Page 257 of On His Team

“Can you come over right now?” she asks.

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“I have class in forty minutes.”

“Okay. After.”

“You’re already coming over after.”

She laughs again. “Yeah. I’ll be there. Congratulations, Row.”

“Thanks.”

“You did that.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanted this before me.”

“I did.”

“I’m saying that for myself, not you.” She goes quiet. “I’m so proud of you.”

I look down at the floor. “Thanks, G.”

When she gets to Hawthorne that afternoon, she doesn’t knock. I hear the front door and then her shoes on the hardwood, fast enough that I know it’s her before she appears in the kitchen. She’s wearing one of my sweatshirts. Her hair is pulled into a bad ponytail. Her eyes are a little red. She stops when she sees me. Then she crosses the room so quickly that I barely get my drink onto the counter before she reaches me.

I catch her around the waist. Her arms go around my neck.

“You got in.”

I laugh against her hair. “Yeah.”

She pulls back and takes my face between both hands. “I’m serious. I am so proud of you.” She kisses me. “You’re staying,” she says quietly, “with me.”

I put my hands around her waist. “Yeah.”

She blinks hard. “I tried really hard not to care this much. I promise I would have supported you if you left.”

I smile, letting her have that.

“But I would have been miserable.” She laughs and drops her forehead against my chest.

I kiss the top of her head.

For a few seconds, neither of us moves.

Then she looks up. “What about hockey?”

I knew that was coming. “Nothing concrete.”

Her expression sharpens. “But something?”

“Fuller’s had conversations with a couple AHL people.”

Her mouth opens.