Page 98 of Slapshot Bride

“I liked them.”

That’s all the confirmation I need.

I’m keeping this woman. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.

“They liked you, Riley.”

“I know.” She looks out the window. “That is the part I'm trying to figure out.”

My eyes return to the road.

“I used to have friends. Before.”

Her voice is almost silent. “I didn’t lose them all at once. It wasn’t like that. Preston didn’t tell me not to see them. He just made every plan complicated. Every dinner a small event I had to justify. Every phone call something he had a comment about after. And I stopped. Not because he told me to. Because it was easier. It kept the peace.”

My free hand lands on her thigh, and I squeeze gently. Her palms rest on the back of mine, and she caresses it subconsciously.

“And I did not notice until tonight, sitting on that deck with Quinn, how long it has been since I connected with people. People who simply wanted to get to know me for me, not because Preston had influence and they wanted to get on his good side. And Quinn… she reminds me of my best friend from college. Rachel. She stopped calling after graduation, when I repeatedly declined all of her attempts to meet up and spend time together. Eventually, I told myself she got busy.”

I look over.

“Text her.”

She shakes her head.

“No. I can’t… It’s too late.”

“Riley, nothing is too late. I’m sure Rachel wouldn’t mind reconnecting if you reach out. Text her. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever. One text. Hi... Just tell her you are alive and thinking of her.”

“I would not know what to say.”

“Two words, sweetheart. Hi Rachel. That is all. She can decide what to do with it, and you can decide what to do with what she does. But if you never try, you’ll never know.”

She's quiet.

“You’re… so different from him. You’re the opposite of everything he is, and I don’t know how to process that.”

She looks at me.

“Thank you, Easton.”

This time when she smiles, it’s soft and warm. I link our hands and raise them to my lips for a kiss. The rest of the drive is silent.

We get home late.

My shoulder is tight from the way I have been driving with it, and the small knot between my shoulder blades that lives there through preseason has grown from an almond to a plum.

The first exhibition is in nine days. My body knows it. I have been running two-a-days for a week, and I have five more to go before we open the season, and my knees are on fire.

I try to flex it off, but she notices.

“Are you good?”

“Nothing much. Just an aching knee, and my shoulders are killing me right now. Nothing sleep can’t solve.”

“Sleep wouldn’t solve all of that. Sit down. I will be back.”

“Riley…”