While I wait for chess club to end, I force my thoughts away from both men. One because I’m terrified of the chaos he could unleash on my life with Sam. The other because I’m equally afraid of what could happen if I let someone else in.
CHAPTER NINE
ARTHUR
I pullinto Elliot’s duplex fifteen minutes before our session. I left expecting heavier traffic, but the streets were clear and I made it in record time. If this were an office or a gym, I could wait in the parking lot until the exact minute and no one would care. But this isn’t a commercial building. This is her home. Sitting in the driveway feels intrusive, like lurking. Or stalking.
You’ve been stalking her all week. Why stop now?
No, I haven’t. Not really. Did I type her name into a search bar, hoping to find some trace of her online? Yes. But that hardly counts as stalking. I’m about to walk into her house, into her space. I wanted to be sure she wasn’t secretly selling miracle oils or pushing some pyramid scheme. It felt like due diligence on my part.
The search hadn’t been much help anyway. All I’d managed to find was a private Instagram profile. The profile picture looked a decade old. A younger Elliot, cheeks pressed against a toddler who had the same colouring as her but wore a comically serious expression. Sam, no doubt. Even inthe too-small circular picture, the happiness on her face in that photo had stopped me cold.
I brace myself against the winter air before opening the car door. I angle my body so I can swing my good leg out first, avoiding putting my weight on the bad one. My boots crunch lightly against the salted driveway as I straighten up and shut the door behind me.
The walkway is perfectly clear today, freshly shovelled with a thin dusting of salt scattered evenly across the cement. For a moment I wonder if she did it for me. The thought pleases and irritates me in equal measure. Pleased, because it would mean she thought of me. Irritated, because the last thing I want is to create more work for her. My role here is supposed to be lightening her load, not adding to it.
I make my way slowly up the path, and the memory of her voice on the phone drifts back. She hadn’t expected me to be the one calling. She’d sounded so upset, like she’d been crying. I can’t shake the sound, or the sting of knowing she’s been shedding tears again. And I hate that. I hate that she’s hurting. And I hate that I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.
I’m just about to knock when the sound of tires crunching over ice makes me pause. A second vehicle pulls into the driveway, and my star defenceman and new team captain steps out with an easy grin.
“Hey, Coach!” Ben Michaels calls, his breath puffing white in the cold, dimples flashing.
“Michaels,” I answer, keeping my voice level while I fight back my surprise. What the hell is he doing here? I vaguely remember he was the one who suggested Elliot for the position with the team, but whatever I imagined their connection was, I never thought it extended to casual drop-ins at her house.
Ben’s girlfriend, Madelyn, rounds the front of the car. Herbright red hair sticks out beneath a knitted green toque, and she’s bundled in heavy ski gear. Both of them are dressed like they’re heading into a snowstorm.
Ben strides toward me like a friendly neighbourhood dog. “How’s it going? Ready for your first session?”
My eyes narrow on instinct. I never told Elliot to keep my business private, but I sure as hell didn’t expect her to share details about these sessions with one of my players. My jaw tightens. If she told Ben, who else knows?
Before the silence can stretch too long, Madelyn steps in with an apologetic smile. “Sam mentioned this morning that you’d be here. We were making plans to take him sledding.”
“You know Sam?” The words slip out sharper than I intend. For a second I wonder if he’s one of Madelyn’s students, before remembering she works for a charitable foundation. My goaltender, Foster James, is the one dating a school teacher. Ben’s sister, in fact.
“I’m his Big Buddy,” Ben answers easily.
The pieces lock into place. I know the program. It finds mentors for kids who need someone steady in their lives. Elliot, a single mother working long hours to keep afloat, would absolutely qualify. I’ve only ever heard good things about Big Buddies. I definitely could have benefited from something like that as a kid.
The door opens behind us and a bright eyed Sam stands in the doorway. He’s dressed in similar attire as Ben and Madelyn and looks ready for the elements.
“Hello, Mr. Stetson.” Sam nods at me with the kind of formality I’m not expecting from a child.
“Hey,” Ben pipes up from behind me, sounding almost offended. “What’s with the Mister?”
“Just being respectful,” Sam replies with a lazy shrug. “He’s an adult.”
“Dude, so am I.”
“In age, sure. But in maturity…” Sam lets the words trail off.
“I’m very mature,” Ben argues, puffing up his chest in indignation. “Coach thinks so too. Tell him,” he urges me. “Tell him that’s why you made me captain.”
I glance between the boy and my defenceman, momentarily lost in the ease of their banter. I am not used to being pulled into random conversations, let alone ones filled with such teasing familiarity. Finally, I clear my throat and direct my words at Sam. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
Madelyn laughs outright, Ben groans in mock outrage, and Sam’s lips curl into a smile. I feel like I’ve won a prize I didn’t know I was competing for. I have never cared much about being liked, yet for reasons I do not want to examine too closely, Sam smiling at me feels significant, like I just earned something.
“My mom’s on her way downstairs,” Sam says, walking past me. “She said to make yourself at home.”
