Page 148 of The Wingman

“What if you change your mind?” She plays with her fingernails, and her voice is so small and scared that I want to scoop her up and never let her go.

The breath whooshes out of my lungs in a laugh of disbelief. “I won’t. I know I won’t.”

She swallows, staring at her hands.

You’re the one for me, I want to say, but that’s too much pressure to put on her.

“Let’s take the risk together,” I say instead.

“Excuse me,” a kid interrupts, standing in front of us with a few others, and our heads whip up. They look about nine or ten and are holding hockey sticks. “Are you Hayden Owens?”

“You bet, bud. You guys playing hockey over there?”

The kid nods and looks like he wants to say more.

“Ask him,” one of the kids whispers, nudging the first boy.

“Do you maybe want to play hockey with us?” the boy asks.

My arm tightens around Darcy. Normally, I’d say yes, but with her under my arm, sitting in such a beautiful setting, I don’t want to ever move.

“I don’t know if I’m good enough to keep up with you guys,” I tell them, glancing at Darcy.

She gives me an encouraging smile. “You should play.”

One of the kids claps in excitement, unable to contain himself.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, smiling wider. “I want to watch you play. I’ll be cheering for you.”

I sense she wants a few minutes to process what I just told her. Darcy’s like that; she needs time to figure out how she feels about something.

I press a quick kiss to her cheek. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time.” She settles back on the bench, getting comfortable. “I’m happy to sit here and watch.”

I follow the kids to where they have a net set up.

“No hitting me, okay?” I tell them, and I hear Darcy chuckle behind me. “I’m not as tough as I look.”

CHAPTER 70

DARCY

Beneath the cherry blossoms,I sit on the park bench, watching Hayden play street hockey with a group of kids. He’s so good with them, encouraging and coaching them and cheering when anyone scores.

I can see it—him having kids of his own, teaching them to play hockey, maybe coaching their teams and taking them out for ice cream after, whether they won or lost. I picture Hayden with two daughters, telling them they’re smart and wonderful and that they can do anything. Then I picture him with two sons, teaching them how to be kind and inclusive of others.

The threat of not being in that picture with him makes my heart ache. I think about us not being in each other’s lives like we are now, contact limited to the occasional phone call or yearly visit, and I’m flooded with bone-deep sadness.

He doesn’t want this to end. There’s no one like me, he said, and he’s never had this with anyone else. The choice is mine.

He’s not a player, I know now. He never was. He always wanted more; he just didn’t think he could have it.

He could have more with me, if I let it happen.

What’s the alternative? I go back to trying to be a player?My sad attempts to date make me want to laugh. The best part of being a player was hanging out with Hayden.

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