He narrows his eyes. “Idon’thave sore spots.”
“Seriously, Rowan. If you really don’t want to talk about it, fine, I respect that. But it does make me curious. It’s something I think about a lot. It’s something that comes up with Jason all the time. When he talks aboutwhat’s going on with his business and his clients, planning for the future is inevitable.” I pause, then add, a bit more gently, “Surely it’s something that’s crossed your mind.”
His expression hardens. “Are you saying it’s time for me to hang up my skates?”
I crack up. “I amnotcritiquing your hockey skills. Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re one of the top defenders in the league, aren’t you? You’ll play forever.”
“That’s the goal. Or at least forever in hockey years.”
“Let’s say you play until you’re forty, which is what—fifteen years away?”
His gaze cuts to me, and he’s clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m twenty-five with a nine-year-old.”
I laugh. “Okay, fine. But really—is there life after hockey for you?” My voice softens, a little more vulnerable. I want him to know I appreciate that this isn’t an easy thing to discuss. “Is it hard for you to think about?”
He exhales. “Yeah. Honestly, it kind of is.”
I stay quiet, letting him speak.
“I mean, you dedicate yourwhole lifeto this,” he continues against the backdrop of endless trees, a thin blanket of white, and all this stillness. “You put on skates when you’re three or four. You start learning how to skate backward, how to shoot, how to pass.” He mimes swinging a stick. “Then you spend the next fifteen years perfecting it—through juniors, through college. And if you’relucky—if you’regood, if you’reelite—you get to play in the NHL. And you hope it’s not just for a game. You hope it’s for a season. Then another one. And then another.”
He pauses, and I think this is the highest number of words he’s ever strung together in front of me.
But it’snotjust the words.
It’s thepassionbehind them.
This is the Rowan who talks about his daughter, about his dog, about his friends—the things he lovesdeeply. His career is no exception.
“That makes sense,” I say, nodding for him to keep going, since I’m spellbound.
His green eyes flicker with a brand-new intensity. “And every year, when the season ends, you hope for the next one. That’s the thing about playing at a high level—hell, doing anything at a high level. It’s not just talent and skill. You have to havehope. And you have to be willing to dip back into that well of hope every single year,every single game, every single season.”
“You do,” I say, since I want him to know I agree. I hear him.
“Some days, it’s hard to have that hope.” His voice drops slightly. “But I still have it. I have hope for next season. I have hope for this season. I have hope for many more. That kind of hope? It doesn’t seem to ever die.”
I’m actually deeply touched. More than I’d expected to be. My chest feels a little light, floaty in a way I wasn’t prepared for. “I like that,” I say quietly. “I believe that. I think we have to have hope, especially in a world where things feel uncertain every day.”
“Same,” he says. Then, after a beat, his lips curve slightly. “But if you really want to know…”
His tone is playful, like he’s dangling the last bite of dessert in front of me. And I want that bite. Ireallywant it. I want to do right by him in the romance department. I’m desperate to find him the kind of love even a grump deserves. And, of course, I want to prove, too, that love matters. “Idowant to know,” I say.
He licks his lips, then holds my gaze, his eyes softening with vulnerability once more. “I’d like to coach.”
My heart swells from the admission. Rowan really shared with me. No jokes. No posturing. Justrealhonesty. And I’m over the moon about it. “I can picture that perfectly,” I say, then try on the title for size. “Coach Bishop.”
“You can?”
“I can,” I say, meaning it completely.
He stares at me, seeming a little amazed. “I would’ve figured this was a prime opportunity for you to rip me apart.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
He scrubs a hand over his beard, his brow furrowing, but his tone curious as he asks, “Why do you say you can picture it?”
“Because of what you just said. I don’t think I could’ve pictured it before—you as a coach. I’ve always thought of you as just kind of agrump.”
