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She clears her throat and raises a hand. “Excuse me. Teaching them to skate is exclusively Aunt Corey’s domain. And I’d happily fight any hockey player who decides to challenge me for the right.”
“Honestly? I would pay money to see that fight.”
“Sell tickets,” she suggests with a shrug. “Pay for the kid’s college education.”
It all feels so right when I think about it. “That’s all I want. It doesn’t have to be much. Just all of us together. One family.”
I’m a little embarrassed—even though we just laughed together, there’s still the fear of her telling me I’m out of my mind. But she’s smiling when I look up at her. Still, I see the sadness in her eyes, mostly because I feel it, too. “That does sound nice,” she whispers.
“And absolutely impossible.” Because let’s face it, things like that don’t happen in real life. This isn’t some idealized fantasy world. This is reality, and dreams like that just don’t come true.
24
HARLOW
Something’s wrong with Ryder.
This isn’t a matter of me being paranoid, either. Of course, I always watch my guys closer than the rest of the team, and now there’s the whole baby issue to make them even more important to me than ever. I still haven’t wrapped my head around it. I mean, how do you wrap your head around something so monumental that came as such a shock? I guess it would be bad enough if I were in a so-called traditional relationship with only one man. The past few days since I took the test have been one long exercise in trying to control my stress and anxiety.
It’s not going well.
It would be easy in light of all this stress to dismiss my concerns over Ryder, but I don’t think I’m imagining things. The Raptors are up three-to-two with only another minute and a half left in the game, and the team is firing on all cylinders. It looks like a win.
Except for Ryder. His playing reminds me of the way Ash was playing the day he was injured. He’s half a second behind everybody else. Awkward, stilted. Like he’s overthinking everything. It’s obvious when an athlete is in the zone, and even more so when they aren’t. It happens to everybody at some point.
That doesn’t make me feel any better, and something tells me it won’t help Ryder, either.
When the final buzzer sounds, I cheer along with the rest of the fans, but my heart’s not completely in it when I can’t take my eyes off him. Even at a distance, I see the strain written on his face. What could’ve happened? Is it about Pete?
On the way back to my office, I send him a text he’ll probably get once he’s out of the shower.
Me: Meet me in my office? I’d like to talk to you.
Then it’s a matter of occupying myself until he gets here, but that’s no big issue. I’m behind on reports on player progress – I never go into detail, since that’s confidential, but it’s my responsibility to alert the coach to anything that might be a problem. One player not getting along with another, maybe the need for a little extra practice if someone’s feeling less than confident. That sort of thing. I don’t always have anything to report, but I like sending them anyway so it’s clear I’m doing my job.
I’m finished typing my email when there’s a knock at the door. Usually, Ryder smiles when he sees me. I guess I didn’t notice until now what a habit that is for him. And the reason I know this is because his face is a stern, stony blank as he enters the room.
This doesn’t bode well.
“Hey. Congrats on the win.” At a time like this, I need to be careful. Nobody appreciates being pushed or patronized, but especially not Ryder.
“Yeah, thanks.” He closes the door and stands with his back to the wood, arms folded. “Well? Let’s hear it.”
Terrific. He’s feeling mildly confrontational. This keeps getting better. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“No offense, but you’re full of shit.”
“No, gosh, why would I take offense to that?”
He only rolls his eyes and scoffs. “I played like shit out there and you want to know why. That’s why you called me in here.”
“Now that you mention it, I’m a little concerned for you. I was wondering if there is anything you want to talk about. Is everything okay with Pete? Has there been anything new?”
“No, but he’s always on my mind.” He rakes his fingers through his wet hair, sighing heavily. “But I have other problems now on top of him.”
When he glances my way, there is an immediate shift in his expression. “Sorry. I’m being a dick. I’m not trying to scare you or anything.”
“Yeah, well, you’re sort of doing it anyway.” I’m trying hard to keep things light, but with the baby in the back of my mind and influencing virtually everything related to my guys, it’s a real struggle.
