Page 139 of In Your Wake

“Straight for the jugular.” I run a hand through my hair. “It was shitty, but so was what happened with my dad, and between you and me…” I stop, taking a deep breath. “I guess I couldn’t deal.”

“You could have said goodbye.”

“No, I really couldn’t.”

“Ouch,” she replies, dipping her head. She turns around and busies herself with pruning off some dead flowers from a rosebush.

“No, I mean, I had to leave,” I explain. “And seeing you would have made me stay.”

“And would staying have been that bad?”

“Staying here and knowing that what I said didn’t change a damn thing between us? Yeah, that would have sucked.”

Pinching a half-wilted rose between two fingers, she stares at it before snipping it off, the sharp noise from the shears severe.

“You’re right. That would have sucked,” she admits dryly. She walks toward an iron bench and sits, pointing to the seat next to her. “Are you in a hurry?”

I check my watch. “I’ve got time,” I say, joining her.

She runs her finger along the curved edge of the shears. “So, how long are you in town for?”

“A while.”

She frowns. “Aren’t you just helping your mom?”

“I am, but I’ll be sticking around.”

“That’s vague. Don’t you have to go back to Germany?”

Squinting as the sun hits her eyes, she looks up at me, hopeful, and I glimpse the friend she used to be, the one I desperately miss. I take my sunglasses off, sliding them onto her face. She seems surprised, then smiles and nudges them up her nose.

“Thanks.”

“That’s not happening anymore. I quit.”

She smacks my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Shut up, you have not.”

My serious expression stares back at me from the reflection of the sunglasses, and her smile drops.

“Seriously? Why?”

The scent of roses—or maybe it’s her scent—fills my lungs with my deep breath. “It was time. I’ve been beating a dead horse. The truth is, I probably should have retired last year, but my pride kept insisting. I guess I was trying to convince myself that I was still as good as I used to be.”

“Mitch, you are—”

I raise my hand. “No, it’s okay. Really. I’m not looking for a pep talk. I’ve been playing hockey my entire life, but I’ve known for a while that I’m not better than the younger players. And when it comes down to it, I don’t love it like they do. I can’t.”

“You can’t? That’s impossible. You used to breathe hockey, Mitch.”

“And I still breathe it. I’m actually starting a hockey podcast with my pal, Logan Tremblay.”

“I heard about that. Thought it was a joke,” she says with a light laugh.

I tug open my coat and show her my branded hoodie.

She reads it, then purses her lips. “T and A? Really?”

I laugh, sticking my tongue between my teeth. “The name’s grown on me.”