Page 135 of Blindside Me
My gaze drifts to the section behind the visitor’s bench. Three men in suits clutch notepads.Scouts.Of course, there would bescouts for Drew’s first game back. The universe loves its cruel timing.
“I’m just checking out the competition,” I lie, fidgeting with my sleeve. “Research.”
“Right. For what exactly? Your nonexistent hockey blog?”
I don’t answer, too caught up in watching Drew’s warm-up routine. The tension in his shoulders is visible even from here. That slight hunch that appears when he’s overthinking everything. I’ve sketched that posture enough times to recognize it in my sleep.
A cluster of players converges at center ice. Drew hangs back, tapping his stick twice against the ice before joining them. His ritual. Always the same. Two taps. Right foot forward first. Head roll to loosen his neck.
“Seriously, what’s the deal with you two anyway? Are you together-together, or what?” Maddy asks.
I tear my eyes away from the ice. “It’s … complicated.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we’re talking. Kind of. He texted before the game.”
“Ooh, sexting before puck drop?” Callie’s eyebrows wiggle suggestively.
I snort. “Hardly. Just ‘I’m thinking of you.’”
“That’s it?” Her face falls comically. “I was hoping for at least some eggplant emojis.”
Maddy leans forward. “Or at least the water droplets emoji. As in I’m going to make you?—”
“We get it,” Amanda laughs, shoving Maddy’s arm.
“It’s Drew. I’m shocked he used a contraction,” I say, deflecting.
But the truth is, those four words rattled around in my chest all morning. Not because they were particularly romantic, but because they were real. No grand declarations. No desperatepleas. Just Drew, acknowledging the space between us while still reaching across it.
The players disperse for final warm-ups. Drew skates backward, eyes focused on the drill unfolding before him. He looks good on the ice. Healthy. Whole. Like the past two weeks never happened.
“So what are you, then?” Maddy persists. “Friends with benefits? Star-crossed lovers? Two idiots who can’t admit they’re crazy about each other?”
“We’re … figuring it out.” My voice stays steady, but my hands betray me, trembling slightly against the Styrofoam cup. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend. We haven’t had that talk.”
“Only sex?”
“Callie!” I hiss, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
“What? It’s a valid question. I know you miss being dick drunk.”
True story.
“He needs to take time to figure himself out, and I’m giving it to him. His small texts remind me he’s trying. That he still cares. I won’t push. I’ll wait.”
Callie smiles but remains quiet.
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of warm-ups. Both teams file toward their respective tunnels. Drew’s the last to leave the ice, his gaze sweeping across the stands once before disappearing.
“He’s looking for you,” Callie says quietly.
“Or checking the crowd size.” I take another sip of lukewarm hot chocolate.
“You’re impossible.”
The teams return moments later, lining up for the national anthem. Drew stands tall, eyes fixed ahead, that perfect mask of concentration back in place. The puck drops, and the game erupts in a crash of bodies against the boards.
