Page 32 of Playing for Keeps

Focus, Max.

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Does all the attention ever get to your head?”

I chuckled and leaned back. “It did, once. When I was twenty. I thought I was invincible. Didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t.” I tipped my head, grinning at her. “Are you telling me I’m arrogant again?”

She smirked. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’ve obviously never met Seth. One of my teammates. Cockiest bastard alive.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Cockier than you?”

“Oh, by miles. Once, after he scored, he skated all the way around the rink with his arms out like he was blessing it. We were down by two goals.”

Emma laughed. “That’s… bold.”

“That’s Seth.” I took a sip of my beer. “So yeah. If you think I’m arrogant, you’re grading on a curve. What about you? Doesn’t being a famous writer ever go to your head?”

“No,” she said right away. “I’m way too unsure of myself for that. Half the time, I think it’s just luck that people like my books. That one day they’ll have had enough.”

I shook my head. “Grace wouldn’t agree with that. She says you’re brilliant.”

Emma’s smile softened, shy. “She’s biased.”

“Maybe. But she’s right.”

She blushed – Christ, she looked adorable – and looked down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim like she needed something to focus on. There was a pause, then she glanced up again, meeting my eyes long enough to make my stomach flip.

“Anyway… how did it start? Hockey, I mean.”

I hadn’t expected the question. My hand flattened against the table before I realized it, steadying myself. “Needed to bulk up,” I said. “Needed to feel safe.”

The word got out before I could catch it.

She frowned. “Home didn’t make you feel safe?”

I looked straight at her. And there it was, something I never let people see. An old bruise, invisible but not gone.

“Hockey got me through,” I said. Kept my voice light, rough with humour, because that’s the dodge. Always has been.

She didn’t push, she just let it hang between us like she knew better than to poke at a wound mid-healing.

But after a moment, she said softly, “It’s brought you joy since then, right?”

I thought of the block that had sealed the game, the roar of the crowd and of the way my teammates had grinned and clapped my shoulders. The kids outside with their pucks and bright eyes.

“Yeah,” I could truthfully say. “Yeah, it has.”

17

EMMA

Grace had a glow about her, the kind of excitement that made her stand on her toes, like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She met me at the side door of the library, her cheeks red and eyes bright.

“You won’t believe it,” she whispered, gripping my arm. “We had to get more chairs. More chairs, Emma. I can’t remember the last time that happened outside of a children’s author reading with puppets.”

Before I even walked in, the warmth in her voice made me smile. I took off my coat and put it over my arm, suddenly grateful I’d chosen something simple but elegant to wear: dark trousers, a soft jumper, and my favourite boots that made me feel a little taller and braver.

“You’re a draw,” Grace went on, almost bouncing as we crossed the quiet hallway to the meeting room. “People have been asking for weeks if you’d really come. I might have added to the hype a bit, so… no pressure or anything.”