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Maybe it wasn’t.
I sat up, folding my arms behind my plate. “Just… that I might be a little distracted, you know? I see a lot of familiar faces in the stands—people who show up a lot—but it’s…” I hesitated before softly finishing, “It’s not usually someone I know.”
That sounded so pathetic compared to the truth. But we were in a weird place tonight. Somehow simultaneously longtime friends and total strangers. Finding our footing like that was probably a good idea before we thought about any other directions this might go.
Fortunately, Isaiah seemed to accept my answer, and he responded with a gentle smile that made the room sway. “As long as I don’t distract you too much.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.” Wouldn’t I? “Maybe I’ll toss you a puck.”
He met me with a challenging look that was as endearing as it was funny. “Maybeyou’ll toss me one?” He tsked. “I don’t know, man. I might need more of a commitment than that.”
I snorted. “Fine. I’lldefinitelytoss you a puck.”
“That’s more like it.” He picked up his beer but didn’t quite bring it to his lips. “Would I be pushing my luck to ask you to sign it?”
“Please. I’ll sign anything you want.” I paused. “Except the Stadium Series jerseys.” I grimaced. “I will if peopleabsolutelywant me to, but…”
“Ooh, yeah. I’ve heard you don’t like signing those.” He sipped his beer. Setting the glass back down, he asked, “I was at that game. Fucking brutal.”
I shuddered. “If I never see another one of those jerseys again, it’ll be too soon.”
“People do ask you to sign them, though, don’t they?”
Groaning, I nodded. “All the fucking time.”
“Ugh.” He squirmed in his seat as if he too wanted to shudder at the memory. Then his gaze sharpened again, and he studied me. “Did the—uh, I mean, do you mind talking about that game?”
“Nah, it’s okay as long as you’re not asking for the gory details. The jerseys just make my skin crawl. Bad memories. Bad luck.”
“Fair enough.” He rested a forearm on the edge of the table. “I guess I was just curious about you and Connor Reilly after that. Like did he ever say anything to you? Or is that just something players don’t talk about?”
“He was a wreck over it, honestly,” I said. “I stayed at the hospital that night because I needed another surgery the next morning, and he stopped in and visited before he went to the airport.”
Isaiah’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s a nice guy. And the hit wasn’t as dirty as everyone thought.”
Isaiah inclined his head, skepticism written all over his face. “It wasn’t?”
“Nah. It looked like it, but even a couple of my teammates backed him up. On camera, it looks like he’s boarding me from a really dangerous angle. But he was actually trying to skate around one of my guys who was going down.” I tsked and rolled my eyes. “God, that ice was awful. Playing outdoors is not all it’s cracked up to be, and the ice was shit that night. Plus it was snowing. So we all kept losing edges and fumbling the puck because we were just trying to stay on our damn feet.” I waved my hand. “Anyway, Reilly saw someone else about to go down, and he tried to go around him so they didn’t collide. At the exact same time, I’d almost fallen on my face getting the puck away from one of their D-men, and…” I shrugged. “We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Wow,” Isaiah breathed. “It definitely looked like he was boarding you. Deliberately.”
Sighing, I nodded. “I know. And he took a lot of heat for it. What the camera didn’t see was him almost breaking down in tears at the hospital. He fell all over himself to apologize to me. I hadn’t even seen the replay yet, and I totally believed him. Once I saw the replay?” I exhaled. “He didn’t hit me. He crashed into me.”
“Man. Now I guess it makes sense why he wasn’t suspended or anything.” Isaiah furrowed his brow. “Why isn’t that more public? What really happened?”
“Because the other version makes a better story,” I said dryly. “Both teams released joint statements about it, but it just got lost in all the noise, and…” I sighed. “Anyway. He’s a good guy. He deserved a lot better. But sensationalism sells, so…”
“Damn,” he whispered. “That sucks.”
I half-shrugged. “Why do you think I’m so careful about my public image? I’ve seen how easily something can turn into a scandal and follow someone around for the rest of their career.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling. It’s not nearly as public in my line of work, but I’ve seen teaching careers ended over the most insignificant bullshit.” Those intense blue eyes locked on mine. “That’s why I have the burner account.”
“Same,” I whispered. “And why I was so paranoid about… everything.” I swallowed, and I wasn’t quite sure why my heart was pounding as I added, “But I’m glad we took the risk this time.”
Oh, hell.
