Hockey.
If I focus on that, then maybe it won’t hurt as much.
“Your best should be more than enough for them,” he mutters, and I know he’s trying to sound mean and vicious, but I can’t fight a tiny smile—a true one. He’s freaking adorable. I’d love to focus only on his scrunched-up nose, or the low slope of his eyebrows, but his words ring true, and yet...
“It’s not.” That’s the painful truth right there, especially because I doubt there will ever come a day when I can give them any more than I already do. I’m in my prime at twenty-three and have four full seasons behind me, and I understand the league and the game better than I ever did even with a retired player as a father.
It’s not enough for them.
I already take the jokes, the snide comments, the carelessness from all our coaches.
“Then it’s not your fault.” Just the touch of a hand to my back—and it’s not even a lot of pressure, just presence—soothes my overworked nerves, and everything settles inside me.
It’snotmy fault. I’m not doing anything wrong.
The realization isn’t a solution—there is no solution—but it’s a kind of solace.
“Thank you,” I repeat.
“I’m not just saying it either,” he insists. “I don’t know much, but just the fact that you’re the only one who scored tonight tells me everything I need to know, you know? You’re like Thor out there.”
“Thor?” I ask, a surprised snort escaping against my will.
“The only one with common sense and the most powerful,” he says, like it’s obvious, then adds a very wise nod.
I laugh softly, and don’t stop the words when they bubble up.
“I love how your brain works,” I tell him, my devotion coming through in my voice loud and clear.
His smile is blinding, just like it was the first time I said those words to him.
Years and years ago.
We were watchingBack To The Futurefor the one hundredth time and he started ranting about the inaccuracies of time travel. He’d just learned something about space-time and timelines and declared he couldn’t possibly enjoy the movie anymore because of this.
It was before everything went to shit, before I moved away, and so I’d had no qualms about pulling him against me for a half hug and kissing his forehead.
“I love how your brain works, angel.”
He’d looked at me like I’d just given him the best gift in the world, and looking back, I think that’s the moment where there was no turning back. The way he relaxed against me, kept smiling for the whole film even though he really didn’t enjoy it as much anymore, and the way those words became our thing.
It’s how we started to let each other know we liked each other, and it’s been just ours ever since. Ever since I moved I stopped doing a lot of things—stopped talking to him daily, stopped calling him angel—but this is something I can’t give up.
Some things are just too precious to let go.
He doesn’t look away, doesn’t pull back, and I don’t either.
I just let myself have this... until we get to the car.
“So,Boston tomorrow night then Buffalo on Thanksgiving, right?” Michael asks after we’ve ordered our dinner and the waiter has left the private room.
“That’s right.” I nod and smile, hoping that’s enough to show Michael I appreciate the effort it takes to keep up with my schedule. I’m way better at it these days... showing appreciation, but I still feel so awkward around him.
I doubt that’s ever going to go away considering I’ve been in love with his son since the moment they introduced us.
“Will you have time to fly down to spend the night with us?” Mom asks, though I think she already knows the answer.
“I doubt it, Mom. The game should end around ten and we’re leaving the hotel at six in the morning because we have an early home game on Saturday.”
