“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“She’s trouble.” But Kinnunen’s smile was pure pride. “Alyssa’s in the kitchen. Go on in. The others are already here.”
I followed Marco inside, my first thoughts immediate and unbidden. Did Marco even want children? I did—bon Dieu, I wanted them. Wanted to be the father I’d never had, patient and supportive instead of critical and cold. Wanted to raise a child who knew they were loved unconditionally.
But there were so many things I still didn’t know about being in a relationship with Marco. So many conversations we hadn’t had yet because we were too busy hiding. Alyssa appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Petite and blonde with a warm smile, she made you feel welcome immediately.
“Étienne and Marco! So glad you could make it.” She hugged us both, completely unselfconscious. “Even though not all of you celebrate American Thanksgiving, I appreciate you humoring me.”
“Thanks for having us,” Marco said.
“Of course! Come see everyone.”
The living room held five other people. Tyler Jensen sat on the couch next to a girl who must have been his girlfriend. Three other teammates were scattered around: Alexei Kuzmin, our second line center; Brent Harris, a defenseman; and Callan Reid, our backup goalie.
Jensen stood when we came in. “Hey! Étienne, Marco. This is my girlfriend, Kaitlin.”
Kaitlin smiled and waved. She looked to be about Jensen’s age, nineteen or twenty, pretty and comfortable with him in a way that spoke of a stable relationship.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Man, it’s good to see you, Morelli,” Reid said. “How’s the foot?”
“Getting there,” Marco said. “Should be skating in a couple of weeks.”
“Seriously?” Harris leaned forward. “That’s ahead of schedule, isn’t it?”
“A little. But the doctor said it’s healing fast.” Marco smiled slightly. “Ready to get back out there.”
“We need you back,” Kuzmin said in his heavy Russian accent. “Defense is shit without you.”
We settled in—Marco took the armchair near the window, and I sat on the end of the couch closest to him. Close enough to talk easily, the way we always positioned ourselves. Natural. Normal. Safe.
“Can I get you drinks?” Alyssa asked. “Beer, wine, soda?”
“Can I help?” I asked.
She waved a hand. “I’ve got it.”
After she brought beers for both of us and disappeared back into the kitchen, the conversation flowed easily. Hockey talk, mostly. The game against Vegas. The upcoming road trip. Jensen telling an animated story about his first NHL goal that had everyone laughing.
I leaned back and relaxed into the familiar rhythm of being around Marco in public. This part was easy—we’d been doing it for years. Joking together, finishing each other’s sentences, the comfortable back-and-forth of people who knew each other well.
We could be close. We just couldn’t betooclose.
Alyssa called us to dinner twenty minutes later. She and Kinnunen had set a beautiful table—china, cloth napkins, and a full Thanksgiving spread.
“Wow,” Jensen said. “This is amazing.”
“Figured I’d do it right if I was going to do it at all.” Alyssa directed the seating. “Tyler, Kaitlin, you’re there.Alexei, Brent, Callan, along this side. Étienne, Marco, you two are here, next to each other. Mikael at the head and Lilja and me at the other end.”
My stomach did a small flip. Next to Marco meant close contact but I’d have to be so careful about what that contact meant.
We settled into our assigned seats, Marco on my right. Our knees bumped under the table as we adjusted our chairs. The kind of thing that happened between friends.
Except my whole body was aware of where his leg pressed against mine.
Lilja was in a highchair next to Alyssa, banging a spoon happily against the tray.
