Page 24 of Knotted Laces

He dives to disrupt the pass…

Too late.

The puck flies across the front of the net.

Lands right on the other guy’s stick.

And—

I lean forward.

Then close my eyes, shoulders sinking as everyone watching the game groans.

When I open them again, it’s to see the guys from the Grizzlies hugging each other and slamming into the boards, to see Cam—his front covered in snow, his expression slicing my insides to ribbons—push up to his skates and head to the bench.

His Coach leans in and I can’t hear him obviously, but I can see his face, can see that it’s not encouragement.

And those claws rake across my insides again.

Cam. Well…he doesn’t deserve that.

And maybe that’s why, as I watch the Eagles go out with renewed energy, as they battle all the way down until the final buzzer goes, I decide to do what I do next.

Regardless of how dumb.

“This is fucking stupid,”I mutter an hour later as I jab at the keypad that will open the garage door, holding the six-pack of beer bottles under one arm, the paper bag under the other.

My purse swings forward and whacks me in the face as I squint and try to see the numbers, trying to remember the code Martha put in.

Knowing without a doubt that I’m overstepping.

Andbreaking and entering.

But is it really breaking and entering if I know the code to get in?

Pushing that prevarication aside, I sigh in relief as the keypad flashes green and the heavy metal garage door beginsrumbling open. Then I’m walking across the shadowed space, twisting the knob and giving another relieved sigh when it twists, when I can pull it open, when there’s no alarm for me to contend with inside.

I need to have a talk with Cam about safety.

But later.

I hit the button to send the garage door sliding closed then walk down the hall.

Into the kitchen.

And I settle in to wait.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cam

We lost.

Lost the game.

Lost the fucking season.

Lost my fucking job likely.

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