Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
WADE
I didn’t sign up for this.
That’s the only thought going through my head right now. And it’s selfish, I know.
When I called Piper, I filled her in about Bree, the part Langston played, because she knows who the guy is, and how I didn’t exactly handle things as well as I should have.
Yeah, Piper ripped me a good one. I may not sit comfortably for weeks.
Then she told me about Nana’s decision to sell the ranch. Not right away, but soon because…she’s met someone. Who knew geriatric romance was a thing?
This shouldn’t surprise me, though. Nana’s as feisty as they come.
Already a young widow, she didn’t sign up to raise her three grandkids alone.
My mother left when my sisters and I were little because she couldn’t picture herself strapped to a ranch for the rest of her life.
To mitigate his pain, my father threw everything he had into running the ranch that killed him in the end.
By the time they found him on the back side of the property, he’d already slipped into a coma from a severe stroke. He passed away two weeks later, leaving Nana to raise three children on her own.
And she did it with passion and dedication, doing whatever it took to keep the ranch running so we didn’t lose our home, too.
When I discovered my love for hockey, she made sure I had the equipment and lessons I needed to pursue the sport I loved, even to the point of selling one of our stallions to pay for it all.
She deserves to have a life of her own, no matter her age.
That's why I’m a selfish jerk, worrying about whether I have to give up hockey to keep the ranch in the family. Piper just got drafted into the PWHL, and Ellie’s still in college. I, on the other hand, have had several years to pursue and live my dream of playing professional hockey.
Do I want to take a shot at the NHL? Hell, yes.
And no…
Or maybe I should say I don’t know anymore.
I’m not sure of anything at the moment. My world feels like a listing ship about to keel over at the moment.
But I can’t think about any of it right now because I’m lying on the table as the team doctor does an evaluation of my condition while Coach Markelson hovers in the doorway. As much as he wants me back in the crease, I need it more—need the distraction.
From my family’s situation, and from Bree.
She and I have exchanged basic texts over the last few days, but that’s been it.
It’s like we’re dancing around each other, avoiding the rift forming between us.
I didn’t get to help move her boxes, which may have been a good thing, since I haven’t been in a great headspace.
The guys said all I did was scowl at them while they loaded their SUVs.
“Well?” Coach’s voice grates from my right.
The doctor glances his way before zeroing in on me. “You’re not feeling any pain whatsoever?”
I shake my head. The last time I felt a twinge was a couple of days ago when I got up too fast from the couch—the last time I saw Bree. If I mention that, though, the doc might think it’s too soon for me to play, but I need to get back out there—for me and for the team.
Perched on a rolling stool, Doc pushes away from the table and coasts backward as he crosses his arms. “I’ll clear him for tomorrow night’s game.”
“Yes!” I sit up, feeling the weight of anticipation slough off of me.
Coach shoves off the doorjamb, appearing relieved.
“But on one condition.”
I freeze in place. So does Coach.
Doc continues, “If you feel even a hint of a tickle, you tell a trainer right away. Deal?”
“Deal,” Coach and I both reply to him at the same time.
I don’t expect that will be an issue. I’m feeling back to normal, and I’ll make sure I’m intentional with my stretching, which I normally am, but I’ll add a few more reps to play it safe.
Swinging my legs over the side, I perch on the edge of the table. Coach stands there, arms crossed and silent, but I read the warning in his eyes—sitting out one more game won’t make or break our season and isn’t worth the risk.
I hold a hand up. “I’ll be careful.”
Coach nods. “Good. See you out there.”
He turns and walks out. I head to the locker room to get ready for practice. My insides buzz with the anticipation of getting back on the ice after almost two weeks of sitting around with ice packs on my leg.
I still worked with my goalie coach during that time to implement some new eye movement exercises and focused on my upper-body workouts, but I missed being out there.
With my guys. With my team. Classic case of FOMO.
Putting on my equipment felt more akin to a ritual, a form of worship. I almost luxuriate in the weight of my gear as I head down the tunnel to the rink, like a familiar friend I haven’t seen for far too long. The irony of that thought lands deeper than expected.
