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Hope rises in her gaze. “I think about you every day, honey. I have Google alerts on my phone. I watch all your games.”
I shake my head. “I thought you hated hockey.”
“I hated that hockey was becoming the only thing in your life. Your dad put hockey above all else—above me, especially—because he told himself it was the only thing he was good at.”
Like me. If only I’d talked to my mom months ago, maybe she would have told me what it took me so long to figure out. All these things we should have said years ago, but instead, we kept them to ourselves and lived our lies.
“I’m sorry I acted like a little shit,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for us.”
She gets to her feet and when I stand, she wraps her arms around my stomach, squeezing me tight. Relief and elation and acceptance and love course through me, expanding into every corner of my chest. That worthy feeling floods me.
“I love you,” she says, squeezing me, and her familiar scent washes over me, making my chest tighten with affection.
“I love you, too,” I say into her hair.
“I want to come to your games and sit in the front row beside Hazel and Jamie’s fiancée. I see Jamie’s mom sitting with them, and I want to be there, too.”
Warmth radiates through me. “I’ll get you tickets.”
“And I want to have monthly dinners with you and Hazel.”
“Done.”
It’s the future I want—talking and laughing with my mom and Hazel over the dinner table.
“Honey.” My mom glances with worry at the clock in the kitchen. “The traffic gets really bad on the bridge to downtown on game nights.”
She’s right. Attendance at pregame team meetings is nonnegotiable, especially for the captain, and even if I leave right now, I’ll barely make it.
“I love you,” I say again at the door, and the smile she gives me warms me.
“I love you, too.” She gives me another quick hug. “Now, go. I’ll be watching on TV.”
I hurry to my car. On the merge lane to the bridge, traffic comes to a standstill, and my anxiety spikes.
The bridge is an endless line of red taillights. There must have been an accident. I suck in a deep breath and go to call Streicher through my car’s Bluetooth, but it isn’t connected. My hand slips into my back pocket for my phone, but it isn’t there.
Fuck. I left it at my mom’s place, on the side table.
Traffic inches along, not fucking fast enough. I groan, gritting my teeth in frustration and impatience. Ward hates players being late—it’s the ultimate disrespect to the team, the fans, and him.
I’m stuck in the line of cars on the bridge, so all I can do is wait.
CHAPTER77
RORY
I burstinto the dressing room.
“Defense is their weakness, so play accordingly,” Ward is saying, lifting his eyebrows in disapproval while everyone stares.
“Sorry.” I’m breathing hard, gut in knots. I think I left my car door open.
He turns to the rest of the team. “Alright, get out there for the last warm-up and let’s win this.”
The team disperses and I rush to my stall, yanking my clothes off and dressing in my equipment as fast as I can.
