Page 45 of Resist

“I’m fucking out of here,” Victor grumbled, pulling on his leather jacket. “Got a hot date myself.”

“Really?” Tank brightened, actually believing Victor, the grumpiest homebody of them all.

Coulton enjoyed shooting his friend down when he said, “Say hi to Pip from us.”

Tank scowled. “Your date is with your niece?”

Victor smirked. “Promised to take her to Build-A-fucking-Bear.” Victor’s four-year-old niece, Phillipa, had her uncle tied around her little finger. “See you tomorrow.”

Coulton rose. “I’m out too. Picking Ainsley up at six. Catch y’all on the flipside.” He flashed them the peace sign as he left the arena and headed to his truck in the parking lot, anxiously anticipating the night to come.

He typically wasn’t the kind of guy who showed much emotion, his teammates calling him the Gentle Giant due to his easygoing nature and mild-mannered disposition. However, neither of those laid-back attributes was present when it came to Ainsley.

With her, he’d experienced a wide array of strong emotions. It had started out as an overpowering attraction, followed by outright fury the night of her attack. That had morphed into a bone-chilling terror as he considered what could have happened to her. From there, he had to deal with frustration over not being able to protect her. And since Thursday night, he’d run the gamut from happiness to impatience over being away from her to right now, when he was so fucking excited, he could barely contain himself.

The second he climbed into his truck, his phone rang. Smiling at the caller ID, he answered it, his dad’s voice coming over the speakers.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Haven’t had a chance to talk to you since Saturday. It was a great game, son.”

It hadn’t been, at least not from Coulton’s perspective. He was his own biggest critic, so he counted every puck he let get by him as a personal failure. Despite their win against Philadelphia, he’d let in two goals that he really should have saved. Not that his father, who was his number one fan, would agree. Win or lose, Chase Moore always found something positive to say about the game and Coulton’s performance.

“Thanks. It was a little too close for my comfort though.”

Their win came in overtime, so it was hard-earned. They discussed the game for a few minutes more.

“How is Slade doing in school?”

“He’s doing good. Real good.”

Coulton spoke to his parents a few times a week, and they also had what he called the Family of Three text thread. As an only child of an older couple who had given up hope on getting pregnant when he came along, Coulton had spent his entire life wrapped securely in his parents’ love.

They hadn’t had a lot of money when Coulton was a kid, his dad working in an automotive factory, his mother an aide in a kindergarten classroom, but they’d been rich in love. When Coulton expressed an interest in hockey, his parents never blinked twice when signing him up, even though it was an expensive sport. Instead, Dad had started delivering pizzas during his off-hours, while Mom did seamstress work on the side. They’d found a way to help him pursue his dreams.

The first thing he’d done after signing with Vancouver was buy his parents a house. It had always been his mother’s dream to have a yard with a flower garden. Being able to hand his parents the key to that house after all the sacrifices they’d made for him had been one of the best moments of his life. Mom had cried when they’d walked through the bright, airy house, located in a suburb of Detroit. And while his father hadn’t shed any tears, they’d been evident in his voice when he’d hugged Coulton and thanked him.

Dad had since retired from the factory, but Mom still worked as an aide, claiming she didn’t know what she’d do with herself if she didn’t see “her kids” every day.

“Hoping we can see Slade when we’re in town for Thanksgiving,” Dad added. Because of Coulton’s busy schedule, all holidays that occurred between the months of October and May were celebrated in Baltimore and around the Stingrays games. Then, each summer, he spent a week back home in Detroit with them.

His parents had met Slade last Christmas during their visit, when they’d accompanied Coulton to drop off presents for the boy and his family.

“I think we can make that happen,” he assured him. “He was just asking about you and Mom the other day. Wondering when you were coming back. I think you made quite an impression on him when you gave him that Detroit Tigers jersey.”

“Had to make sure he was rooting for the right baseball team.”

“Yeah, about that,” Coulton joked, both of them perfectly aware of Slade’s undying love for the Orioles. They chuckled.

“So what else is new?” Dad asked.

Coulton hadn’t had a chance to tell his parents about Ainsley yet.

“I met a woman.”

“Finally,” Dad exclaimed excitedly. “Tell me all about her.”

Coulton grinned. “Her name is Ainsley Hall, and she runs a bar in Cherry Hill, close to where Slade lives.”

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