I drop my things in the locker room and head off in search of Carter. I find him in our head coach’s office, lounging in one of the chairs across from the desk, munching on an apple. When he stands, Coach’s gaze flicks to me, and something about it makes my skin itch with uncertainty.
I’ve always been a good player. I’m not a troublemaker, I don’t take stupid penalties, and I’m nice to everyone. I do what I’m told, because I don’t see any reason not to, and I leave any personal shit in the change room and give it my all every night on the ice.
I tuck my hands into my pockets as Carter opens the door, his expression unfazed.
“Uh, hey,” I start cautiously. “I was hoping we could—”
“Oh good. You’re here. We need to talk.”
“Yeah, talking would be great. That’s what I was hoping for.”
I make to head back to the change room, but Carter remains in the doorway. He gestures inside with the tilt of his head.
“Oh. Okay.” I step inside, swallowing at the uneasy gaze Coach gives me, sparked with sympathy. It makes my hands clammy, and I wipe them on my pants before taking a seat. “What’s going on?”
Coach taps his pen against his desk. “We’re going to try you on the second line tonight.”
“The second line?” I look to Carter, his eyes cool and distant. “But I…I always play with you and Em. On the first line.”
“We think this would be for the best,” Carter says simply.
Irritation squeezes my lungs. “We, or you?”
“You haven’t been playing your best.” Bullshit.
“We’re trying to avoid any tension that might affect the rest of the team and the game,” Coach explains.
“We’ll re-evaluate next game, Andersen.”
Anger sears through me. I give him a clipped nod before heading for the door. “Yes, Captain.”
I play like fucking shit. I’m a first-string player for a reason, and I’ve earned my spot on my team’s starting lineup. Carter and Emmett and I have been playing together for years. We’re in sync on the ice, fluid, like we can hear each other’s thoughts. I’m too fast for the second line. Thinking too far ahead of them. We don’t jive the way I do with Carter and Emmett, and by the time the buzzer sounds at the end of the third period, even though we’ve won, I’m negative three in points, my worst game of the season.
“Tough game,” Carter says as he clomps by on his skates, whipping his helmet off. “Might need to keep you back for a while.”
It’s after ten p.m. when I climb into my car, and I drop my face to my hands as the heat blasts, warming the confined space.
This is such a fucking clusterfuck, the word itself doesn’t feel clusterfuckery enough. I don’t know who’s going to be more pissed about Carter shoving me down the line, me or Jennie. Or Olivia. For a tiny, pregnant woman, she can be scary as fuck, nearly as scary as Cara. And Jennie.
Fuck, I’m surrounded by so many scary, powerful women.
When I sync my phone to my car, a text message pops up from my dad, asking me to call. A month ago, it would’ve been unusual. I think my dad sort of thrived off our distance when I left Nova Scotia. Maybe he let go of some of the guilt he was carrying because I wasn’t there as a constant reminder of his mistakes. But the physical distance made the emotional distance grow, and I was lucky to get a good game text.
Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but he’s been different since his near relapse. I can see the effort he’s putting in, not only with me but with himself. There’s a happiness radiating off him lately. Maybe, in a way, losing his job has been the best thing for him.
“Hey, Gare,” he greets happily, even though it’s after two in the morning on the east coast. “Tough game tonight, buddy. Take it Beckett’s still not hot on you dating his sister?”
“You guessed right.” I run a hand through my damp hair before fixing my toque back over my head. “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Probably. Guess I’m a little excited.”
“’Bout what?”
“I heard there’s a pretty great support program out your way. One of the best in the country, apparently.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And they’ve got this big steel factory over by Fraser River, looking for a crane operator.”
My heartbeat picks up. “What are you saying?”
There’s a moment of hesitation, but when my dad speaks next, all I hear is the enthusiasm, the bliss. “I’m saying I got a job, Garrett. I start end of April.”
“You’re…You guys are moving to Vancouver?”
“We’re doing it, Garrett. We’re moving to Vancouver.”
My condo is warm when I step inside, dimly lit by the glow above the stove.
Jennie does that. She notches the heat up a couple degrees before she goes to bed if she knows I’m getting in late so the floors will be warm on my feet when I come in from the cold and kick my shoes off. That way, I’m nice and toasty when I climb into bed and wrap my body around hers.
The light above the stove is her too. She doesn’t want me to come home to darkness, and it reminds me of my mom, the way she started leaving the same light on when I started crawling out of bed in the middle of the night for a cup of water, continued to leave it on for those teenage years when I stumbled in well after curfew.
There’s a note on the kitchen counter scribbled in pink pen on a puppy sticky note, letting me know there’s dinner in the microwave, and I scarf it down faster than I’ve ever eaten, desperate to be with my person.
She’s curled up on my side of the bed, one hand between her cheek and my pillow, the other curled beneath her chin, chocolate waves scattered over her shoulders. She’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her, the sharp angle of her high cheekbones, the soft swell of her heart-shaped lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. Her dark lashes rest against her flushed skin, and if you’re lucky to get as close as I am on a regular basis, you’ll be able to count the tiniest freckles that speckle the bridge of her nose.
My thumb traces the edge of her jaw, up her chin, following the curve of her mouth. When it swoops over her cheekbone, her lashes flutter, sleepy blue eyes blinking up at me.
“Hi, sunshine,” I whisper, and my heart thuds at the dimply smile she gives me.
Jennie peels back the covers, and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of her in my bed, wearing nothing but my T-shirt. Her arms come around my neck, legs around my waist, and I scoop her up before I roll into the newly vacant spot and settle her on top of me.
She presses her palm to my heart. “I’m sorry the game didn’t go the way you wanted it to.”
I cover her hand with mine. “That’s okay. Did you at least have fun watching with Ollie and Cara?”
She doesn’t answer, and I know she didn’t go. I won’t push her.
After a moment, she asks, “Did Carter move you there? To the second line?”
“Yes.”
She tenses. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Hooking a finger under her chin, I tip her face up. “It’s not your fault. It’s how he’s dealing with it right now, but it won’t be forever. Don’t apologize for somebody else’s decisions.”