Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“You really don’t even pretend we’re your favorites,” I say.
Her expression goes surprisingly serious. “Why would I?” Then her lips curve into a grin as she steps closer. “You played great tonight. I’m proud of you for coming back. Sticking with this. You’ve always been so resilient. I never doubted you’d recover.”
That’s me. Take it on the chin and keep going. It’s a good thing, I’m sure, my ability to just keep moving. That’ll help me stop obsessing over Leighton. Maybe.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “Appreciate your faith in me.”
“You’ve always worked so hard. You’ve always been so focused on…” She stops, pauses, maybe collects her emotions. “Everyone else.”
I swallow roughly, getting her meaning but not wanting to look like a martyr. “Good thing I like hockey though.”
“You play like you love it,” she says.
“I do love it. I’m glad I can play again, thanks to Coach,” I say, since the reminder is good for me.
But I’m not the only one I care about. It’s a good reminder because…how would Coach feel about his daughter if she were involved with a player? Would he be pissed at her? Would it put a strain on their relationship? Leighton adores him, rightly so. And I know he dotes on her. That’s another reason I need to stay in this friend zone—I don’t want to harm the relationship she cares most about.
Mom knits her brow. “It’s all you, but I get what you’re saying.”
My mom, Charlie, and Harvey say goodbye, then take off, joining Tyler and his kids at the end of the hall.
Birdie clears her throat, stepping forward with her usual flair. “I’m a night owl. And I can drink any hockey player under the table.”
“Truer words,” I say, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Go on, Birdie. Set the pace.”
Her serene smile turns mischievous as she declares, “Where is my favorite shutterbug? I should invite her and her friends. Yes, I think I’ll do that.”
“Birdie,” I say, but she’s already gone, her sequins shimmering as she marches off to hunt down Leighton.
I should stop her—but I don’t.
A little later, most of the team has claimed the pool tables at Sticks and Stones, the local bar we all hit up after games. I’ve covered a round of drinks—and maybe a few more—and most of the guys are gathered around the tables with their wives, girlfriends, or partners, laughing and talking trash.
Asher’s here with Maeve, and they’re a fearsome duo, taking on team after team and wiping the floor with them at pool. They look like they’re having the time of their lives.
As for me, Birdie’s corralled me into a corner booth, and before I know it, she’s calling over Leighton.
Birdie flashes a mischievous smile as Leighton slides into the booth across from me. “So,” Birdie says, clasping her hands dramatically and turning to Leighton, “tell me everything. How’s it going with the team? Do you love it as much as you’d expected?”
“I do,” Leighton says, her voice warm. “The only thing that would make it better is if they served your green tea at the end of every shoot.”
“Oh, you flatter me,” Birdie says, waving a hand and glancing at her phone. “Would you look at the time? I need my beauty sleep. Coffee shops wait for no one.”
Before either of us can respond, she’s already scooting out of the booth, her sequins catching the light as she goes. She disappears in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of meddling-grandma energy behind her.
I turn to Leighton, raising a brow. “She’s so subtle.”
“The subtlest,” she deadpans, her lips curving into a smile.
Now it’s just the two of us, tucked away in this booth a little removed from everyone else. Like Birdie planned the whole thing.
“So,” I say, leaning back against the seat, “it’s going well?”
“It is.” Leighton nods. “The GM has told me a few times how much she likes the pictures. So has Chanda. It’s all good.” She pauses, tilting her head. “You did well tonight. How was it playing with Tyler?”
“Honestly?” I let out a breath, feeling it hit me all over again, fresh and sharp. “It was kind of a dream come true. I don’t think I realized how much I wanted it until it happened. But it was great—to play together in a regular season game. We did so much as kids, and then we went our separate ways in college, and of course the pros. And really, there aren’t that many brother combos playing at the same time.”
“It’s rare,” she agrees softly. “That’s why I wanted that picture with you two high-fiving at the bench. Did you see it?”
“It’s on socials?”
“Chanda and Everly posted it right away. Let me show you,” she says, grabbing her phone.
Her polished silver nails fly across the screen, catching my attention as I linger on her hands and murmur softly, “Silver.”