“It was offensive,” I said, which was true, and I really didn’t feel like cursing in front of her. She seemed too young, too nice.
She shrugged. “Well, what they said is clearly bugging you, so maybe you should talk about it. Talk it out, ya know?”
I shifted again. “Why aren’t you on the ice?” I repeated.
“Hmm.” She twisted her lips. “You answer me first.”
I blinked at her.
“C’mon let me in the foxhole with you.” She grinned. “Then we can fight off the world together. Or, more specifically…” She trailed off and squinted through the tiny hallway window to see the West side rink where my team was still playing. “We can fight off the Chicagoans.” She wagged her eyebrows in a conspiratorial way.
I arched an eyebrow. “How do you know we’re playing Chicago?”
“Duh, they have the ugliest jerseys in the league.”
I snorted a laugh. Chicago did have pretty loud neon green jerseys.
“C’mon, what did they say? Out with it.” She nudged my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my forearm to hold it.
My eyes locked on her hand. “You’re a touchy little thing, aren’t you?”
A laugh bubbled out of her, and this stupid little feeling bloomed in my chest. I was kind of proud I could make her laugh.
Wait.
What the fuck? I was proud? I needed to get a life.
Pulling away a little, I cleared my throat and stood straighter.
“You’re funny,” she said with a little smile on her face. “Okay, now tell me what they said to make you so mad.”
Letting out a sigh, I cracked my neck. I had a feeling she wouldn’t leave me alone until I told her—not that I necessarily wanted her to leave me alone.
“It was about my mom,” I settled on saying. “I don’t have one.”
She tilted her head, looking a little confused.
“She left when I was really small,” I supplied.
“Oh.” She nodded, taking it in. “Why’d she leave?”
“What’s with the thousand questions?” I snapped, turning away from her to pick up my helmet.
When I faced her again, she looked taken aback, and dammit all to hell, I felt bad for snapping.
“No fucking clue why she left,” I grumbled, shaking off my hockey glove to rub my forehead.
“Hmm.” She nodded professionally like she was some kind of therapistlistening to me. “Well, maybe she needed to.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she needed to do,” I said, heaving a breath. “It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed quickly. “Not at all. I’m not saying you should forgive her or anything like that, but maybe you can try to understand her. Haven't you ever felt like…” She paused and looked around the rink.
My eyes narrowed. “Like?” I asked. I couldn't help it, now I was curious what she was going to say.
She stared at the rubber ground. “Like you can’t take it here anymore and you need to just leave and be around complete strangers?”
I slowly shook my head. I liked my life. I had my buddies, hockey, my dog, and pretty soon I’d have the old truck my dad and I were fixing up.
