Page 103 of Get Me to the Starting Line

It feels like the best fucking dream I’ve ever had, but what am I doing in the hours she’s at work and the kids are at school? As much as I love her and I want that future, I don’t know if I can have it without a plan in place for myself.

If I don’t retire and sign a contract, either with the Whales or another team, I’ll have another few years to figure it out.

But I might lose Leah in the process.

“Are you okay?” Her soft voice breaks into my spiralling thoughts. I can’t look at her though. I’m not ready.

So I nod.

“Thank you for the present for Levi. He loves it.” The smile in her voice is evident.

“I’m glad.”

I want her to keep talking to me, but I don’t know what to say. We didn’t speak when I came to the apartment yesterday, and this is the first time in months we’ve had a conversation.

If you can call this a conversation.

“Julien?” I close my eyes at the sound of my name. No number of hours in the gym could build up my strength to resist this woman.

When our eyes connect, like they do every morning we run, a jolt of awareness, want, and safety runs through me. She’s my home.

She doesn’t say anything as we watch each other, but the plane lurches, jostling us. Our legs touch and I expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. The contact is too much and not enough.

“Yeah?” I finally answer.

“I was wondering ...” She trails off.

Is this it? Is she going to ask me to stay? To leave? Her face is so serious, and my returning nausea has nothing to do with the plane and everything to do with the woman beside me.

“Why didn’t you bring me a birthday present?” Her face morphs from serious to mock angry and the tightness clenched around my insides loosens in a huff of laughter.

She smiles tentatively at my reaction, and the feeling of winning something big warms me.

“Does it count that I won the Stanley Cup and, in my mind, dedicated it to you?”

She pauses, pretending to think. “I mean, if I get home and the Stanley Cup is sitting on my coffee table, then yeah, it counts.”

I burst out laughing. Even though I know it’s a joke, I wonder if I can’t convince Coach to let me borrow it when we get back.

IfuckinghateVegas.I thank the hockey gods I was never traded here because it’s hot as hell in June, and there are way too many people. And a weekend in June on the Vegas strip? I’d shatter a bone just to get out of it.

Dislocate my other hip, please.

We got in last night and everyone settled into their hotel rooms. We booked Adam and Paige a suite on a completely different floor from us on purpose. Those two get loud. I do not want to recall why I know that. But everyone in the wedding party agreed, so it was an easy call.

They grinned to themselves at check-in when they realized what we did, rushing up to their room as soon as they got their key card. Their poor neighbours. The rest of us had a quiet night in our rooms, after the flight got in at a late hour on Thursday.

The drill sergeant—otherwise known as Leah—had us up bright and early, ready with her printed and laminated itineraries—one for each person. When she handed mine to me, our fingers brushed and her gaze lingered a little longer on me. It’s been torture being this close to her again without being able to be with her.

If I got traded, maybe the feelings would go away once I wasn’t around her anymore.

Maybe that was the problem. We never had enough distance. I couldn’t let her go easily—I had to see her as much as possible.

That first morning when I passed her on my run, I told myself I would stop if she asked me to.

She looked beautifully shocked but said nothing. And every morning we’re out running, the moment when we pass is the highlight of my day. The days she doesn’t run are unbearable.

From what I can tell, she’s taken to it. Her form is improving, and she doesn’t look so much like she’s dying. The race on Sunday morning may prove different, especially given this heat.

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