Page 72 of Exes That Puck
“Maybe. Or coaching. I love the strategy part of hockey as much as playing it.”
Our sandwiches arrive, and we eat in comfortable silence for a while. It’s strange how normal this feels like we’re just being together and enjoying each other’s company instead of trying to fix something broken.
“Can I ask you something?” he says eventually.
“Sure.”
“What made you think of dating instead of jumping back in?”
I consider the question. “Well, Emma. She pointed out that the all-or-nothing thing wasn’t working for us. Maybe we need to learn how to be together without drowning in each other.”
He nods slowly. “I like that. Taking time to appreciate what we have instead of constantly worrying about losing it.”
I shrug. “So yeah, we make time for dates, but we don’t become consumed in each other. We spend time with our friends, focus on school and hockey, for you. We aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend.”
He nods. “Got it.” But he seems a little offended.
I take a bite of my sandwich and try not to read into it.
After lunch, we walk to the park he mentioned. It’s small but pretty, with walking paths that wind around a pond. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, and there are families with kids feeding ducks, couples on benches, students studying on blankets.
“This is nice,” I say as we find our own pace on the path.
“Yeah. I come here sometimes when I need to think.”
We walk for maybe twenty minutes, talking about classes and friends and nothing particularly deep. When we circle back to where we started, I realize I don’t want the afternoon to end.
“Walk me back?” I ask.
“Of course.”
On the way to my dorm, he reaches for my hand. Not grabbing or possessing, just offering. I take it, and our fingers intertwine naturally.
“Thank you,” I say when we reach my building. “For making this feel easy.”
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles softly. “Thank you for giving us another chance.”
“This is just a first date,” I remind him, but I’m smiling.
“Best first date I’ve ever had.”
I lean up and kiss his cheek, careful to avoid his healing lip. “Text me later?”
“Just one line,” he promises, grinning.
I watch him walk away, and for the first time in months, everything feels exactly right.
27
Coach’s office feels smaller than usual at eight in the morning. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“One game suspension for fighting your own teammate. Plus mandatory PR seminar on representing the program.” He leans back in his chair. “Fix your shit or sit for a month.”
“Okay,” I say without hesitation. “I’m sorry for my behavior, coach.” No excuses about Liam being a dick or the pressure getting to me. Just ownership.
Coach’s eyebrow lifts slightly—probably the first time I’ve taken accountability without deflecting blame. “Good. Don’t let it happen again.”
The locker room feels frosty when I walk in for morning skate. Liam’s already suited up, snickering with a couple of guys about something. Dylan’s jaw ticks when he sees me, and Carter keeps things light but everyone’s watching to see how I’ll respond.
