Page 19 of Trouble

The Bolts game is playing on the TV, and the commentators are talking about how Aiden Langfield’s game has turned around since he shared his struggle with depression. I find myself leaning forward, lips pressed together and holding my breath. I’d have never thought the man who sat at the bar with us last night suffered from depression. Then again, I’ve become a pro at putting on a mask in order to hide parts of me I don’t want the world to see.Who’s to say others don’t do the same?

Though it sounds like Aiden Langfield went the opposite direction and shared his secrets.

I fight back a shudder at the idea. I can’t imagine really opening up to the people I’m closest to, let alone the world.

“It’s good, right?”

I glance at the fork I’ve just pulled from my mouth and realize I haven’t tasted a single bite I’ve eaten. “Um, yeah,” I stammer. “Delicious. Thank you.”

With a nod, he returns his focus to the game.

Between plays, the camera pans to the sidelines, where Cade stands proudly in a suit.

I practically swallow my tongue at the sight. It’s like his clothing is molded to his body, stretching to accommodate the broad shoulders and the muscles I was licking just this morning. “Holy shit, does that man clean up.”

Declan snorts, then quickly covers his mouth like he didn’t mean to be caught laughing. Clearly, he doesn’t realize he’s already smiled at me a handful of times since I walked through the door.

Maybe, since he’s not working, he had a few drinks to loosen up. With the way the tension is filling this room I could really use something to take the edge off. Especially when Cade appears on the screen again. When Gavin leans in and speaks to him, and he laughs in response, then looks back toward the ice, in the direction of the camera,it feels as if he’s looking right at us. His blue eyes heat, clearly over a play, which is where the camera pans to catch the action, breaking the spell. The puck is about to drop, but the guys on either side of center ice are chirping at one another. Then, before the ref can even move out of the way, they’re lunging at each other.

“What do you think he said?” I turn to Declan, studying his expression.

Once again, his lip twitches like he’s trying to keep from smiling. “It’s not a high school locker room, I don’t have the gossip.”

I grin, my heart rate picking up at the tease. “I bet that tall guy said something about the other dude’s girlfriend—” I suck in a breath, grinning, and practically drop my plate in my lap, my hands flapping. “Or maybe he slept with his mom?”

Declan levels me with another one of his stares.

My mood deflates, and I give him a sheepish shrug. “Or maybe he just told him he sucked. But I like my story better.”

“It’s some story,” he mutters, turning back to the TV.

Both guys are heading for the penalty boxes now, while the rest of the players line up for the puck drop.

“That’s what I’d do on Sundays while sitting through church, then afterward, when we’d inevitably end up at one of the parishioners’ houses for what felt like an eternity.”

“Watch hockey?” Declan asks without taking his eyes off the game.

“No,” I say. “Make up stories about people. What was going on with the family three rows up. Why the father was there one week and gone the next.” I stab another piece of lasagna. “Maybe he got a new job that kept him from coming to church. That kind of thing. Sometimes, my mom would catch me zoning out, and I’d tell her my stories. She’d reprimand me. Tell me to stop gossiping. Really, though, I was just passing the time.”

“What happened to the father?”

Declan’s attention is like a caress, urging me to turn his way. When I do, my stomach flips. A girl could get lost in those dark eyes of his. The depth of his stare. The knowledge he holds. Like he knows what I’ll say before I say it. Like he knows what’s on my mind, even as I’m doing mybest to hide my thoughts. “He showed up three months later with a new family.” I swallow and force a smile.

Declan’s mouth drops open, and his eyes go wide.

Why the hell did I tell him that? If I’m not careful, I’ll be like Aiden and spill all my secrets.

“I’m going to put this away,” I say, lifting the plate. “Then get changed. Need anything?”

“No. I’m fine.”

The commentator’s voice gets louder, and he’s speaking quickly now, going on about how Tyler Warren is on a breakaway. Declan’s focus turns back to the television, and a moment later, the Bolts score. Once again, the camera pans from the ice to the sidelines, where the team is celebrating. I smile at the sight of Cade, and though I try to fight the urge, I peer over at Declan. He shifts on the couch, his focus completely on the screen, like he’s just as entranced by Cade as I am.

Hmm, interesting.

Hours later, when the game is over, the Bolts having secured a win, I send a congratulatory text to Cade. When my phone buzzes with a FaceTime call from him, I can’t help the squeal that escapes my lips.

Declan has just disappeared down the hall, likely holing up for the night. I can’t imagine he’ll come back out here for more awkward non-conversation with me, now that the game is over. As it was, we watched in silence—me keeping all my stories to myself—and afterward, he busied himself starting a fire in the hearth while we watched the after-game commentary, which was just more of the same thing, but with a bunch of men talking about how the guys on the ice could have done things differently.

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