Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice, #1)(41)

“Just paying a visit to an old friend.”

My stomach soured a bit. “Yeah. Bobby seems to know you really well.”

He nodded. “We were close at Michigan. He’s a beast of a defenseman, just as good, if not better, than Brittzy.”

“Why didn’t he go pro?”

“He could have. He had teams who wanted him. He probably would have started in the AHL, though,” he said. “But even if they would have told him he could have come straight to the NHL, I don’t think he would have. Bobby has always wanted to coach, to be at that rink that helped him so much. Not everyone has parents who can afford to drop the kind of cash hockey requires.”

I let that sit for a moment, wincing as he dug his thumbs into my neck. I let my head fall back when he moved to my shoulders again.

“You’ve been off on this trip.”

It was a statement, not so much a question, and Vince didn’t answer for a long moment.

“I need to play better.”

I barked out a laugh. “Why, so you can win all three stars of the game instead of just one?”

“I didn’t score in either of these games,” he said.

“You had an assist.”

“It’s not the same.”

I pulled away, turning so I could face him. I immediately missed the feel of his hands on me — which was a problem in and of itself — but I wanted to look at him when I said, “You don’t have to carry the weight of the team on your shoulders.”

“No,” he agreed, his eyes glued to mine. “But I can play better.”

“You’re a perfectionist.”

“I just hold myself to a high standard.”

“That must be exhausting.”

He smiled, looking up at the sky before he looked at me again. “It’s the opposite, actually. I feel energized when I’m performing well, when I’m scoring goals and training hard. I feel my best when I’m performing on and off the ice.”

“What are you afraid of?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, and Vince watched me for a long pause before he answered.

“Being worthless.”

I wasn’t expecting such an honest answer. In fact, I guess I’d been expecting a joke, because the vulnerability with which he said those words struck me like a bat against the head.

I frowned, and the longer I watched him, the more Vince shifted under my gaze. Eventually, he cleared his throat and motioned for me to turn around again, swirling his pointer finger in the air. When I did, he went back to massaging my shoulders.

I groaned. “God. This feels so good.”

“Still mad at me?”

I felt under the water for his side, and then pinched it hard enough to make him squirm away.

“Ow,” he said, pointedly.

“You deserved it.”

“Why? What’d I do?”

I didn’t humor him with a response, which made him let out a soft laugh.

“You really are tense,” he said, finding a particularly stubborn knot under my shoulder blade and digging into it. I hissed, but didn’t pull away, knowing I’d feel better once it was worked out.

“Yeah, well, let’s just say, I’m not used to your hours yet.”

“Tell me about your life. What did a normal day look like before you got this assignment?”

I sighed. “Well, I usually start my morning on my mat.”

“Yoga?”

I nodded. “And then coffee, of course.”

“Of course.”

“From there, it depends. On the weekends, I’m probably tending my garden, or spending time at the beach, or hitting a new brunch spot with Liv. Sundays start at the park, as you know. If it’s a weekday, I’m either in the office or out on the town, depending on what my job is that day.”

“Is this your dream job?”

I laughed. “I don’t know if I have a dream job.”

“Sure, you do. What would you do if money were no object, if your bills were paid and all you had to do was fill your time?”

A long moment passed before I found the words to answer.

“I don’t know.”

It was the most painful admission, one I was surprised I made. It dredged up the embarrassment I’d felt when I admitted that to James when we were together, how he’d judged me for it even before I realized that’s what he was doing.

People like him, like Vince, didn’t understand what it was like to not be born knowing exactly what you wanted to do with your entire life.

“My parents, they’ve always known their path,” I said. “They were in AmeriCorps together, shaping communities for the better. They dedicated an entire decade of their life after college before they got out and started making a life of their own. Now, Mom works with a women’s shelter, and Dad builds houses in communities where owning a home seems more like a pipe dream than a reality within reach. They brought me up with those same values, and I want to give back. I want to make Tampa, and the world, better.”

“But?”

I hated that he knew there was a but, and I was glad to be facing away from him, to not have those hazel eyes peering into mine when I answered.

“But I don’t necessarily love it the way they do. Don’t get me wrong,” I said hurriedly. “I enjoy giving back, I do. I love feeling connected to people, and making them feel valuable, worthwhile — reminding them they’re not alone. It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I just wish I had the same passion for it. I wish it fueled me the way it fuels my parents.” I paused. “You should have seen their faces when I told them I didn’t want to go into the Peace Corps. I think a small part of them died that day.”