“Then you’re not going to treat my friend like that either,” he says easily.
I know I’m overthinking everything. It’s my new normal. But, God, it’s a tough habit to break. Especially when it comes to my own issues. I’m my toughest critic.
“Fine,” I concede, warmth taking over my chest and nearly bringing tears to my eyes—the good kind for once.
A waitress comes over, and we place our lunch orders before he dives right back into the conversation.
“Why haven’t you gone to the rink?” he asks me.
I glare at him. “You can probably imagine why.”
He shrugs. “Yes, but I’m surprised you haven’t gone since the last time we talked. You were excited to see the rival game.”
I sigh quietly. “I know. And I got ready to go. I got in my car.” My tongue swells, cutting off my airway, but I force myself forward. “I couldn’t get out of it.”
“Oh, sweets.” Andy frowns. “I’ll go with you next time. That’s all you need—a friend to help you through it.”
“I have friends,” I counter, as if he isn’t aware of that already.
He purses his lips. “You mean the ones who would be playing? I don’t think they’re going to be able to help you much.”
“You don’t know that,” I banter, trying not to let my laugh slip. “I have so many friends; all of them couldn’t even fit in the arena.”
“Wow,” Andy gasps. “That’s a lot of damn friends. You don’t even need me anymore then.”
My laugh escapes. “Oh, shut it. I need you so much more than you know.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes dart to the side, something stealing his attention. A soft smile tips the corners of his lips up. “I think you have a visitor.”
“What?” I cringe, asking the next question as I turn my head. “Who?”
A young girl, maybe ten years old, is standing a few feet away from us, and she has stars in her big brown eyes. “A-are you Shay Rooney?”
Suddenly, the floor falls out from under me, and my heart jumps into my throat. Usually, when that question finds me in public, ones about my accident follow. But unless the ages of journalists and interviewers have drastically lowered, I don’t think she’s here for a statement.
“Yeah. I am.” I swallow the nerves forming the world’s biggest lump in my throat. “What’s your name?”
“Andie,” she answers, shocking me.
My head whips back to my Andy. “No way, Andie. This is my friend, Andy.” I gesture toward my mentor.
Her jaw drops. “Whoa. Cool!” She moves on without skipping a beat. “I’m a goalie too. I want to be as good as you when I get older.”
My heart fucking rips open, and Andie jumps right inside.
“Y-you want to be … like me?” I ask, my eyes burning and beginning to blur.
I don’t know why her sentiment is taking me by such surprise. But it’s obliterating me.
“Yeah. You’re the best!” She nods proudly. “Can we get a picture?”
“Of course. Anything you want,” I murmur, still in a stupor at the moment that just happened.
“You’re my hero, Shay Rooney.” She says my full name in a cadence one would use with a celebrity.
When she leaps forward for a hug, I open my arms just in time for her to wrap herself around me, her warmth hitting me like a missile. This little girl may call me her hero, but she’s mine.
Only now do I notice the woman standing a few feet back, watching the little girl with absolute astonishment. I’m guessing by the striking resemblance, this woman is little Andie’s mom.
