Chapter Twelve
SIDNEY
P-R-A-C-T-I-C-E. I sing out each letter as I glide over to my net. My nonsense song was brought to the members of my team courtesy of my stellar mood. Today, while starting off a little rough, is really shaping up to be a great day. Hell, it feels like it’s going to be a great week.
The text she sent me had been on my mind all day. I’m breaking ground with her. Getting to know her, even if it is a baby step at a time. The fact that she was updating me on her health and okaying me bringing over dinner felt like a huge win.
It shouldn’t be this distracting. It’s just a few words of sick-bed sarcasm. But after two weeks of silence, followed by a very unexpected emergency visit and then actual communication, my brain is acting like I just got called up from the minors.
Crane! Coach Taylor yells. We’re doing breakaway drills, not dancing. You’re supposed to be stretching. This isn’t nap time.
Oops. Right.
When the drills are done and I’m stretched and limber, we begin a practice game.
I dial in. I always do. Once I’m in the crease, my focus narrows to a razor’s edge. It doesn’t matter if it’s for fun or for the finals. You set your mind, you set the mood.
Max rushes me. Mason pulls a filthy deke, the bastard. I block. I recover. Then I get back to it.
But every water break, my mind flashes back to the image of Eddie in that blanket burrito, glowering at me while I read out doctor’s orders like a tyrant.
When I told her she matters to me, I meant it.
I’d said it reflexively. Honestly. And it wasn’t until I saw her expression—surprised, almost scared—that I realized how big those words were.
I’ve always been open with affection, but this was different.
Eddie isn’t someone I’m trying to charm or win over to my side so she’ll spend time with me.
She’s a woman I’m madly curious about. And liking more each day.
I want to know every facet of her likes and dislikes. I want to know what she looks like in the morning (when she isn’t sick) and what her favourite season is (besides hockey). I don’t want to scare her off with my intensity, but I also don’t want to be someone I’m not with her.
I have a feeling that Eddie hasn’t had the easiest time as a single parent. Any deception or white lies from me could give her all the ammo she needed to head for the hills. I’m not going to let that happen.
I’ll be honest with her, and hopefully, in time, she’ll trust me enough to share her story. Until then, I’m happy just to be in her space.
After practice, the locker room stinks of sweat and victory. The guys grumble and joke as they peel off their gear. Mason drops onto the bench next to me with a groan.
You were really in the zone today, he says, towelling off his hair. What got into you?
Hydration, I deadpan.
He snorts. All it took was some electrolytes? Hell, man, we should have started IV-dripping you years ago.
Max wanders over, smirking. Pretty sure it’s not hydration. Pretty sure Crane’s got a new woman in his life.
I glare at both of them. I’m not discussing this in a room that smells like a dead raccoon.
Oh, he’s absolutely in deep, Max tells Mason, ignoring me. I saw your text messages, man. Did you play nurse last night?
I did not play nurse, I protest. I just made sure she and her kid were well taken care of while she was unconscious. Basic human decency. I throw a towel in his direction, but Max ducks out of the way. And stop looking at my phone, stalker.
Stop leaving it out in the open with no lock screen, dick. You know I’m a curious lad, he jokes, pulling on a Nighthawks hoodie. Most people would have called in a family member or beloved neighbour and bounced. You obviously stayed. Who is this woman?
None of your damn business. Our back-and-forth may sound a little harsh, but Max and I are too close as friends to take offense.
He must see something on my face because he gives me a knowing eyebrow raise and drops the subject.
I want to keep Eddie to myself, just for a little while. I’ll tell my friends about her soon.
They leave me alone after that, mostly because Coach starts his post-practice review. But as soon as I’m showered and dressed, I check my phone.
No new messages. I wasn’t really expecting more, but you can’t blame a guy for hoping.
She’d said I could stop by. That’s not nothing.
I swing by my condo to grab a few things, bring in my packages that have been piling up, and order soup from the fancy place down the street. I can’t remember its name, but it’s the best soup I’ve ever had.
While I wait for the delivery, I open a few of the packages that came overnight.
I stand in front of the small humidifier I’d ordered last night in a fit of late-night research, wondering if I told Eddie I bought it for her, if she’d accept it.
I could just say it’s mine and leave it over there.
