Page 47 of Someone to Have
“Or maybe he's a big dumb-dumb.”
“He's not a dumb-dumb. And I'm not ready to give up on him.” The words don't come out with as much conviction as I planned. But that has nothing to do with Bryan.
It's the fact that Eric has me all turned around. My body’s GPS is whacked out thanks to his mouth and fingers. It’s just physical, I tell myself, and has nothing to do with his quiet confidence in me.
“You need to figure out how to replicate what Mr. Hockey Stud did for you. Then you can use your newfound self-assuranceto force Bryan to look at you in that way.” She waves a package of cookies at me for emphasis.
“That sounds soforceful.”
“Which is the whole point, Taylor.” Her voice softens, genuine concern replacing her teasing tone. “With both the play and your crush. Don’t quit now.”
“I won’t. I can't do that to Sloaneormyself.” The heavy weight of my bucket list promise settles again on my shoulders.
“She seems a little better, right?” Molly asks as she adds a barrel of pretzels to the cart. “Her spirits are up at least.”
I nod. “I didn't think it was going to be this complicated. It really makes it hit home what she's facing. The fact that I can't even manage to utter one line in the play is embarrassing in comparison.”
“It's not embarrassing. It's your challenge. We all have them.” Her gentle words ease some of the tightness in my chest.
“You doing okay?” I ask, studying her profile as we head to the checkout. Molly likes to joke around about her life as a single mom, but we all know she's completely devoted to the twins. And also that it hasn't exactly been easy since the accident that killed her husband.
“I own every self-pleasure device this place sells. I'm taking care of business.” She keeps her tone light, but I catch the flicker of pain in her eyes.
“That's not what I mean, although...it's admirable.” I bump my shoulder against hers in a gesture of solidarity.
“Winter is my fallow season,” she says, and I feel like she's talking about more than just her flower business. “But it's not terrible. I have more time for the kids, and I'm volunteering to help decorate for the Valentine's barn dance next month.”
“You do too much.”
“To keep my name out there.”
“I don't know how you manage it all.”
She shrugs. “Not much of a choice. Not having options is a bigmotivator. Thanks for coming with me to run my errand. Made it fun. I know you're going to figure things out.”
We join the checkout line, and the normalcy of this little outing grounds me in a way I didn’t realize I needed until now.
“Only if you promise we can bust open that box of fruit chews in the car on the way back to the library.”
“Done,” she agrees with a wink.
This conversation may not help me solve the issue of how to channel my post-Eric Anderson-induced confidence to overcome my anxiety. But it reminds me why it's so important that I do. Sloane is going to be back for opening night, and I'm not going to let her—or myself—down.
13
ERIC
“Let's go,look alive out there!” Toby yells at the start of the second period. The score is tied one-one, mostly because of a couple of missed opportunities on our part.
This is my first time at a non-professional hockey game since I left college to turn pro. But watching these kids skate like it’s game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals, even though most of them have no chance of a hockey career past high school graduation, is as exciting as being on the ice myself. The energy and enthusiasm are infectious, and Toby is an excellent coach.
In my capacity as a “volun-told” assistant, I wasn’t planning on being behind the boards with the team. I would have been happy to watch from the stands. But one of the official assistant coaches is out of town celebrating his twentieth anniversary, so I’ve been pulled up to varsity—same as Rhett.
My nephew is quiet on the bench while the boys around him shout encouragement to their teammates on the ice in the same colorful language that rolls off my tongue like second nature. I’m trying to keep it together and not drop any F-bombs, as Toby told me the high school principal frowns on them, and I’m apparently a role model.
A turnover at the blue line sends the puck straight into our defensive zone. Our goalie catches it with the edge of his pad, and the bench lets out a collective groan of relief.
Toby calls a timeout, and as the guys come off the ice, he glances at me.
