“How did you get into hockey over football? Were you amassivedisappointment to him?”
That gets a hearty laugh out of me. “Noah was actually the one to convince me to play hockey.”
“Really?”
I nod. “He was the oldest out of my dads’ group of friends’ kids, and when I realized he was cool, I wanted to do what he did.”
A syrupy-sweet smile washes over Bexley’s face. All I want to do is keep it there. To keep her looking at me like that.
Is that bad? I shouldn’t be wanting that from her. It’s not what this is.
“That’s adorable, Nick.”
“As soon as he started, everyone kind of followed. If one kid wanted to do something, they signed us all up. I think they did it so they could stay friends, but they’re as close as ever.”
A weird look washes over Bexley’s face when I say that. Maybe her dad is a sore subject for her? Shit. This is why I’m so bad at dating. I never know what to say or what is going to make things awkward.
Instead, I keep blubbering on trying to make it better. Or worse. I don’t really know at this point.
“I didn’t really pick up hockey until high school. Once I hit my growth spurt, I realized I could play well, and it shut up the kids at my school. It was a lifesaver for me.”
“What do you mean, lifesaver?”
I blow out a breath. “It’s not something I really like talking about…”
Bexley reaches over and squeezes my forearm. Again, ignoring how good her touch feels, my eyes connect with hers. “You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, it’ll stay between us.”
I believe her. It’s not something I feel often, but with Bexley? I do. She makes it easy to trust her. Whether it’s because she grew up the daughter of a hockey player or the fact that she manages the team, Bexley is someone I want to open up to.
“Middle school and high school weren’t exactly easy for a shy kid like me. Growing up with a dad who was recognized everywhere in Denver made it hard. People always coming up to us and wanting autographs or pictures. I hated the attention. And then kids thought I was being a snob and not wanting to talk to them when really, I just hated being the center of attention.”
Bexley listens to every word, not interrupting, giving me the space to tell her about my childhood.
“I was bullied a lot because of it, but when I started playing hockey, suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend.”
“Nick, I’m so sorry,” Bexley whispers.
“I think it’s part of why I’m so bad at all of this.” I wave a hand around in the air. “Dating. Trying to connect with people.”
“Because you think there’s an ulterior motive from them?”
“Exactly. My formative years weren’t easy, and it makes it hard for me to really trust people.”
Even though I trusted Bexley the minute she sat down at my table.
“Did your dads try and help?”
“They did. But they can’t control everything. It’s why I’m so close with my family. I spent more time with them than anyone else.”
Bexley sighs, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. “I didn’t have that.”
“Really?” I sip my drink, ice cube clinking around inside as I drain the last finger.
“My dad was a completely different person after my mom died. It changed him. It’s like he didn’t know what to do with me, so he put everything he had into hockey. For me to get any kind of attention from him, I learned everything I could about the sport just to try and impress him.”
“I had no idea.”
Bexley looks sad, and I wish I could take away her pain with the wave of a wand, but I can’t.
