Chapter 18 Hannah
EIGHTEEN
HANNAH
Grant
Do you think I’d be a good dad?
Me
Something you need to tell me, G?
Grant
No. God no! Nothing like that!
Mav and Emmy’s baby will be here soon, and I’m contemplating.
Me
Yes, I think you’d be a great dad.
But I also think you’d be an exhausted dad, because you always put everyone else first. I know you. You’d never make time for yourself.
Grant
Good point. I also love my sleep.
I’ll table it for a few years.
Me
When you do decide it’s time for kids, they’re going to be so lucky to have you as their parent.
Grant
Shucks, Han. That was sweet.
Me
Have you shaved your face yet? Your mustache is still horrifying.
Grant
I knew the moment was too good to be true.
“That edge work was shit, Everett.” Brody barely looks up from his clipboard as he says it, and I scowl his way. “You can do better.”
“You’re not paying attention. How can you be sure it wasn’t perfect?”
“I see everything.”
“That’s obnoxious,” I mumble under my breath.
“I heard that, Ice Queen.”
“I’m going to grab some water,” I tell him, heading for my bag.
Back at the bench, I hop on the boards and fix my pink skirt, looking out at the ice. A deep breath helps. So does trying to recenter my thinking, but before I can get too deep in my thoughts, Brody is standing in front of me.
His presence is impossible to ignore. Backward hat, trimmed beard. Black joggers and a plain white shirt, he puts his hands on his hips and tips his head to the side.
“Hannah. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.
“It’s stupid.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” After a long pause, he adds, “I’m not sure anything you’re thinking or feeling could ever be stupid. What happened to being honest with each other?”
What happened is I’m a fucking liar, because ever since Thanksgiving and the night we ran into each other at that goddamn bar, I can’t get him out of my head. I can’t get over the feel of his hand on my knee, the weight of his gaze on my thighs, the flash of heat behind his eyes.
I might not know everything about Brody Saunders, but I know he’s not a man who plays games. He’s meticulous, intentional about everything he does, and those touches?
They weren’t accidental.
Friends my ass.
“There’s a big figure skating competition in Japan this weekend,” I blurt, the words tumbling out of me without warning.
“If I hadn’t dropped out of the event I was supposed to skate in back in November, I might be there too.
I’m grappling with this version of life where I’m not going to be one of the best skaters in the world this year.
I haven’t been the best skater in the world in many years, and that feeling of…
of resentment? Of inadequacy? It’s only being made worse by the fact that I can’t do a basic edge control drill correctly. ”
Brody doesn’t say anything. There’s no rebuttal, no attempt to make me feel better.
He just stares, and the pressure is immense. Relentless no matter how hard I try to glance away, and the look he’s pinning me with makes me squirm.
“Change of plans.” His voice is a rough rasp. A caress against the inside of my thigh. “We’re cutting out of here early.”
“Early? It’s not even noon. Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else. You hungry?”
“No.” My stomach picks that moment to rumble. “Fine. I might be hungry.”
“Are you a fan of burgers?”
“I don’t trust anyone who isn’t.” My lungs deflate, wary. “I know what you’re doing. You’re deflecting so I don’t think about the problem at hand. You’re redirecting my thoughts. That kind of psychology won’t work on me, Coach.”
“I’m not doing anything besides offering you food, because that’s a requirement for survival.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, Daddy, calm down,” I say, proud of myself when his hand flexes at his side. “Don’t you have a game tonight?”
“I do, but I don’t need to get to the arena until four. Plenty of time to eat a burger.” Brody leads the way to the tunnel and I follow him with my bag and gloves and questioning how I wound up climbing into his Cadillac Escalade and relaxing into the heated seats he turns on. “Warm enough?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I hold my hands up to the air vents, sighing as the cold from the rink slips away. “Who are you playing tonight?”
“The worst team in the league. Which means we’ll either win by one goal or lose by eight.” He checks his mirrors, putting the car in reverse and pulling into traffic. “Have you been to a game yet this season?”