Forget to take it home. We’ll see in the moment how Eddie responds to me bringing more stuff over to help her get better.
I throw a couple of other things into my bag—a few more sports drinks, some ginger candies, and the mystery thriller I’d just finished. It’s not overkill. It’s preparedness.
When the soup arrives, I head out soon after. Traffic is kind, which feels like a good omen. I find a street parking spot near her townhouse and head up the path, suddenly aware that I’m more nervous now than before some playoff games.
Joey opens the door before I even knock.
Sidney! he stage-whispers, like we’re in some kind of spy movie. You came back.
Hey, man, I say, stepping inside. How’s the patient?
She’s cranky, he reports. But she took the pills the doctor left and drank most of the water. And she ate a whole bowl of soup. Not your soup, he adds quickly. Old soup.
Good. We’ll upgrade her soup.
He helps me carry the bag in like it’s some holy treasure. The living room is a mess. Like Joey has been camped out here for days rather than one afternoon. He’s got a blanket nest, a couple of empty cups, a mess of tissues corralled on a tray. But it’s still cozy. Still very…them.
Eddie is on the couch now, instead of in bed, which feels like progress. She’s in flannel pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt, hair in a messy twist thing that somehow makes her look both wrecked and beautiful.
Her eyes sharpen when she sees me.
You came, she says, like she wasn’t expecting me to take her up on the offer.
You said I could, I reply, lifting the bag. And I come bearing bribes.
Joey gasps. Is it snacks?
Partially. I start to pull out all the containers. I got dinner for all of us. Minestrone for you, my lady. I hand Eddie the plastic container. And I got spaghetti and meatballs for Joey and I. Does that work for you, Joey?
Yes. I love meatballs.
Eddie’s mouth quirks despite herself. You really didn’t have to do this. You could have just come over.
I know. I meet her gaze. But I wanted to feed you. Make sure you’re replenishing your fluids.
For a second, something warm flickers there. Then, she clears her throat, which immediately turns into a cough that sounds like it hurts.
I grab the soup container from her hands and set it on the coffee table. Perching on the edge of an armchair, I give her back a gentle tap. How’re you feeling?
Like trash, she admits. But slightly less trashy than yesterday.
Fever’s down, Joey supplies helpfully. I checked. Twice.
That’s my guy, I say. Excellent work.
He beams.
Once everyone is settled with their dinners, Joey drags a beanbag chair out of his room so he can sit closer to the TV and presses Play on a show I’ve seen rave reviews for.
Eddie hums into her spoon, contentment on her face. Wow, that’s really good. She turns to me. Is this really good soup, or are my taste buds just used to having the canned variety?
It’s from a Michelin-starred restaurant, so I hope it’s good, I reply, taking a bite of my pasta. When Eddie doesn’t say anything after that, I drag my gaze off the TV and toward her. What? I ask her stunned expression.
You ordered us food from a Michelin-starred restaurant?
Cnfused by her question, I nod. There’s a moment of stunned silence before she wheezes out a laugh.
Joey’s going to inhale that pasta and then make a box of pizza bites.
I’m so grateful you thought of us, but this amazing food is so wasted on a fourteen-year-old and a sick lady.
I let her words sink in, then shrug. That’s fine. It’s good to know for the future, but honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. I ordered a double order for me and Joe, so there’s plenty to go around if he’s still hungry. I wanted to take one thing off your plate tonight so you didn’t have to worry.
You bought a double order? she asks, amazed.
I was once a teenage boy. I remember how I ate my parents out of house and home. One portion was never enough. It’s no problem.
Her lips are twisted up to one side, and her eyes flick back and forth between mine. If you’re sure… She drags the word out.
I’m sure.
After that, we talk quietly while Joey continues to ignore us and watch his show. I keep the topics light at first—how long she’s taken off work to recoup, the hot gossip at Joey’s team practice last week, how Mason is pretending he’s not totally in love with his new girlfriend.
You like your team? she asks at one point, studying me over the rim of her plastic bowl.
I don’t need to think about it. The answer is instant. Yeah. I do.
You sound really confident about that answer.
I am. I love playing for the Toronto Nighthawks. We’re more than a team; we’re a family. Looking out for one another, joking around. There’s a lot of respect, both on and off the ice. I take a breath, wanting to share more with her.