Page 124 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

I point at the beers. “Open those. I’m only allowed to use one arm. Because, you know, some total ass-twat reinjured my goddamn fucking shoulder about five minutes after it got better.”

He takes the first bottle and snaps off the lid. “How long are you out for?”

I shrug—with my good shoulder. “Doc says he needs to look at it again tomorrow once the swelling’s gone down.”

Wyatt slides the bottle toward me and opens the second. “Been icing it?”

“Of course I’ve been fucking icing it.” I take a long slug of the cold beer.

He sits opposite me and opens the pizza lid. “I knew you wouldn’t sleep. And I knew you’d be starving.”

“You’d make the perfect girlfriend.” I put down the bottle and tear off a slice of pizza.

It’s still good and hot and the cheese is stretchy, and I am absolutely starving and oh, sweet Jesus, it’s fucking delicious.

“As good a girlfriend as my cousin?” he asks.

I stop mid-chew.

“Ah, so that’s the real reason you’re here?” I ask through a mouthful of buttery shrimp. “To tell me to keepmy hands off Nat?”

He picks up his beer and points the bottle at me. “Did it not occur to you for one fucking second that perhaps I feel like shit for what just happened in the game and I wanted to see how you are and apologize?”

“No.”

“Priceless. Fucking priceless.” He pauses to look at the ceiling for a second. “This is why we aren’t friends any more.”

I rip off a piece of paper towel, wipe my mouth and take another swig of beer before replying. “I know exactly why we’re not friends anymore. Because you’re an unsympathetic asshole who told me to pull myself together and get over it when I was at rock fucking bottom when that vile woman sold her vile lies about me, and my crook of an agent ripped me off. And then you fucking left to play for the Ironmen and never took my calls.”

I take another bite of pizza. “This is fucking delicious. But fuck you.”

Wyatt rips off his own slice. “If you recall, you were sinking into a pit of despair and needed someone to yank you out of it before you kept spiraling, lost your edge and ruined your career. I was trying to kick you up your ass for your own good. And you thanked me by grabbing me by the shirt, slamming me into a locker, and yelling in my face so hard you covered me in spit.”

“And you know what?” I rest my elbows on the counter and look him firmly in the eyes. “I am really fucking sorry about that. It was totally out of line. And I would have told you that eighteen months ago if you’d taken my calls when I started to get my shit together and tried to get in touch.”

I rip off another mouthful of pizza with my teeth and, for a moment, we both chew without speaking.

“Why wouldn’t you take my calls?” I ask him once I’ve swallowed.

Wyatt balances his slice on the edge of the box while he finishes his bite and washes it down with beer.

Then he sets the bottle on the counter with a clunk and looks down into it. “Because things were fucking tough at the Ironmen, and if you were calling to give me a hard time, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

He was having a hard time there? Christ, you’d never have known from watching him play. “Tough? Tough, how?”

He shrugs and continues to stare into his beer. “I struggled to keep up with them.”

“Bullshit. You’ve always been one of the fittest, fastest players in the league.”

“I don’t mean physically. I mean up here.” He taps the side of his head with the bottle.

“Like what?” I finish off my slice and wipe my hands.

Wyatt shakes his head. “They’re all stats and doing things based on numbers over there.”

I draw in a sharp intake of breath. “As opposed to playing from their guts, like you do?”

Finally, he looks up at me. “See, I knew you’d understand. And I wanted to talk to you about it. Because you’d get it. But I could feel myself losing my grip on my positivity and I was terrified if I spoke to you, you might drag me down to where you were.”

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