Page 64 of Home Ice

My shoulders grow lighter as I read the message. Does this mean he's done whatever mourning or soul searching he needed to do?

Me: What do you have in mind?

Brant: Bring a bikini.

Me: Yeah, not happening. It's going to be seventy, but it's still November. What should I bring?

Brant: I suppose I'll wait until summer for that. Just bring Chloe and Silver. I'll take care of everything. See you after practice, Jams *kiss emoji*

He's planning to see me in the summer? After the end of the season when I've moved back to Denver?

I message Chloe the instant I finish reading Brant's texts for the thirty-sixth time. I want to give her plenty of time to plan, and I also really need something to keep me from reading them for a thirty-seventh time.

Chloe surprises me by not saying yes right away. She wants to know where we're going and who is going with us first. And that knocks me back down just a little. I know she needs time and lots of work with the therapist Michael recommended, but the Chloe that was here over the summer—the girl I got to know before she went back to her parents—would have said yes without asking a single question. She would look for any excuse to get out of the shelter for the day, especially if it meant spending the day with a famous hockey player. There's no way she would have missed out on that. Finally, though, she says yes, and I tell her I'll pick her and Silver up after practice.

A practice which goes forever.

Coach called for light contact today. Light contact usually means there aren't many injuries to take care of afterward. And that means I can usually get out sooner than on a normal practice day. Usually. Today, though, Coach refuses to let them stop. He's obviously angry about the Denver game, and the way the players don't utter a single grumble no matter how hard he pushes them, means that they're angry about it too. Practice is supposed to end at eleven, but it's almost one when Coach finally blows the whistle and the players walk toward the dressing room.

Brant looks at me for the first time all day as he gets to the tunnel. "Hey." He smiles.

I smile right back. "Hey."

"Come to my house once you pick up Chloe?"

I nod. "Tell me where we're going."

He cocks an eyebrow. "It's not about the where. It's about the what."

His voice is way too sexy for a man who just spent hours punishing his body on the ice, and my heart starts fluttering as if I'd had a four-pack of energy drinks. "Then tell me the what."

He shakes his head, but it's Coach who answers. "Leave the girl alone, Morrison. Flirt on your own time, not hers."

"Yes, sir." Brant gives a mock salute to Coach and leaves me with an air kiss that makes me gasp.

I flail my arms, wrists snapping wildly. It probably looks like I'm desperate to clear away a smell before anyone realizes it came from me. But Coach stops me with a stare. "I already know all about it, Richards. Anyone who comes within two-hundred feet of you two knows. I'd tell you about the value of a little discretion, but it's way too late for that."

My stomach falls so far, I think it settles in my shoes. "Coach, I'm so sorry. We didn't mean anything—I didn't mean for… We can stop. We will stop."

"The only thing I care about is getting these knobs to win games. I don't give a shit who sleeps with who as long as we get those points. So you're not stopping anything on account of me, you hear me?"

I nod.

"Morrison'll never admit it, but the last woman he was with was a minus. She was always taking away from him. I think you're the opposite of that." He taps the plexiglass beside me and heads down the tunnel, and I blow out the breath that I've been too scared to breathe.

I practically dance through the after-practice checkups. There are just a few nagging injuries that we're keeping track of but nothing serious. Nothing new today. My mind is free to wander, and it wanders to a world where maybe this relationship can be more. He knows about me—even the parts that always made Tyler uncomfortable—and he's still here. He's talking about a future. Only as far as the summer, but seven months away. I know this isn't forever. Guys like him don't marry girls like me. They go for the models. The singers. But I'm not just a fling. I'm so far past a fling.

I spin as I walk to the cabinet to put away a roll of tape. When I turn around, Sammy is standing at the door, smiling. "Someone is in a good mood."

"Someone is in a great mood." I correct him.

"So Branny did it then?" His smile gets so wide it takes up the entire lower half of his face.

"Did what?"

And just like that, it's gone. "Nothing. Just made you happy. That's all. Makes me happy that he made you happy and that you make him… yeah. That. Just that. Um, my mom's waiting outside, so I have to go."

I'm pretty sure he's from Michigan, so I don't buy the line about his mom. And that means something is going on, but what? Brant and I aren't at the stage where he would plan big surprises for his girlfriend, are we?

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