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“Compartmentalizing?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say, nodding. “It’s like he’s a computer. He’s passionate. Don’t get me wrong, but in terms of his focus, it’s impressive. It’s like he only has enough bandwidth for me and hockey. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s nice. He’s respecting my decision to wait until I’m ready.”
“But you’re never going to be ready,” Chrissy fills in for me. “You’re never going tofeelready. You’re always going to have doubts.”
“I know.” I grip my hands together, squeezing, thinking of the baby. That reminds me. Taking my backpack from Chrissy’s bed, I get my folic acid capsules. I take it with some bottled water, wiping my mouth. “I have to tonight. I-I promiseyou, okay, Chrissy? I’ve never broken a promise to you, have I?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Then I promise you. I’m telling Dad tonight.”
* * *
“How was training?” I ask, the phone on speaker as I drive home, the pit in my belly opening wider and deeper the closer I get.
Logan’s voice comes husky through the speaker system. “I can’t wait for the season to be over. That’s how it’s going.”
“You’re playing well, though. You almost got a top-ten record last game, didn’t you? For goals scored by a defenseman? You know, to go with the two spots youalreadyhold.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Somebody’s been doing her homework. I’m only doing well because I think of you before each game—you and our child. I think about telling them about my last season. That almost gets me to where I need to be. That almost makes me the Ice Demon.”
“What gets you the rest of the way?” I ask.
“The anger,” he snarls, “of not being with you. I wish you were here.”
“College semester will be over soon,” I murmur, “and it’s early in the pregnancy. I think I’ll be okay to fly.”
He lets out a shuddering breath. “I want that so badly.”
“That’s why I’m going to do it. Tonight.” A pause, and I say, “Logan?”
“I heard you. That’s good, Emma, but don’t feel rushed.”
“What’s wrong?” Then I realize, of course. “It’s because of last week, right?”
I said I would tell Dadthen,too, but as I approached him, I seized up. It was like my ability to speak just left me. I felt so weak and pathetic.
“I know you’re going to do it,” he says.
“You’re just not sure I’ll do ittonight.”
“I’m sorry, Emma. I’m not angry with you.”
I laugh like Logan does sometimes—gruff, almost darkly. “Maybe that’s part of the problem. It might be easier if you yelled at me and demanded that I tell him.”
“I don’t want to shout at you. I just want to be with you.” He sighs. “Anyway, I have to focus. I feel like a selfish ass, but it’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not selfish. You’re doing the best for your team and your legacy. I wish I were there to massage your sore back after a game.”
“I’d be doing some massaging of my own,” he says breathily. “Anyway, tell me about your story. You said you’d written four thousand words? What’s happened?”
“Nah-uh. You have to wait until I finish it.”
He chuckles. “I love it when you do that with all the voices you do. I can’t wait to watch you read to our baby. They’re going to love it too.”
There are lots of“loves”in there, but neither of us has outright said it. It seems like an immature thing to fixate on, yet I find myself longing to hear it.
“I’m almost home,” I tell him. “I’ll speak to you later.”
