AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Even with him dragging you back to hockey after a five-year self-imposed ban to help Tig of all people?” he asked.
“Yeah, even with that.” She ran her hand over her now-twisted napkin, smoothing it out as much as it could be. “It’s hard to explain, and God knows I’ve fought it for the past five years, but hockey is still a part of who I am. You can’t grow up a rink rat like I did without that happening. And as for Tig…” She let out a deep sigh and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that’s more complicated, but first loves are like that, I guess.”
“Carrie Archetto was mine,” Cal said, pulling up the old ghosts to ease the awkward that had fallen over the table at Tig’s name. “She was my everything in high school.”
Astrid leaned forward, putting one elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand. “What happened?”
“Chris Rockford.”
She grimaced sympathetically. “Ouch.”
“At first, yeah, but I got over it,” he said as the waiter stopped by their table to clear the now-empty bowl. “They’re still together. Three kids. She’s president of the Prairie Lake Bank and Trust. He runs his family’s Christmas tree farm.”
“That’s a Hallmark movie,” she said with a chuckle of amazement.
Cal shook his head. “That’s living in a small town.”
They sat in comfortable silence, and the mood evened out as the restaurant staff moved in coordinated action, almost like a hockey line did on the ice. Everyone knew where they were supposed to go, when they needed to appear, and worked together to make things happen.
“Did you ever think of giving hockey up after what happened?” she asked. “Just staying in Prairie Lake and making a life for yourself?”
It was the second most common question people whispered about but never asked him directly. The first was whether or not his balls had been cut. He’d like to have a few words with the asshole who’d started that rumor when he’d still been in the hospital.
“Yeah, I spent some time at the autoshop before your dad called,” he said. “But hockey is pretty much all I’ve ever done and all I’ve wanted since my dad used to lace up my ice skates when I was four. I can’t imagine life without it—even if it’s just being a goalie whisperer to a pain-in-the-ass goalie with his head lodged so far up his ass it’s like he’s trying to be his own sock puppet.” He took a drink of his ouzotini. The pomegranate was a tart little punch in the mouth. “Was it easy for you to walk away from the game after what happened?”
“You mean the wedding that wasn’t?” She chuckled, but it sounded too practiced for it to be real.
Way to go. Why don’t you just poke her in the eye with a breadstick while you’re at it?
“Sorry.” He reached across and took her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles in apology. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. It’s okay.” She squeezed his hand and went on, “It was an adjustment. But I like knowing I have made a place for myself that’s all mine.”
This was when he should let go of her hand. And he would. Eventually. As soon as she started to pull back.
“Now you’re making me think maybe I should buy the pub,” he said, staring down at their joined hands. Every time he’d touched her before was because they were either about to fuck, in the middle of fucking, or had just fucked. This was different. More relaxed. Easy. “I could make a nice life of it, pouring pints and winning at pub bingo. I’d have to get rid of the fuck-hockey jar, probably follow Blackburn’s lead and get a million TVs all playing hockey, and welcome all of the lookie-loos coming to take a look at the guy who almost bled out on the ice.”
“That sounds like hell,” she said with a shake of her head.
He laughed. “Yeah, it does, but not the pouring-pints part.” He glanced over at her now-empty martini glass. “Speaking of which, do you want another drink?”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have an early morning breakfast with my dad.”
Her dad. His boss. The guy holding Cal’s future in hockey in the palm of his hand.
“Can I walk you home?” he asked, trying his best to make it sound light when all he wanted to do was make dinner last just a little bit longer.
“You know the way?” she teased.
He grinned at her. “I think I’ve been to your building before.”
She laughed at his dumb joke and slid her hand free as she got up from the table. He didn’t do it on purpose, but somehow his hand ended up on the small of her back as they walked through the restaurant. And when he held the door open for her, even though there was plenty of room, she passed through close enough to him that he could smell her lavender-scented shampoo.
They walked the three blocks back to their building in near silence but holding hands again. He hadn’t been much of a hand holder before, but there was something about being with Astrid that made it natural, as if they just had to touch each other and they were tired of fighting it.
They made it all the way to the building, up the two flights of stairs, and to her door, neither acknowledging the physical contact or the thread of anticipation winding around them both, tying them together as they got closer and closer to her front door.
“So this is me,” Astrid said, still not letting go as she took her keys out of her pocket with her free hand. “Thanks. I had fun tonight.”
