“Yes.” She yawns with a stretch, her hands in the air. “How was practice?”
The short answer? Terrible.
I’ve never had so many turnovers in a two-hour span, never missed so many free throws in a single practice. And it’s all because I couldn’t stop thinking of what might have happened if I knocked on Indy’s closed bedroom door last night instead of going to my own.
After hesitating with my hands on her doorframe, my chest moving with heavy breaths, and the overwhelming desire to end our night doing something that would be anything but pretend, I did the right thing and turned around. I went back to my own bedroom, back to my own shower where I took care of myself as I have for the last couple of years.
“It was fine.”
She stands, circling the kitchen island to my side and I automatically round in the opposite direction, needing to maintain distance when all I want to do is touch her.
“Have you always known how to speak like that?”
“ASL?” she asks. “I guess so. At home we’ve always signed. My dad was born deaf, and my mom learned the language when they met.”
“How would…” I hesitate uncomfortably. “How would an adult learn the language?”
Her head snaps around to me. “You want to learn how to sign?”
Oh fuck. Those glossy brown eyes are back. Indy, the romantic. “I want to be able to speak to your dad without you having to translate. That way I can let him know when his daughter is being a pain in my ass.”
A quick, non-feminine laugh bubbles out of her. It’s lovely.
“There are classes you could take. Or I could help teach you if you’d like.”
She doesn’t make eye contact, as if she’s new to the topic. As if no one else in her life has ever asked her how they could learn to better communicate with her family.
Indy opens the fridge, quickly shifting the subject. “Are you hungry? I can make you some—” She takes her pink coffee cup out of the refrigerator and holds it up to me. “What is this?”
“I uh…” I rub my hand on the back of my neck. “I made you coffee before I left for practice and put it in the fridge to cool so it wouldn’t get watered down when you added ice.”
Her head drops to the side. “Ryan, that’s really sweet. Thank you.”
I look away from the girl who probably assumes this is some grand romantic gesture. “It was nothing.”
She rifles through the fridge, her blonde braid cascading down her back. Those bare feet and long legs distracting me once again.
“Where’s the regular bacon?” she asks.
“I haven’t been ordering it. I’ve just been getting the vegetarian stuff.”
She looks over her shoulder at me for an explanation.
“I think it tastes pretty good. No need to order both.”
Another thoughtful smile pulls at her lips.
Dammit. I know she’s going to think this is deeper than it is. She’s going to romanticize me buying fucking breakfast meats because that’s who she is, but it’s nothing. Really.
I just want the fridge to be stocked with things she can eat. I want her to feel at home here because it’s her home too.
The realization rams into my chest.
I want her here. I want her to want to be here.
Fuck, when did that happen?
12
RYAN
“We had too many turnovers in the third and we couldn’t recover. That’s something we’re going to work on in practice this week.”
At least thirty hands shoot up, but I can barely make out the reporters’ faces thanks to the blinding camera lights.
“That’s enough questions for tonight,” our media coordinator announces in the post-game press conference.
I stand, fixing my suit and offering my most diplomatic wave and smile after making sure my answers were perfectly poised for the media. “Thank you, everyone.”
The buzz of chatter is behind me as I make my way back down the tunnel to the locker room. The rest of the team is gone. Only Coach and I had to stay back to be drilled with questions about why we played like shit on our home court. I had my worst game of the season and since I lead my team with the way I play, we collectively played like garbage.
I’d like to say my lack of focus was a random one-off, but the truth is, I know where my head was tonight.
It was stuck on my roommate who I was texting with pregame when she dropped the bomb that she was driving rideshares tonight. She was stoked it was going to be busy thanks to the drives to and from the arena. However, all I could think about is her being stuck in her car with strangers. Doesn’t she realize how potentially dangerous that could be? Doesn’t she understand how drunk some of these fans are after a game?
Worse than that, she hasn’t texted me back since I got to my phone.
“Ry.”
My zoned-out daze is broken to find Zanders casually leaning on the wall outside my locker room, one leg crossed over the other.
“Hey, man. Were you here for the game? I thought Stevie said you were out of town for some sponsorship deal.”
“Just landed and headed here.”
I push the door open. “Want to come into my locker room?”
“You mean my locker room?” He wears a smug smile.
“Not until tomorrow night.”
The Raptors and the Devils share the United Center, so on nights where I’m not playing, there’s a good chance you could find my sister’s boyfriend on the ice.
“Are you picking up Stevie or what?”
Zanders takes a seat in one of the locker stalls as I collect my phone, wallet, and keys, still frustrated from the lack of Indy on my phone.
“No, she’s home already, and doesn’t know I’m here. I wasn’t sure if Indy was at your place, and I was hoping to talk to you alone.”
Well, that catches my attention. I turn around to find Zanders’ expression completely serious, an uncommon occurrence for the defenseman.
“Everything okay?” I take a seat in my stall, elbows on my knees.
“I wasn’t at a sponsorship deal. I was in Nashville.”
Stevie’s and my hometown.
“To talk to your dad.”
Oh. Oh shit.
“Do you remember the night we met, and I told you I wasn’t going to ask for permission to date your sister?”
I attempt to hold back the slight tug on my lips remembering the charity gala where I formally met the arrogant hockey player. Going into that night, I hated him. He was a walking stereotype, but here we are, almost a year later. The guy sitting in the stall across from me is one of my best friends and loves my sister in the way she deserves.
“I’m all for Stevie making her own decisions, so again, I’m not going to ask your permission, but this time, I do care how you feel.”
“Zee, you’re being sappy as fuck about this,” I laugh. “Spit it out.”
“Ryan Taylor Shay.” Zanders gets on one knee in front of me. “Will you be my brother-in-law?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m kidding.” He retakes his seat, laughing. “But I would like to know how you’d feel my asking Stevie to marry me. You’re one of my best friends, but I also want both of you to be my family. Officially.”