Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Thanks, man,” he says with genuine appreciation as he tugs off the ribbon and rips open the wrapping paper, picking up the first one, a warm smile taking over. “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.”
He taps the cover approvingly, and that eases any remaining bit of tension in me.
I don’t hem and haw. I don’t search for the right moment. The right moment is now. I go for it like I do when I’m on the rink. “I have a question for you.”
“Hit me.”
I meet his blue-eyed gaze straight on, no bullshit. “You think I’m a good guy, right?”
His brow knits. Down the hall, an infant cries softly, and he holds up a finger. “Give me one second.”
A couple minutes later, he’s back, holding a baby, patting the kid’s back, soothing him with a there, there.
It’s sweet, this side of the captain I’ve never seen. The doting dad.
“He’s probably hungry, but he might also fall back asleep on me.”
“Is that Cooper or Caleb?”
“Cooper,” Christian says with a holy shit grin, like he can’t believe I remembered his kids’ names. But his smile erases and he sits again, giving me a serious look. “You’re a good guy.”
Grateful, I move on to my next question. It’s all part of the plan. “You think I’m a good teammate?” To make it easy, I add, “The kind of guy who has your back on the ice. The kind who would step in for you if you didn’t want to talk to the press. Who would help you out in a pinch.”
His forehead knits. He’s not dumb. Maybe he’s even putting this together. Hard to say. He gives a direct “yes.”
There you go.
“Good. Because I’m crazy about your sister, and I wanted you to be aware of that.”
He blinks. Furrows his brow. “You. Are?” It comes out a little strangled.
“One hundred percent.”
I don’t need to explain anything more. I’ve come to realize that just because I’m new to the team doesn’t mean I owe him an explanation of the choices I make when I’m not playing hockey. Or the choices his sister makes. All I owe him is the courtesy of the truth.
But there is one thing I want to underline. “Just to be clear, I’m not asking you for permission to date her.”
Christian swallows, pats his son’s back, starts to say something, stops, then says, “Right. Right.”
Like he’s adjusting to this new world order. Aren’t we all?
But with all that out in the open, maybe there is one more thing I need to say. Or really, it’s something I want to say. To show him that I prioritize her. Because that’s what a good teammate would do. “She was honestly worried about coming to you, Christian. Worried that you might freak out. Team rules and all.” I sketch air quotes, then pause, letting that sink in before I say, “But I don’t think you’d do that.”
He gulps. Rearranges his face. “Right. Of course not. I wouldn’t.” It’s a backpedal, but I get where he’s coming from and why he’s doing it, so I give him some grace.
“I didn’t think you would,” I say, even though I had no idea how he’d react. I’m just glad I don’t play hockey with a douche.
“I wouldn’t,” he says.
“Good,” I say, relieved to have this uncomfortable conversation done. Can’t say it was easy. But it wasn’t supposed to be. “I’ll see you at morning skate in an hour?”
“Definitely. Always,” he says.
As I push up to leave, I hear laughter, like bells. Then the sound of footsteps as a woman emerges, holding a small baby. Christian’s wife, Liv. She gives her husband a look. “Please tell me you didn’t pull that don’t touch my sister routine?”
I smirk as she stares daggers at him.
Christian shakes his head several times. “Not really.”
His wife turns to me, lasering her sharp stare my way. “Did he do that?”
And because I am a good teammate, I know how to handle this moment too—by having my teammate’s back. I smile and say, “We’re all good.”
Christian meets my face and mouths a relieved thank you.
Liv’s eyes drift to the table, then sparkle. “Oh! I love these books. I can’t wait to read them to the boys. Did you get these, Wesley?”
“I did.”
“Thank you so much,” she says, then turns to her husband. “I think the twins are hungry.”
That’s definitely my cue to go. I point toward the front door. “I can see myself out.”
But before I leave, Christian clears his throat. “My sister…Josie…she’s pretty cool. She’s five years younger. And she spent so much time with my aunt while I was playing hockey that there were times when I didn’t feel like I totally knew her. But that was because I was busy. Not because I didn’t want to get to know her. She was also really, really good at taking care of herself.” He pauses, his eyes thoughtful. “I get the sense, though, that you do know her.” There’s another pause—a weighty one. “And I appreciate that.”