Page 44 of Play Your Part

Kennedy stilled. “You don’t need to pitch me hockey, Alexei.”

“Why? You’ve made up your mind for all eternity?” I asked, not sure why I was pressing her. “I can’t believe you find my sport boring. Brutal or hard to follow—”

“Alexei—”

“I bet I can make you change your mind.” I grinned at her, bringing out both my dimples—something that never seemed to fail me with women in the past.

“You don’t have to pitch me hockey because I used to love it,” Kennedy said, fixing her gaze anywhere but on my face. “I never found it boring. I only said that to annoy you.” She swallowed. “I actually used to work for the team. That’s how Deandra and I know each other.”

The heaviness of her confession eclipsed the victory of getting her to admit the truth. She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but I knew this went beyond trying to annoy me. I watched her intently, willing myself quiet, hoping she would tell me more.

Kennedy took a long inhale before continuing. “My dad bought the team for my mom because hockey was her favorite thing in the world… besides us. I remember when I was about eight, we went to a game for the first time, the three of us, and her eyes lit up the moment she saw the ice. My dad liked hockey, but I think he bought the team because he loved seeing her eyes light up like that.

“When we moved here, my mom and I watched every game together. The same seats, ten rows behind the Wolves bench. It was our thing, you know?” Her voice snagged on the last words, and she paused again before taking a deep breath. “She died last year.”

The words landed like a punch to my gut. So much about Kennedy suddenly made sense, including my instinct that she was fucking sad, but not because of her breakup with Ward.

“Hey,” I said, gently touching her shoulder. She turned toward me, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. This is why you don’t work for the team anymore?”

“It doesn’t feel right… without her.”

Itmeaning working for the Wolves, or watching games, or talking about the sport. She reached for her water bottle beside the bed. My hand dropped from her shoulder with the movement. The position felt so natural I’d forgotten it still lingered.

“I think… I stayed with Justin because he knew my history. Never questioned me until…”

I nodded my understanding. She didn’t have to have this conversation to explain it… or any of her other life choices. Suffocating, uncomfortable silence filled the room. Kennedy stared blankly ahead. She hadn’t wanted to talk about this—not tonight, not ever—so the least I could do was move the fuck on, try to get back the energy we had before I brought up a topic from our no-go list.

“Well, your pitch can’t be any worse than that,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers she wouldn’t see it as insensitive.

Kennedy let out a snort-laugh. I looked over to find her shoulders no longer bunched up to her ears. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek, then turned her head against the headboard to meet my gaze. She held eye contact, for one beat and then another, extending far longer than usual.

Maybe it made me an asshole, but all I could think about was leaning forward and capturing her bottom lip in mine. My stomach clenched in anticipation, the feeling strong enough, I had to look away before I acted on it. The last thing she wanted after a confession like that was a guy coming on to her.

And from me, she never wanted that.

I tapped her knee. “Come on. I’ll let you pitch while we get food.”

“You can cook?” Kennedy asked, sitting on one of the counter stools, watching as I collected ingredients and cooking utensils.

I glanced over my shoulder, suppressing a wince with the movement. “When the occasion calls for it.”

“And what’s the occasion?”

I could hear the smile in her voice, half the reason I brought us down here.

“Your big pitch. What else?”

She laughed. “What are you making?”

“Blinis,” I told her as I moved over to her counter so she could watch. “Or what you would consider small pancakes. One of my favorite foods and perfect for this time of night.”

“I love pancakes.”

“Great,” I said. “You can help me.”

She remained where she sat, cocking her head to the side. “You know this counts, right?”

“What?”

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