Chapter 13
“Damn,” Erin whispers.
I’m standing behind her. I have been for a while now.
She’s on my sofa, tucked into the corner. Her legs are pulled into her chest. A bowl of nachos balances on her left knee. And there’s an open book resting on her thighs that’s being held open by her phone being pressed horizontally into it.
Since she got the project with Ink and Print, she’s been immersed in all things hockey, trying to learn everything about the sport to better her marketing plan for the task she’s been given.
Part of her research consists of watching games, which is why she’s currently invested in a YouTube clip of me playing hockey.
She’s been wary of my sensitivity, but I’ve reminded her that I won’t break if she talks hockey with me or wants to watch a game.
It’s been pleasant talking to her about it.
I’m not sure when hockey started to become a welcoming distraction, but I wonder if the change has stemmed from hearing Erin talk about wanting to write her own narrative and take control.
Helping her learn has been a surprising comfort, especially with Marcus’s words still running through my mind.
Brax hasn’t learned anything new, but he did say that he’d reach out to the Healey’s. I haven’t heard anything more from him on the matter. At least not yet.
I cancel out the space between us as quietly as I can and lean in close to her ear. “You didn’t tell me you were a stalker, Bookworm,” I whisper.
She yelps and jolts forward. The bowl of nachos flies to the floor. Her book and phone go with it.
She gets up and immediately starts scooping the chips back into the bowl.
I move to help her.
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “I was just… sorry,” she says again, shaking her head. I pick up her phone and look at the clip she’s watching.
It’s my hat trick.
Three goals in the first period in under ten minutes. I remember the game as if it was yesterday.
“Well?” I ask her.
She bows her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if it was okay. I just wanted to see you in action.”
“I meant, what did you think?” I ask her, shaking the phone in my hand.
“You’re really hot.”
Her eyes go wide.
My brows lift.
“I mean… you’re a hot player.”
Her expression makes it obvious that she’s panicking. It’s so dang cute. Nervous Erin is adorable, and I wonder how much more nervous she can get.
Of course I tease her to find out.
I smirk. “You think I’m hot, Bookworm?”
“I meant that you’re an amazing player,” she says, laughing awkwardly and pulling on her sleeves.
Yep, nervous Erin might just be my new favorite thing.
“So, I’m an amazing player, but not hot?”
“Urgh. Fine. You win. You’re both,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Why do you even need me to say it? It’s not like you don’t already know that you’re a ten. I’m sure girls tell you all the time.”
“They do,” I say, giving her a grin. “But hearing you call me hot sounds so much better.”
Color blooms across her face, creeping from the tips of her ears to the curve of her jaw. I can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin, and I know I’ve used up my quota of pushes and teases for the day. I’ll have to wait at least twenty-four hours for them to reset.
“Did you set up time with Valerie to talk about your project?” I ask her.
She clears her throat. “Yeah, thanks for passing on her number. We’ve set up a date to meet.”
It’s then that I get an idea. A place I’ve thought about going long before Erin got this project comes to mind. I’ve always ended up chickening out, though. However, when I think about going with Erin, it doesn’t seem so scary.
“Hey, can I take you somewhere?” I ask her.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I think it could be useful for your project.”
“Okay.”
The words hang in the air between us as I lead her out to the truck. We don’t say much as we drive, but the quiet is comfortable. The hum of the engine and the song on the radio fills the space.
I think there’s a reason it’s Erin in my passenger seat and not anyone else as I drive to Henderson Rink. It’s clear to me that this trip is more than just for her project.
Byrdie rolls to a stop as we pull up. The pang hits before I have time to prepare for it.
Henderson Rink was Jack’s baby, built for those who couldn’t afford to go to camps or play in school because they didn’t have the means.
There are three rinks in Huxley Bay carrying out his legacy. Jack had this crazy dream that when he retired from the league, he’d coach before creating his own NHL team and fill it, comprised of players who came from nothing and trained at Henderson Rink.
“Eighty-Seven?” Erin’s soothing presence pulls me back.
“Sorry, just taking a moment,” I say as I climb out of the truck and round the vehicle to open her door.
When she steps out, she steals the air from my lungs by wrapping her tiny arms around my waist and pressing her cheek right into my center.
My hands instantly fall to her back. Her heart drums against me, climbing louder the longer she stands in my arms.
