“Training went well, though? You mentioned you were getting back on the ice.”
I latched onto the subject change gratefully. “It did. Better than I expected, actually. My shot’s coming back, and we have another two days before the next game, traveling and all.”
“That’s great.” He smiled, and it was warm, uncomplicated. “Nicky’s been worried about you. He doesn’t say it directly, but I can tell. He talks about you a lot.”
Something in my chest loosened slightly. “He’s a good brother. They both are. I’m lucky.”
“You are,” Odin agreed. “Family like that is rare.”
The server came by to refill our water glasses and ask if we wanted dessert. I shook my head—my appetite had vanished the moment I’d seen Kincaid in the doorway.
“So,” he said once the server had left. “Tell me about Denver. You’ve been here what, two months, three? What do you think of it so far?”
I forced myself to focus on the conversation, on the man sitting across from me who’d asked me to dinner and was making an effort to get to know me. “It’s different from Chicago. Cleaner, maybe? The mountains are incredible. I’m still not used to how dry it is.”
“The altitude takes some adjustment too,” Odin said. “I’ve been coming out here for work for about a year, and I still notice it when I first arrive. Does it affect your skating?”
“A little. You get winded faster until you acclimate.” I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the part of my brain that was still tracking the door, wondering if Theron was sitting in his truck in the parking lot or if he’d already left. “But most of the team has been here long enough that it’s not an issue.”
“Nicky mentioned you got traded mid-season. That must have been rough.”
Rough was one word for it. Devastating was another. Life-altering was probably most accurate.
“It was complicated,” I said carefully. “But I’m glad I ended up here. The team’s been good to me.”
“Your coach seems invested in your recovery.” Odin’s tone was casual, but something about the way he was looking at me suggested he was paying closer attention than he let on. “That training session you mentioned you had this morning—was that one-on-one?”
“Yeah. He wanted to work with me directly, get me back up to speed.”
“That’s impressive. I would guess most coaches don’t have that kind of time for individual players, especially during playoffs.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Theron had made time for me, had cleared his schedule for early-morning sessions when he could have been doing a dozen other things. I’d told myself it was because he wanted me ready for game five, because the team needed bodies after Max and Julian went down. Professional reasons.
But the way he’d looked at me in this restaurant—that hadn’t felt professional, but then he’d made it clear how he felt at my apartment.
“He’s a good coach,” I said finally. “He cares about his players.”
“Clearly.” Odin’s eyes were still on me, assessing in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable. “You’re lucky to have that kind of support.”
Coffee arrived, and we spent the next ten minutes idly chatting, and Odin told me about the Denver office he was setting up, the clients he was trying to land, the challenges of expanding into a new market. He told me both his parents had died in an accident some years past, and he didn’t have any other family. He was easy to talk to—asked good questions, seemed genuinely interested in my answers, made me feel like what I was saying actually mattered.
It should have been nice. Itwasnice. He was attractive, successful, clearly interested in me, and sitting right here instead of another man who was someone I couldn’t have. Theron was right in what he said, absolutely right, and I agreed with him.
So why did I keep thinking about the way Theron’s hands had corrected my grip on my stick this morning? The roughness of his voice when he’d said “there it is” after I’d finally startedshooting well? The copper in his eyes that I’d only seen a few times but couldn’t stop cataloging?
“You’re doing it again,” Odin said, amusement in his voice.
“Sorry. I’m terrible company tonight.”
“You’re fine. Just distracted.” He set his spoon down and leaned forward slightly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said, though something in my gut twisted with anticipation I didn’t entirely want.
“Are you seeing someone?”
The question hit harder than it should have. “No. I’m not.”
“But there’s someone you want to be seeing.”
