Page 51 of Love at Teamsgiving
I don’t expect we’ll be hugging or kissing—anytime soon, but I reach for her hand and can only link my pinky with hers. It fits perfectly in mine, as always.
She halts and I squeeze. Her attention drifts from the connection to my eyes. I wait for her to tell me to get lost or push me away. At the very least, say something snide.
Instead, she goes so perfectly still, I’m not sure she’s breathing.
A charge rushes through me like the puck sails my way, opening the opportunity for me to score. But sinking the biscuit into the net isn’t about me. When I’m out there on the ice, it’s all about the team. I am part of a machine, something much bigger than myself.
And this time, whatever is happening between Junie and me isn’t aboutme, it’s about her, us.
Her dark eyes search mine as if asking what I’m going to do about it.
I’m going to be brave. Be a man. Be her man.
Without another second’s hesitation, I envelop her in my arms, tugging her close, being the support she needs, unwavering, adoring, solid and strong.
The tension leaves her muscles as she thaws. Her arms find their way around my back and she melts into the embrace.
Breathing in her almond and citrus spice scent, my voice isn’t audible, but when I exhale, I mouth,I love you. Always have. Always will.
Her grip around me tightens, not because she heard it, but because she must’ve felt it.
I cannot fathom ever letting this woman go.
When we part, she tugs on my jacket’s zipper. “You still didn’t tell me your favorite season and hockey doesn’t count.”
My lip lifts with a smile. “Junie.”
“That’s not a?—”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Our shared laughter is warm and we say goodnight, but the rest has been expressed without words. Maybe communication isn’t our strength. Not yet. Perhaps we can work on it.
The Nebraska Knightshave been preparing for the official season opener all week and the final practice is grueling. Coach Badaszek didn’t welcome me onto the team with any fanfare. It’s not like I expected a parade, but he treats me as if I’ve always been on the Knights and I’m not replacing Micah Lemon, the former center for the team and an absolute legend.
The guys, especially the rest of the starters, also act like I’ve been with them all along. Unlike when I played for the Kings, the Liberators, or the Cascades, the Knights are super family-oriented. The weekly outreach activities, team dinners, get-togethers, and general brotherhood are familiar because I’m from a big family, but in my experience, it’s not normal for a hockey team.
With the first three, it was all business, locker room banter, and brutality on the ice. We’d occasionally meet for holidays and, of course, post-playoff celebrations if things went in our favor, but it was mostly every man for himself.
Even Vohn Brandt, the assistant coach, acts like we’ve been working together for my entire career. In fact, he knows things about my skills and style that I didn’t even realize.
Granted, I’m not complaining. But the hazing, razzing, and newbie test from my previous teams doesn’t seem forthcoming, considering our first game is tomorrow.
After our warm-down, when we head to the locker room, I opt to talk to Beau Hammer, our goalie and Margo’s guy. We have that connection, even if it’s a couple of times removed.
“Am I missing something?”
He grunts.
I take that to mean he wants me to elaborate. “Like my entry onto the team seems a little too easy.”
He shrugs.
Okay, not the most talkative one. I move to the showers and spot Pierre’s towel because it’s stitched with his last name. Coach calls everyone by their surname without exception, apparently even his daughter—to whom our defenseman is married.
Over the flow of the water, I say, “Hey, are things cool with me on the team?”
“Yeah, why?” he replies.
“It’s just different.”
