Page 7 of If You Claim Me
“Here’s hoping. He’s such a bad influence on these kids.”
“Right? When isn’t he mouthing off on the ice?”
“Or getting into fights. Did you see the most recent article? Apparently the head coach is worried about the season without Hammerstein.”
“I heard he was the only one who could keep Grace in check,” another mom agrees.
I’m used to this kind of chatter. I’m always the bad guy, always the team problem. And I feed into it. Why shouldn’t I? The hockey world always needs a villain, and I’m the perfect candidate. Rich family, entitled, bought my place in the pros according to the media, and an asshole on the ice. And off it. Might as well give the people what they want and live up to my reputation.
Mildred never treats me like the bad guy, though, even if her best friend, one of my teammates, hates me. It’s one of the many reasons I find her fascinating.
I reach the front row, and the moms who were openly shit-talking me drop their voices to a whisper. Anticipation makes my skin prickle as I slip into the seat beside Mildred. She smells like books and strawberries and vanilla.
Her shoulder-length brown hair is tucked under her cap, her glasses need to be cleaned, her nose is pink, and so are her cheeks. She looks every bit the librarian she is.
Mildred glances at me and then over her shoulder before refocusing on the ice. “They’d probably shut their mouths if they saw you with your Meems.”
“Doesn’t make me less of a dick on the ice.” I steal a peek ather, admiring the slight smile that quirks the corner of her mouth before shifting my eyes to the rink.
“No, but it is eye-opening.” She tugs at the hair elastic on her wrist. “How is Lucy?”
“In love with you.”
That faint smile grows. “Tell her it goes both ways.”
“She wants me to invite you for dinner.” Meems couldn’t stop talking about Mildred and how amazing she is. And beautiful. I agree, but pursuing her might elevate my villain status to new, deplorable heights.
Mildred’s eyes find mine. Chocolate brown, full of secrets and questions. “Is she feeling better?”
I nod. “She’s getting her strength back.” Which means I won’t have a reason to visit Mildred at the library, or ask her to bring books to Meems again. But if she accepted an invitation to dinner…
She turns to look at me. “How long have you known I’m her librarian?”
“A while. You never told her about your connection to the Terror.” Hearing about Mildred through Meems’s eyes showed me another side of the woman seated next to me. I didn’t want to ruin it. Or connect the dots Meems and Mildred hadn’t.
“Neither did she,” Mildred notes. “It didn’t seem relevant. It’s more a posturing thing, isn’t it? Talking about our affiliation to someone we perceive as famous, so we seem important. I’m here because Lexi is one of my closest friends, and Callie and I have a special bond, just like you.” She tips her chin up. “If you didn’t care about Callie and what she thinks, you would have given those moms more reasons to shit-talk you.” She turns her attention back to the ice.
She’s not wrong. I don’t want Callie to see me the way everyone else does.
Callie saves a shot on net. Mildred and I rise at the same time to whistle and cheer.
“What’s a while?” Mildred asks.
“Pardon?”
“You said you’ve known I’m Lucy’s librarian for a while, but you were rather vague.”
“Does it matter?” I run my hands down my thighs. When I realized it was Mildred Meems met with every week, I started asking about those library trips so I could learn more about her. She develops community programs, she devours romance books, and she loves sourdough bread and strawberry shortcake. It made me feel like I know her, like we share a common bond because we care about the same people.
Mildred hums and returns to her seat.
We sit in silence, watching the game, cheering every time Callie stops a shot on net.
As the final minutes count down, I ask the question I’ve been pondering since last night. “What’s going on with your apartment?”
Her posture stiffens, and she throws my words back at me. “Does it matter?”
“If you’re in trouble?—”