But when my skate touches the ice, that listing sensation fades away. My world as a goalie rights itself again.
And for the next few hours, that’s enough.
Coach runs us through some demanding defense scenarios to check for any weak spots in anticipation of Saturday’s game. The E-team—Ethan and Elias—look like they’re ready to drop from exhaustion.
After an hour and a half, I’m feeling the strain myself since it’s my first full day back on the ice. Coach had me take a couple of breaks, but overall, I feel good. By Saturday, I know I’ll be ready.
Coach blows his whistle. “Head in.”
The relief on Ethan’s and Elias’s faces is palpable.
Luke glides over as I pull my helmet off. “How’d that feel, Cowboy?”
I couldn’t suppress my grin even if I tried. “Like a pig reunited with its mud.”
Luke shakes his head. “I’ll take your word for it.”
As I leave the ice, I notice Bree standing at the end of the tunnel.
She’s dressed in wide-legged black slacks and a tight-fitting white top with a black and white cropped jacket that reveals her small waist. She’s also wearing some kind of black platform shoes, making her taller.
Her hair is swept back into a high ponytail, which accentuates her cheekbones and makes her gorgeous blue eyes the focal point of one incredible smokeshow.
My gut twists at the sight of her—that familiar feeling I always get when I see her, but even more so. She’s stunning. Eloquent. Perfection.
“Bree.” Her name floats from my mouth on a breath filled with relief. Only then do I realize just how much I’ve missed her. But then I remember I owe her an apology.
The corners of her lips lift in a slow smile as I come closer. “I heard you’re cleared to play.”
I stop in front of her, sweat dripping down the sides of my face, jersey soaked, and wishing I could hold her as if she were mine. “Doc gave me the go-ahead today.”
Eyes glassy with moisture, she glances away, her expression guarded. “I bet you loved being back out there.”
“Understatement of the year.”
We both laugh softly, but a foreign awkwardness lingers between us.
I swipe my sleeve along the side of my face, wiping off the sweat tickling my cheek. “Listen, Bree, I owe you an apology.”
She rolls her lips inward, then nods for me to continue.
“I got caught up in my head about Langston when I should have been more concerned about what he did to you. I never meant to imply that you couldn’t handle yourself.”
Smile gone, her gaze darts back and forth as if she’s studying me in an entirely different way. “But you did, Wade.”
“I know. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I, um… I made it about me instead of being there for you.”
She blinks away the sudden moisture in her eyes, but her grin returns. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“So, are we okay?” I swallow the emotion in my throat. “Because I really miss my best friend. A lot.”
Her expression warms, and her shoulders settle. She bobs her head. “Right as rain. But I’m not letting you hug me.”
I snicker, then hold my arms open and take a step toward her, catching a whiff of my stench. “You mean you don’t want a piece of this?”
She wags her hand in front of her as she backs away. “No, thank you.”
Turning serious, I lower my arms. “Want to hang out tonight? I can make dinner for us?”
“Will it entail vegetables?” She side-eyes me.
“Most definitely.”
“I’ll bring a pizza.” She smiles, and then something…different happens.
As Bree stares at me, I get lost in her cornflower blue eyes. I can’t—and don’t—look away. And I’m done hiding what I feel for her. If it’s written all over my face, so be it.
We stand there, looking at each other as if we’re in our own little world until Ethan comes up from behind and pats me on the shoulder as he walks by, bursting our time bubble.
“Hey.” I barely give him a glance, loath to break the connection with Bree, but she’s staring down at her hands now. “See you around six?”
She gives me a vigorous nod and a small smile. “Sounds good.”
Walking away from her feels as if I’m trudging through water, each step a strain against the pull and the desire to recapture that look in her eyes. Did I glimpse something more than friendship swirling in their depths? Is Bree feeling drawn to me like I am to her?
Hope blooms in my chest. Before the turn leading toward the locker rooms, I look back at where she’s standing, but she’s gone. Yet the sense of something developing between us lingers like a promise.
Or did I just imagine it?