Page 127 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“I can’t see!” I hear from somewhere behind me and the tiny voice has me glancing over my shoulder, seeing a little girl with pigtails jumping up and down. “I.” A grunt. “Can’t.” Another. “See!”
Lips twitching, I shift to the side slightly, wave my hand at her. “Come in front of me,” I tell her.
She slips between the metal bars, clambers over the chair between us and then she’s right in front of me, adorable in her tiny jersey. She grunts again, lifting on tiptoe to see over the boards, sending her pigtails bouncing.
I glance back, see her mom, motion to ask her if it’s okay if I pick the little girl up.
She nods, smiling gratefully, and then I’m bending, asking, “Want a boost?”
Another bounce of those pigtails as the little girl looks up at me. “What?”
“Want me to pick you up and help you see?”
“Yes!”
I hold out my arms and a moment later, she’s in them. As I straighten, hearing the thunks of pucks colliding with the boards, the crunch of skates on the ice, my heart spasms.
Because Gray is there.
Right there on the other side of the glass.
And his eyes are hot, burning into mine, telling me…a lot.
That he likes I’m here.
That he likes the jersey.
That he likes I’m holding a little girl in my arms.
My lungs go tight because I’m picturing perhaps what he’s picturing—a future that may someday lead to me holding another little girl.
Our little girl.
Our gazes hold for long moments, both of us saying a lot.
Too much for a short time together.
Not enough to encapsulate all I’m feeling.
Not a fantasy.
Real.
More real than anything I’ve ever had before.
The little girl wriggles in my arms, the moment broken, but Gray doesn’t miss a beat. Just grins as he bends and scoops up a puck, waiting until we’re ready to toss it over the glass. I catch it, pass it over.
“Whoa!” she says then wriggles again, spinning toward her mom. “Look, Mom!”
I set her on her feet, throat tight with yearning as I watch her clamber back over the chair, slipping between the bars, and holding up the puck.
Her mom bends down to admire it and I rotate back to face the ice, stomach fluttering when I see Gray is still standing on the other side of the glass.
I used to sit on the sidelines watching life speed by.
Now I’m here, the chill of the ice hitting my skin, my friends’ laughter in my ears, and…with my own hot, hockey player making me so damned happy I got in the game.
“Shouldn’t you be warming up?” I mouth to him, knowing that he probably can’t hear me over the din of the arena.