“Nope. That’s my goal after the holidays.
It’s been a weird couple of months trying to find a new routine that doesn’t include regimented training and spending five hours practicing at my old rink.
I finally feel like I’m balancing everything well, and that’s going to open up more time to do fun things in my free time like go to hockey games and see my best friend. ”
“What about Riley’s AHL debut?” Brody uses his blinker, then drapes his forearm over the steering wheel. “That’s next week. He doesn’t think we’ll be able to make it because of our travel schedule, but the guys are planning on surprising him. I’m pulling all the strings I can to make it happen.”
“Stop.” I put a hand over my heart. “To be honest, I had all these opinions about professional athletes before Grant was drafted. And I’m sure there are shitheads out there, but it’s refreshing to see guys who aren’t toxic pieces of trash.
Who care about each other and aren’t afraid to say they love each other.
I was at my brother’s house the other night, and he and Ethan had an argument over who needed to sign off their video game first. It’s hysterical. ”
“That’s changed over the years. When I played, guys weren’t so open about their feelings. Maybe it’s the social media effect.” Brody shrugs, turning down a side street. “Digital affection is easier than other kinds of affection.”
“You don’t strike me as an affectionate guy.” I burst out laughing. “Wait. You probably do some awkward bro hug, don’t you?”
“I hug plenty of people the normal way,” he grumbles. “I’m not an ogre.”
“You sure?” I reach over and poke his cheek, squealing when his fingers fold around my wrist and pin my hand to the center console. “I see some green on your face.”
“Watch your tone, Hannah,” he warns, not releasing me from his grip. “What are you doing for the holidays?”
“Grant and I are going to Florida for two days. My best friend, Tierney, has a brother who plays in the NBA. He was traded to the DC Bullets, but he spent the first part of his career on the Orlando Blazers, who the Bullets are playing on Christmas. We have tickets to the game.”
“That sounds fun.” We pull into a gravel parking lot, finding a spot in the corner. “No snow in Florida.”
“Thank god. This winter wonderland gets really old, really fast.” I peer at the diner sign. “Are we here?”
“No. I thought we’d sit outside a different diner first,” he deadpans.
“Please don’t ever become a standup comedian.”
I wiggle my hand free, but not before his fingers drag along the inside of my wrist. It’s like he’s sneaking the tiniest taste, stealing the smallest sip of something he shouldn’t be drinking. So quick it might not have happened at all, but his face gives him away. Pink cheeks. The dip of his chin.
The cold December air is welcomed, but I shiver when the wind ripples through my thin skating outfit.
“Here.” Brody crowds my space, offering me a gray sweatshirt. “Put this on.”
I look at the offering, realizing it’s the same one he gave me that night in June. The same on he took off me in a frantic, desperate state, and I rub my thumb along the drawstring.
It’s still soft. Still smells like him, and I wonder if it’s his favorite hoodie. If it’s one he sleeps in every night, because the sleeve has a hole in it. The hem is fraying, little threads coming loose, and I nudge it back his way.
Putting it on would be an admission. An acceptance that I remember exactly what happened the last time I put this on my body and the recognition that I want to do it again.
“I’m fine,” I say. “We’ll be inside soon.”
“Hannah. Put on the sweatshirt.”
Snow flurries start to fall from gray clouds, and the blast of heat when I open the door of the diner is magnificent. Ignoring Brody is the easiest option, so I spot the hostess. I slide up to her stand and give her a smile.
“Hi! Could we have a table for two, please?” I ask.
She flips through a stack of menus, and Brody is still there. The entryway is so small, my back is almost flush against his chest. His shoe bumps mine. My elbow knocks against his, and I need more space.
“You’re in a skirt and tights.” He bends his neck so he can whisper in my ear. “And shivering. Take the damn hoodie. Please.”
“Fine.” I accept the sweatshirt from him, and I swear he relaxes the second I yank it over my head. “But only because you know I like it when men beg.”
“Have I told you today that you’re a brat?” he murmurs, a hand on my lower back as we follow the hostess to a booth in the back.
