Page 68 of Shoot Your Shot

“Uncomfortable?” I cough, laugh, and wince, all at the same time. “Me? Nah. Not at all.” I pause, swallowing and shaking my head. “Fine. I’m fucking terrified right now.”

“Of me?” she snaps back, looking genuinely shaken.

“No. Well, yeah. I mean … kind of.” I sigh. “Look, I feel like I’m on a round of speed dating, and I really like you and think you’re super hot and all, but I only have, like, ten minutes to make you decide to go out with me again—or at the very least, give me your digits. Or maybe you already think I’m a loser and you’re about to take a fake call and tell me your three-legged cat needs another leg amputated or something and that you have to go.”

I’m rambling, and I don’t ramble. I’m not even sure that was something in my vocabulary before today, but, Christ almighty, she’s making me nervous.

“But if we were on a speed date, would you really know I had a tripawd for a cat?” She raises an eyebrow. “And, yes, it is a word. There’s a whole community on Facebook of people with tripawd cats. Also, why, once again, do we need to bring up Rocket and his three legs? Can we not?”

I lean back in my seat. “The stakes are high, Buttercup. That’s all I’m saying.”

She looks deep in thought for a second before a mischievous expression fills her face. “What about a round of questions? That’ll take the edge off of this night since we are clearly having trouble carrying on a simple conversation.”

“All right, I’ll play.” I shrug. “You’re first. Shoot.”

“Did you really punch a reporter outside of a club last year because he told you that you were losing your edge on the ice?” She looks genuinely intrigued but also a little mortified.

One thing that Paige has never liked is violence. Yet, somehow, she married me.

“Nah,” I say, seemingly satisfying her. “He told me he heard my wife left me for someone else. So, yeah, I fucking decked him. And it was great.”

“Dear God,” she mutters, splaying her palm over her face. “Okay, your turn.”

“Do you like Boothbay more than Portland?”

“They are pretty even for me.” She looks back up at me. “Portland has more traffic, but Boothbay is a tourist trap in the summer and gets extremely crowded too. There are pros and cons to both.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Okay, my turn. How long do you plan to play pro hockey?”

This one seems to have come out of nowhere. She’s always been supportive of my career, and maybe she still is. But the way she asked me that … it sounded odd.

“I mean, for as long as I can?” I say the words, hoping it’s what she wants to hear. “Until my body can’t do it anymore or the Sharks no longer want me.”

“You wouldn’t play for another team?” she says, raising a brow.

“I’m a Bay Shark. Have been since I made it into the NHL. I don’t want to wear any other name on my chest.” I strum my fingers on the table. “By the way, that was two questions, so now, it’s my turn. Why did you ask me how long I plan to play?”

Suddenly, she looks nervous, and she takes a sip from her water.

“Kolt, I know you love the game. You love it so much, and it’s a part of what makes you who you are.” She sighs slowly. “But you took a hit so hard that you had a heart attack.” Tears well up in her eyes. “You could have died, Kolt.”

She brings a napkin to her eyes, but before she can blot the tears away, I’m out of my chair, and I kneel next to her.

“Don’t cry, Buttercup. This is supposed to be a good date. A date to make you love me again.”

That only makes matters worse, and she cries harder. “Kolt, I’ve never stopped loving you,” she whispers. “But if we get back together and you take another hit like that one … what if you don’t wake up?” Her shoulders shake. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Shh,” I say, cupping her face as her hands grip my forearms. I bring my forehead to hers. “Baby, you never mentioned this sooner. I had no idea you felt like this.”

I hate that she feels this way. Because I know if she told me to, I’d hang my skates up for good and say goodbye to the ice. Fuck,it would hurt. But if it meant I could have my wife back … I’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I thought—or hoped—that you would come to it on your own. That maybe it was too dangerous. But as the days have passed … your fire to be back has only gotten more intense.” She sniffles. “I’m terrified to let you in—to let you all the way in—and then you get hit again. Getting that phone call that you were hurt?” Her lip trembles. “It was the scariest moment of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely. “I never want to put you in that situation again, Buttercup. So, if me retiring means that much to you … I’ll do it. I’ll do it if it means I can keep you.”

She blinks, sending streams of tears down her cheeks. Using my thumb, I wipe away her smudged mascara.

“But it’s who you are, Kolt.” She pushes her forehead harder against mine.

“But being your husband is who I want to be.” I swallow back the emotion. “That’s the most important job I will ever have.”

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