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“He showed up to see me play. But well . . .”
“You didn’t,” I finish for her. I toe my shoes off and slowly make my way closer to her, slow and steady. She might want space, and if that’s the case, she can have it.
“I haven’t seen him in person in . . .” She looks up at the ceiling with glassy eyes and her shoulders drop. “Ten years? Maybe? I don’t even know.” Her voice cracks.
“That’s a lot. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.” I scoot so I’m next to her and swing my arm up to rest on the headboard. She turns and eyes my chest then moves her gaze up to my eyes.
“Come here,” I offer. She pauses, biting her bottom lip, I think in an attempt to stop it from quivering, then gives in and falls into my side. I put my palm on her back and rub in slow circles while she sniffles.
“They quoted him in the profile story in the program.”
I shift and dip my head to meet her eyes.
“They printed the program?” I didn’t even sign off on the photos yet, not that I really have a say but I’d like to know what they used.
Laney nods then runs her sleeve—well, my sleeve—along her nose.
“I’m kind of glad you didn’t know about it either. Now I don’t have to be mad at you for not warning me.” She flashes a short-lived smile and I breathe out a soft laugh.
“I’m sure you can find something else to be mad at me over,” I say.
She shakes her head and smiles more, which makes it worth it.
“He said all these things in the article that made it sound like he was there, present. For my life. And then I found out he talks to my mom sometimes, about me. And he thinks I’m not focused. That was the best part. He said I was too distracted by hockey players.”
I shake with silent laughter at her final point.
“All I know is you said I was the best part.”
Her palm pushes hard against my ribs as she sits up only to shove me in the ribs again, and I wince but also laugh.
“Baby,” she grumbles.
I lift up my shirt to show her the marbling bruise that spans my hip to my armpit and she slaps her palm over her mouth.
“Oh shit.” She reaches for the bottom of my shirt and tugs it down, perhaps the first time she’s put clothes back on me since we started this shaking up business.
“That was the one against the glass,” I say.
She snuggles back into my side, a little more strategic about where she rests her palm.
“You scored the game winner off of that, though.”
The grin is automatic and I tuck my chin to glance down to make sure she can’t see it. She watched my game, intently.
“I sure did.”
15/
laney
“Atta girl. You can do it.”
Cutter is being obnoxiously cheery, which I suppose I deserve. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I only deserve the obnoxious part. I was an asshole last night. My worst self. I’m embarrassed, but also the thought of admitting that makes me want to throw up. Or maybe that’s the alcohol.
“Did I really do a keg stand?” I arch a brow at Cutter as I climb into the passenger seat of his Jeep.
He laughs and winces at the same time.