And I don’t want to let go.
“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s this for?”
She steps back, eyes looking off into the distance.
“I can tell this place is bringing stuff up for you. I’m still trying to figure out this whole friendship thing, but I want to be there for you.”
I stare down at her. She wrapped her tiny arms and hands around me because she felt it was what I needed.
Pride rips through me.
“You have no idea how much I needed that.”
“We don’t have to be here if you’re not ready to be. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable just to help me. We can go,” she says, tilting her head slightly, letting her concern show.
“I haven’t been back here since before the accident,” I say, looking around.
“This place is full of memories, but they’re happy ones.
I didn’t want to come here because I’ve been afraid that I’ll bring negative energy.
This place has always been a positive and fun space.
And being here with you, it’s freeing. So, thank you, Erin, for being here. ”
“You’re welcome,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.
We move in the direction of the temperature-controlled rink, the building topped with a large steel roof. As soon as my feet start to move across the pavement, a tightness coils around me. I force myself to keep moving.
The glass and boards come into view, and my feet begin to slow down. It’s then that her hand links with mine. It settles the anxiousness inside of me.
“You can do this,” she whispers.
We fall into step and continue forward. The ice comes into view and that’s when I think the pain will hit, but it doesn’t. What’s there instead are teenagers happily skating, chasing after the puck and each other as they laugh and hoot.
Once we approach the boards and have a clear view of the ice up close, joy seeps into my bones as I stand behind Erin, wishing Jack was still here and could see this.
For the first time, I realize that being with Erin—having her here—doesn’t make the ice a threat.
I can breathe.
I can focus.
Erin lets go of my hand and giggles beside me as two players pretend to fight on the ice. They circle each other with their fists raised, throwing jabs but never making contact.
“Alright, excellent work today, boys!” Coach Mikey yells out. He glances up and spots us. “Looks like we have a visitor.”
A dozen heads turn to face Erin and me.
She gasps when they cheer and speed in our direction, crashing into the boards. They rattle on impact, and Erin lets out a tiny yelp, falling straight into me. My hands catch her by the hips.
“Steady, Bookworm,” I murmur into the shell of her ear. The height difference gives me the advantage of seeing goosebumps crawl up her neck. She side steps me, avoiding my gaze.
“Mr. Harper! Where have you been, man?” Rufus, the oldest of the group, calls, holding out his fist. Jack said he was the one to watch, the one who’d make it to the pros one day.
Before I can answer, Angelo leans on the boards.
“Hey, doll, what’s your name?” he asks, pumping his brows.
Coach Mikey’s glove swipes the back of his eldest son’s head.
“Manners,” he chastises.
“Sorry. What’s your name, Miss Doll?” Angelo coos.
Erin chuckles. “I’m Erin.”
He gives her a wolfish grin when she sticks out her hand to shake his. Before he can put his grubby lips on her, I intervene and pull Erin’s hand away, keeping it in mine.
“Erin’s my friend,” I say a little too forcefully.
“She’s a girl,” Parker, Mikey’s youngest son, says. He’s not old enough to play with the rest of the boys, but since his dad is the coach, Parker is often at the rink watching. On occasion, Mikey will let him on the ice to skate, but for fun only.
He was only four when he first stepped on the ice, and now, he’s seven. When I met him all those years ago, he was just a shy little kid who could barely stand on the ice for a minute before he fell.
“Thanks, Parker. Very perceptive of you.”
“Are you his girlfriend?” Parker blurts.
Immediately, the boys begin to snicker, making kissing sounds. I groan into my hand and scowl at Mikey, who coughs into his fist to hide his amusement.
“I’m told Henderson Rink trains the best,” Erin says, recovering much quicker than me. “I was wondering if I could get some shots of you in action for a project I’m working on.”
“My left side is my photogenic side,” Angelo says with a wink. Erin shuffles past me and moves to sit on a nearby bench that offers a view of the whole rink.
It’s the second time someone’s called Erin my girlfriend, and she hasn’t corrected them to say she’s not.
She looks up and waves.
I wink.
Click.
She snaps a photo. I can tell she’s pleased with what she sees by the way she bites her lip. The only thought running through my head is how much I enjoy Erin being called my girlfriend.
Yeah, I could get used to that.