felt better. Last year, around this point in the season, I was cooped up in my house, recovering from surgery and feeling sorry for myself. Back when my house felt like a prison, I couldn’t imagine it ever feeling likehome. But that’s exactly what it is now. Plus, I’m playing the best hockey of my career, and I’ve gotmyperson to share it all with. “Feeling fan-fucking-tastic,” I correct.
He huffs a laugh. “I can tell.”
Coach’s whistle blows, and he waves us over to the bench. We circle up.
“All right.” He taps his iPad, probably pulling up stats. “We’re sitting third in the division. Dallas is second, Minnesota first. We’ve got thirteen games left in the regular season to hold our position and not end up in a wildcard slot.”
Third in the division.
