Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Hailey
Warming the Bench—Sort Of
Leif sees me before I even make it through the door, and his face does that thing it always does—the subtle, barely-there lift at the corners of his mouth, like he’s just a little bit happier that I exist in the same space as him, even if it’s only temporary.
Then he stands, all six-foot-whatever of him, broad and built for stopping pucks—and, apparently, for making it impossible to breathe normally when he’s looking at me like that. It’s hard not to swoon at this man, but then I come back from that this-guy-is-so-hot high quickly. The high school crush was easy to tamp down as soon as I realized that if things go wrong between us, I’ll lose the most important person in my world—I can’t let that happen.
Never.
“Look what the wind dragged in,” he says, grinning like I didn’t just see him a couple of months ago.
“Wind? Excuse you. I prefer to think of myself as a force of nature.”
I drop my duffel and backpack onto the seat before he pulls me in for a hug—annoyingly warm in the way I didn’t realize I needed. He smells like clean laundry, a little like the woods after it rains, and something distinctly him—something that feels like second nature.
If I could, I would bottle his scent and take it with me everywhere. As much as I try to visit him, sometimes we don’t see each other for two months and that’s one month too many.
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you this soon.” He pulls back, hands still gripping my arms, like he’s making sure I’m real. “You gonna stay put this time, or should I start taking bets on your next disappearing act?”
I smirk, sliding into the booth before he can press for details. Lately, I’ve been wondering if it’s time to rethink my career choices. Maybe find something a little less constant state of chaos and a little more Hailey, get your life together before your suitcase becomes your closest relationship.
“I’m here only for Grandma’s birthday. We decided to do a piece on the Santorini women right after,” I explain. “That’ll give me a few more weeks in paradise. Plenty of time to find something more. If not, I’ll be back for a couple of months before I panic and realize I’ve been in one place a little too long.”
He tilts his head like he’s considering it. “Two months? That’s generous. I’m pretty sure the itch starts after six days.”
I shoot him a glare before grabbing my drink—ginger ale, a splash of cranberry, and lime. He got it right, of course. It’s the same thing I’ve been drinking since I was a kid. The same thing my mom used to make so our kitchen—no matter what country we were stationed in—felt a little more familiar.
Leif nudges the glass toward me. “You should really consider switching careers, you know.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know, one with a little less travel. Maybe something boring and predictable, like . . .” He pretends to think. “Tax consultant.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s exactly what my soul craves. Deductibles and spreadsheets. Numbers, my favorite thing.”
He grins. “You still can’t get past two times four, huh?”
I groan. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You like me that way.”
I sip my drink, narrowing my eyes. “Debatable.”
Leif smirks like he’s heard this before. He has.
For a moment, we sit in the comfortable lull of knowing someone so well that silence doesn’t feel like a gap in the conversation. The restaurant hums around us—low lighting, the clink of glasses, the sizzle from the grill. I let myself sink into it.
Then, of course, he ruins it.
“So,” he says, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Are you ever gonna tell me why you’re actually here?”
I lift a brow. “Grandma’s birthday,” I remind him. “You’re coming to the party, right?”
“Yeah, but you also said you don’t know where you’re going next.” He doesn’t say it like a question—more like a challenge. Like he already knows I’m keeping something back.
I hate that he always wants answers before I’ve figured them out myself. He needs to fix things. I need space to let them settle.
“Like I said, we haven’t finished our piece and found something else to do,” I say lightly, keeping it casual. What comes after Greece is hard to say, though. “We have plenty of stuff. Later I’ll just rest for a couple of months because I can’t afford to keep buying water bottles.”
He scoffs. “You could rest. But you’re also Hailey. There’s a big chance that you’ll find another way to escape being in one place.”
Ugh. I hate how well he knows me. Since I’d rather deflect, I ask, “So how are you?”
Leif shrugs, like getting knocked out of the playoffs—again—doesn’t bother him at all. “I’m fine.”
I tilt my head, watching him. “Are you, though?”
His fingers tap against his glass again. A small pause. That’s how I know he’s thinking, deciding how much to say.
Then, finally, a short shrug. “Kaden’s still in the playoffs. That’s something. The Crawfords will go and cheer.”
I scoff. “Oh, please. Are we really gonna pretend you’re that chill about it? Your big brother making it to the second round of the playoffs while you’re out? That’s not something you enjoy.”
He shrugs again.
So, obviously, I push. “What about Boston? You could play there. Then you and Kaden would be on the same team. It’d save me and your family a lot of trips.”
Leif visibly cringes. “Why would you curse me like that?”
I press a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “Excuse you, Boston is a perfectly acceptable city, and they have a great team—” I pause, letting that settle in before adding with a smirk, “I mean, they’re still in the playoffs and might win the Cup.”
Leif’s jaw tightens, his grip flexing around his drink like he’s physically restraining himself from launching into a rant. His eye twitches. Okay, I’ve officially gotten under his skin. But it is true, though, he can be with his brother.
“Boston is good for college students and Red Sox fans,” he counters, exhaling sharply. “Not for me. I’d have to play for my dad’s old team. With my brother. That’s a lot of expectations I don’t need.”
“You’re weird.”
He shrugs as if saying, You fucking know it and love it.
I lean back, studying him. “So . . . where do you think they’ll send you?”
His smirk fades slightly. “Jacob’s looking into it. It’s not about where they send me—it’s about where we can get in that I actually like and will pay well.” He pauses. “He mentioned New York.”
I blink. “Wait. Seriously?”
He nods.
“And you’re okay with that?” I ask, because I hate when he gives me five words and then stops talking like his quota for the day has been met.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, pushing the messy strands back—only for them to fall right back into place. “It’s . . . a lot.” He doesn’t elaborate, but I hear it in his voice.
The change. The uncertainty. The idea of uprooting everything and starting over, even though he’s spent his entire life adapting. His fathers moved a lot because they were either playing or coaching—I can’t remember. There are way too many stories they tell. The thing is that until the twins, Killion and Kaden, started high school, they moved a lot.
That’s one of the things Leif and I have in common: the constant moving from one place to another. However, he only moved across the country. I was traveling around the world until, technically, high school. Practically, that change happened a year after Mom died. Dad realized he couldn’t keep up with his children and his military career.
“I always do,” he confirms. “Not that I’ve ever played for another team. But what’s the alternative? Stay until I retire and never win anything?”
I don’t have an answer. And for once, I think he just needed to say it out loud.
“No matter where you go, you’re still one of the best goalies in the league.”
He snorts. “Sure. Tell that to the fucking scoreboard.”
I roll my eyes. “I mean it, Leif. You could play for a team of Vikings and still be a brick wall in front of that net.”
His mouth quirks, but he doesn’t argue. Which, for Leif, is basically admitting I’m right.
He stretches his arms over his head before sliding out of the booth. “Come on. Let’s get our food. Then we can head home and just veg for the rest of the day.”
“Sounds like a plan. I need food and a nap.” I push my chair back, following him toward the buffet where we pick out trays of thinly sliced beef, pork belly, and an unnecessary amount of mushrooms—his, not mine.
As I grab a plate, I glance up at him with a smirk. “I might even torture you with a romcom.”
Leif makes a face. “Only if you watch my last two games and explain what the hell went wrong.”
I groan, dragging out the sound like it’s the worst possible punishment. But honestly?
I love hockey.
It’s one of the few things I let myself lean into when I met him. One of the few constants in a life that’s always moving. And maybe, just maybe, watching those games will tell me what Leif won’t say out loud.
Still, I make a show of sighing dramatically. “Fine. But I’m picking a romcom afterward.”
He grins, reaching for the tongs. “Deal.”