Nicky looks past Andy, blue eyes piercing into me.
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 22
NICKY
“Is this a terrible idea?” I ask, trying not to pant the words as I reduce the speed on my treadmill. I glance to my left, where Charlie is on a mat finishing a set of Russian twists. He sets down the ten-pound kettlebell and folds his legs, crisscrossing them underneath him.
“You’re taking your girlfriend out for Valentine’s Day.” He grabs his towel from next to him and wipes his face. He levels me with an unimpressed stare. “I know you guys skipped the dating thing, but this isexactlywhat you should be doing.”
“It doesn’t feel…lame?” The treadmill screen flashes. I've entered the cool-down phase of my workout—a twenty-minute speed walk—and I exhale hard. The walk wasn’t strenuous in an impossible way, but my body definitely feels the effect. Like stretching the day after a hard game.
Charlie stands, hauling the kettlebell to the rack along the back wall of my garage. The treadmill beeps, and the band comes to a stop. I step off and begin stretching, breathing deeply, andpaying attention to my heart rate. It feels strong. Steady. How it’s supposed to, only now, I don’t take it for granted.
“It’s not lame,” Charlie tells me. He stands in front of me, mirroring my poses, and follows my lead. We both grunt and groan when the pull of our muscles burns in just the right way. “It’s romantic. I’m told women like that.”
Charlie’s the youngest guy on the team, drafted right out of high school. In all the time we’ve been friends, he’s never dated anyone. I asked about it once, and he told me if it was something that could distract from the ice, it wasn’t worth his time. But sometimes, I think he might be lonely.
“Ever going to find out for yourself?”
“When I have the best Valentine’s date a guy could ask for, waiting in the house for me?” He hitches his thumb toward the door and smiles at me.
“I don’t think Nat needsallof you to babysit tonight,” I say, finishing a quad stretch. The entire Rubber Puckie crew—minus Leo—and Violet are coming over tonight while I take Bea out on our first official date. “It’s the All-Star break. Shouldn’t you be on vacation?”
“I think we’re going to end up with plenty of vacation this year,” Charlie says. “Postseason might not happen.”
“Yeah.”
I press my lips together firmly, biting back the apology I want to give. Since my injury, the team has only managed one win. It doesn’t mean the guys can’t find their rhythm again and make a post-break run, but it is definitely a bigger challenge to climb twice in one season.
I finish my stretch, grab the unopened sports drink, and try not to blame myself. Remembering my therapy session reminds me it wouldn’t be right to shoulder that feeling. In the world of hockey, it’s entirely possible The Midnight’s ranking would be falling even if Iwerestill in the net. Things can change thatquickly. Players get on hot streaks, teams have easier schedules, or the chemistry just falls apart.
Charlie doesn’t say anything, and I appreciate my friend for letting me move past things in my own way. We wrap things up and head for the connecting door to the house. It’s quiet right now, with Natalia at school and Bea out for a while. I guide us into the kitchen for a snack. As I pull various things from the fridge and pantry, Charlie checks his phone, a concerned look falling over his face.
“Everything okay?”
“Just notifications on Insta,” he says, swiping at the screen. He sets his phone on the counter and heads for the cabinets. Pulling plates to set next to the food, he changes the subject. “Where’s Bea? Did she go back to the office?”
“Not yet. She says she wants to wait until I’m settled into the rehab program, so maybe another week.” The truth is, every time I bring it up, Bea doesn’t show any eagerness to return to the facility. All the reasons she states feel completely justifiable, and I don’t want to push her to return if she is able to stay. I like having her close, if this is where she wants to be, too. With practiced efficiency, I fill the plates with Greek yogurt, a hard-boiled egg, mixed berries, and a cup of trail mix. “Grab some glasses.”
Charlie follows my direction. I pour chocolate milk into them and put everything away while Charlie takes his offering around the island to a stool. Once I’ve cleaned things up, I join him, and we devour the calories in companionable silence. After weeks of my life being anything but normal, this is exactly how it’s always been between us. And it feels really good.
“I’m going to ask Bea to move in with me—officially—tonight,” I announce.
“Part of me thinks I should point out our earlier discussion aboutdatingher,” Charlie considers, his glass half raised to hislips. He takes the time to drain it before setting it on the counter to toy with. “Then again, maybe not all relationships are meant to follow the rules. When you want to be with someone, there shouldn’t be a timeline for how that happens or what it looks like.”
“Maybe weshouldcall you Yoda.”
“Even if youcould drink alcohol, I would never subject you to this.” Bea pushes the pilsner glass away from her plate. “Tastes like piss.”
The waterfront restaurant we’re at boasted “British-influenced food and drink,” and it has been one comedy of errors after another, experiencing it with an actual Brit. My cheeks hurt from laughing at all the ways Bea initially tried to hide her distaste for the fish and chips, cottage pie, and Yorkshire pudding. One seemingly worse than its predecessor. As far as dates go, it’s been a colossal failure. But I’d have this date every night for the rest of my life if it meant the resplendent woman across from me was on it.
“Is there anything about this place you think they got right?” I ask, smiling. Bea’s face flushes with embarrassment, and she ducks her head a little.
“The water.”
I bark another laugh. Bea’s throaty chuckle mingles with mine at the corner table we occupy. With the nature of the holiday, I tipped the staff to seclude us as much as possible, and they delivered. There’s a small partition that blocks most of the rest of the restaurant from view on one side, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the wharf are on the other. Our laughter begins to fade, but the pretty pink flush on Bea’s cheeks stays, and I just stare.