“No. Say it again,” I purr.
I’m pushing his buttons, but he doesn’t bite. Not when he spins his hat forward to cover his face and lifts his menu, studying the options.
“How old were you when you started skating?” Brody asks, changing the direction of our conversation.
“Five.” Our knees bump under the table. More accidental touching. More moments where he doesn’t pull away. “Grant was already skating, and I was jealous he got to spend his summer in the air-conditioned rink while I was on the playground sweating in the Florida sun.”
“Have you always been good?” He sets his menu down and folds his hands over the list of specials. “I, uh, watched some of your World Championship routines. I think I know the answer.”
“Brody Saunders.” I shove the ketchup bottle out of the way and lean forward. “Look at you being interested in me.”
“Research. For Liv,” he mumbles.
“Of course. For Liv.” I grin. “I don’t love that question. It negates the hard work I put in that no one sees. Like being gifted at something doesn’t require hours of perfecting the craft.”
“Ah. That’s a good point. Let me rephrase. Does skating come naturally to you? In hockey, I can tell the guys who are naturally talented on the ice pretty easily.”
“Which are you?” I ask.
“A natural. I was already on a mini mite team when I was four. Played through middle school. Earned a spot in the United States Hockey League when I was sixteen. Won the World Junior Ice Hockey Championships that first year. Boston College offered me a full ride, and I took it knowing I’d only be there one season.
Left the NCAA for the NHL, and here we are. ”
“My god. You’re like a prodigy.” I laugh. “I didn’t pay attention to all those stats when I looked you up.”
There’s a lull in our conversation when we order our meals, both going with a burger and fries.
I try to stretch out my legs, but Brody takes up too much room.
My knee bumps his again. He accidentally steps on my, and I give into the fact that we’re not getting through this meal without more touching.
“It’s funny you call me a prodigy when you have multiple important medals.” Brody sips his water. On the table, his phone lights up. He checks the notification then turns it face down. “What about the Olympics?”
“I hear they happen every four years,” I answer.
“I meant you in the Olympics. Have you ever been?”
“Beijing, two and a half years ago. I fell in my performance and didn’t medal. That was the beginning of my demise, I think. Where it all started to go downhill.”
“Would you go back?”
“If I felt like I could medal? Yes.”
“Going through waves is normal.” Brody’s thigh lines up with mine.
“When I came back from my injury, I hated hockey because I wasn’t as good at it as I used to be.
Now that I’m coaching, I’m deeply in love with it again.
When you give everything to a sport, it’s hard when it doesn’t give that love back to you.
If it’s not working, it doesn’t mean it’s the end. It’s just time for a different path.”
“I’m learning that.” I hesitate before sharing this next part. “Working with Liv is showing me other ways I could keep skating in my life without competing at the highest level, but it’s really fucking hard to separate myself from something I’ve been attached to for so long.”
“I need you to do me a favor, Hannah,” Brody says, and I swallow.
“What’s that?”
“You said you were going to be honest, and I want you to be honest. When we’re working together on the ice, I want you to talk to me. No shutting down. No pretending like you’re okay when you’re pissed—and you’re allowed to be pissed. I can’t fix things if I don’t know what’s going on. Okay?
Brody tries to act like he’s not interested in things. He gives off the impression of being unapproachable. Easily bothered by those around him, but deep down, under the gruff and all the ways he grumbles, there’s a different man.
A helper with a big heart, and I’ve never found him more attractive than I do right now.
“Okay. I can… yeah. That’s fair.” I play with the ends of my hair, needing a distraction. “I’ll remember that going forward.”
“Good.” A faint smile. His shoe tapping mine. “We’re friends. We’d still be friends even if you never skated in another competition. But if you do, I’ll be there to cheer you on. And take credit for your edge control.”
A laugh whooshes out of me, but at the same time, there’s a fist clamping around my heart. It gets tighter when he pays for our meal and drops me off at my apartment, letting me keep his hoodie.
Brody isn’t broody at all.
He’s fucking magnificent.