Page 3 of Knotted Laces

Thank you, always hungry body.

Her face relaxes and she leans a hip against the counter, mouth curving up slightly at the edges. “You’ve had a couple of long days.”

Training. Getting ready for the season. Hitting the local rink and the gym and the trails around the house. I’ve got training camp in a couple of weeks and if it goes well, I might make the roster this season.

Not the AHL.

But The Show.

The big leagues. Playing professional hockey in front of tens of thousands of people.

My fucking dream.

“Anything really important is worth putting in the hard work,” I say softly.

Her head tilts to the side, those curls bouncing behind her like a silken cloud and she smiles outright this time.

The impact is like a punch to my solar plexus.

And it loosens my tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” I blurt.

Her smile fades, is wiped away almost comically fast, and—Christ—but the emotions that take its places are like rubbing sandpaper over my naked skin. “Cam,” she begins.

“I…just mean it objectively speaking,” I blather. “You’re beautiful like a painting’s beautiful, or like…a tree.”

The only positive thing about that statement is that she smiles again.

“I—”

She pushes off the counter, reaches toward the cookie jar, and pulls out a handful of apple oat cookies—one of my mom’s specialties.

And my favorite.

A fact that sends my heart lurching against my ribs again.

“Eat, drink, and sleep,” she says softly as she presses them into my hand.

“I—”

But before I can formulate anything else—like a complete fucking thought or a compliment that’s not comparing her to a fuckingtree—she’s gone…

I stand there and listen to her footsteps disappear upstairs.

Then I eat the cookies, drink a glass of water, and jerk off to the vision of that small smile, the softness in her eyes, and…dark curls bouncing as she walks away from me.

And, in the morning, I realize I’m lucky to have even that much.

Because, in the morning…

She’s gone.

CHAPTER ONE

Cam, Present Day

The crowd boos,but I don’t give a fuck.

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