The Keeper (Playing to Win #1)(21)

As much as I know retiring is the right move for me, it’s still the strangest thing watching my partner skate with someone else. Andrew and I’ve skated together for years. We can anticipate each other’s next moves, and now we’re essentially picking out my replacement.

Some days, adulting blows.

After their routine ends, I smile and wait for them to skate off the ice, pushing the twinge of unease aside, and give him the honest feedback he needs because that’s what friends do. “That was great, guys.”

“Thanks, Lindy.” Cara beams and slides her skate guards over her blades. “That means a lot coming from you.” She turns and smiles at Andrew. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow for the tryout with your coach then?”

Andrew nods. “Yeah, thanks. Same time tomorrow.”

He watches her leave quietly before dropping down on the bench next to me. “Are you sure you’re done? You don’t want just a few more years before you give it all up?”

“We’ve talked about this already,” I try to say sweetly, but I didn’t come prepared for another guilt trip.

“Come on, Lindy. We’re so good together.” He throws his arm around my shoulder and leans his head against mine. “You’ve always been a competitor. Why stop now?”

“Andrew . . .” I groan and look up at him. “I will always be here for you, but it’s going to be as your biggest fan, not your partner. You and Cara looked great out there. Her lines are beautiful.”

“She’s not you.” His tone is sharp and sets me on edge.

I’m not in the mood for another angry person.

I’ve had enough of that this week to last me through the end of the year.

“No, she’s not me. But I’ve been telling you for months that I’m done. If you’re going to continue competing, you’ve got to find someone else to partner with. Cara is a great choice.”

He tucks my hair over my shoulder. “What if I only want you?”

“Andrew . . .” I pull away.

“The lady said no.”

Apparently, this day can get worse.

When I look up, Easton’s intense gaze is locked on me. Is he . . . ?

He reaches out for me, and I place my palm in his without even thinking about it. A satisfied smile graces his lips as he pulls me to my feet. “You okay, princess?”

“Of course, she’s okay,” Andrew answers.

Easton growls before he rests a finger under my chin and lifts my face. “Ready for dinner?”

“I thought I was meeting you at home?” I ask.

“At home? Lindy . . .” Andrew looks between the two of us, then down at my hand. “He’s a hockey player, Lindy. Come on. You can’t seriously plan on staying married to him. They’re Neanderthals.”

“What the fuck—”

I press my palm against Easton’s chest, then glare at both of them. “Stop. Both of you, just stop. I’m not an object you can fight over like two toddlers in a sandbox.” They both look offended, but at the very least, they’re smart enough to keep their mouths shut. “Andrew, I’m retired. That’s not changing.”

“Does this have something to do with him?” Andrew’s disgust is evident as he looks between Easton and me, and I want to scream. I’m so over this stupid day.

Luckily for Easton, he doesn’t say anything.

Nope. My husband simply wraps his hand around my hip, much like he did earlier, and squeezes, letting me know he’s here. As if I could forget. As if the heat from his body isn’t singeing my skin.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. If you’d like me to come to your tryout tomorrow night, let me know. I’m going home.”

I move around Easton and ignore both men.

Andrew stands his ground where he is, but I feel Easton immediately move with me. He follows me through the doors into the parking lot before he grabs my hand. “Slow your roll, princess.”

“Slow my what?” I spin around and shove him away. “Listen, hockey boy. Fighting is your thing, not mine. I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like arguments. And I really, really don’t like violence. I’ve dealt with all three today. Now, I’m not saying they’re all your fault, but they’ve all centered around you and our marriage, and if that doesn’t scream something is seriously wrong, I don’t know what will.” I close my eyes, refusing to cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

Have I mentioned confrontation makes me cry? Because it does. And it’s not pretty.

Easton’s big, fat feet take two steps my way, but I throw my hands up. “Don’t. Do not touch me.”

“Lindy . . .” he whispers, and I feel horrible for the way those words just came out. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Tell me why I married you? Tell me why you married me. Please,” I plead. “Tell me why I’ve been fighting with almost everyone I know for a week, E. Tell me something. Make me understand what you’re doing here in Kroydon Hills? Why take the trade to the Revolution? They’ve been trying to get you for years. Why take it now?”

Easton’s steps are slow. Cautious. Like he’s scared I’ll bolt at any second. With one hand, he reaches up and cups my cheek. “Do you really not know, princess?”