Page 35 of Cherry Picking
“I’ll be back with your stuff.” A tight smile and a wave, then he’s gone, leaving me with my mountain of regret.
I want to give Griff more.
I want to give him everything.
But I can’t quiet the nagging voice that says I don’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve him.
CHAPTER 9
GRIFFIN
We’re halfwaythrough preseason when Riley has his surgery, and I’m playing like complete dog shit.
For all my talk of kicking ass, I can’t get over the sound of Riley screaming, of the bone crunch that quieted an arena of hockey fans.
Some nights I have nightmares about it, sleeping in an old, uncomfortable recliner in Riley’s hospital room. If the team has noticed anything odd about my attention to our injured teammate, no one has said anything.
They have commented on my crappy playing, though. Coach even sat me aside and told me I can’t be playing like this when the regular season rolls around.
Dammit, I just want my boyfriend back on the ice.
If he can’t play anymore, what does that mean for us?
Nothing will be keeping him here, and I’m not ready to give up hockey.
Which won’t be much of a problem if I can’t get my head out of my ass and play like the goalie they traded for.
We don’t have a game tonight, which is good because no way could I have convinced myself to bus out to some other city while Riley is being cut open.
We do have drills, though, and I’m so distracted that as soon as we hit the locker rooms and start stripping out of our practice gear, Hawks claps me on the shoulder and steers me toward the doors.
“You free?” he asks, and before I can give a response he narrows me with a sharp look. “You’re free.”
I don’t argue, just grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder as I fall into step behind him.
He takes us to a bowling alley that’s dead given it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and I’m quiet while he pays for the lane and shoes, but as we’re setting our pick of balls onto the ball return, I raise my brow in question.
“There a reason for this impromptu bonding session?”
Hawks’ eyes are blue and doe-like, so it’s easy to underestimate him, but there’s no denying the intensity he fixes me with.
“Just seeing if your aim is as bad as your blocking.”
I wince, but it’s a well deserved insult.
“Ouch. Alright. Fair. You coming to me as my captain or as my friend?”
“Both.” He picks up his ball and stands at the head of the lane. “You don’t need me to tell you you’ve been sucking.”
The ball blazes down the lane and whacks a good half of the pins down.
“Nice.”
He gives me another look, and I throw my hands up. “Got it. You clearly aren’t done.”
Another roll leaves only one pin left standing.
