Page 183 of On His Team

The sentence quiets me. I follow his eyes. The rink looks completely ordinary again. Boards. Ice. Empty benches. You would never know what it looked like two hours ago.

“I did.”

“You were good.”

I look at him. There is nothing exaggerated in his expression. He says it the same way he says everything else he means. Simple. Certain.

My chest goes warm. “Thanks.”

He nods.

That’s enough for him. It’s not enough for me. I lean into his shoulder. He doesn’t move away. I sit there for a minute with every muscle in my body aching and think about the fact that I did not need him today.

I had Lisa. I had Cole. I had Gary and Ives and the volunteers and Donovan even though he pretended he wasn’t helping. When something went wrong, I fixed it. When I didn’t know what to do, I figured out the next thing.

The clinic would have happened whether Rowan walked through those doors or not. That matters to me. Maybe more than it should. Because I don’t want the important parts of my life to become important only because somebody loves me through them. I want them to be mine first.

This was mine.

And still, every time I looked up and caught Rowan somewhere in the building—on a bench with a skate hook in his hand, crouched beside a kid, carrying something without being asked—I felt better knowing he was there. Not because I needed him. Because I wanted him.

I tilt my head against him. “You should go.”

“So should you.”

“I have cleanup.”

“I can help.”

“No.” I shake my head.

He looks down at me. “No?”

“You already helped.”

“I can help more.”

“You have a game tonight.”

“I know.”

I sit up. “Go eat. Nap. Visualize hockey. Whatever you people do.”

“You people?”

“Hockey players.” I push his arm. “Go.”

He hops down from the boards. Then he turns back toward me. “Coming tonight?”

I look at him like he’s stupid. “Obviously. You thought I might skip it?”

He grins. “No.”

He steps closer.

Mackey is still in the stands. Facilities is somewhere behind us. We are not alone enough for what I want. Rowan seems to know that because he doesn’t kiss me. He just catches my hand for a second. Thumb across my knuckles. Then lets go.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he mutters.