Page 17 of My Last Dance

“How is that mean?” he snapped.

“Because—”

The door flew open, making us pause.

“Piper!” Teresa burst out. She was dressed in plaid pj’s, a comfy looking robe, and Ugg slippers. She looked almost the same as I remembered, just with a few more wrinkles around the eyes and with a little more gray peeking out at the top of her dark hair. Her face morphed into a look of sympathy. “Richard texted me and filled me in. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, huh? You need some tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?” Her gaze drifted over me. “You’re shivering.” She looked at her son with accusation in her eyes. “Why is she shivering, Richard?”

“Yeah, Richard,” I elbowed him, making anoofpop out of his mouth. He grabbed my elbow to stop me, but I ripped it away from him.

“She’s fine.” He rolled his eyes and held a hand to my lower back, practically shoving me inside the house.

My stomach chose that second to let out a grumble.

Teresa’s eyebrows pulled together. “Oh honey, when’s the last time you ate something? I’ll whip something up for you. You still like grilled cheese? Wait”—she held up a finger—“that was Ali. You were a pasta and French fries girl, right?” she asked with a grin. She had that same happy spark in her eyes as her son.

I sat there blinking, speechless. Shedidremember me, and not for anything terrible.

“What about me?” Kappy practically pouted. “I want some.”

I automatically rolled my eyes, then majorly regretted it when his mom caught me. My cheeks flamed up immediately, but a knowing grin tugged at her lips as she smacked her son’s stomach. “I’ll make you some, too.”

“You really don’t have to,” I said, finally finding my voice.

“Oh, please, let me.” She gave me a kind smile. “I never haveanyone to dote on anymore. You wanna shower?” She turned to her son. “Get her something warm and comfy to wear, honey,” she said before darting into the kitchen.

Waiting for Kappy to toe off his boots and shed his coat, my eyes wandered the small living room. For a second, I wondered why Kappy hadn’t upgraded his mom’s house. After playing in the NHL for almost a decade, he surely had enough money to buy her a mansion. Then again, as I looked around, I kind of understood why she wouldn’t want to move. The space had an authentic warmth that no amount of money could reproduce.

The couches, decorated with plaid fluffy blankets, were worn and comfy looking, and they faced an older TV in the corner. I could practically see a teenage Kappy storming in here, dropping his hockey bag and collapsing on one of the couches. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and on the mantel sat a large picture of a bride and groom. Teresa, in a frilly white dress, and her groom—a handsome guy with dark hair whose strong profile looked almost exactly like Kappy’s. My eyes darted between the picture and Kappy.

“Chop chop, now.” His mom ordered.

Kappy smirked. “We better get going.”

He led me through the kitchen where Teresa was already busy at the stove. Walking past her, he leaned down and kissed his mom on the head. She patted his stomach and gave him a grin that I couldn’t quite decipher.

Walking down the wood-paneled hallway to the bedrooms, the clean laundry scent that I associated with Kappy was overwhelming.

He dipped into a bedroom, but I hesitated in the doorway. “I like how she orders you around,” I whispered, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

He smirked as he rummaged around in a drawer. “You would.”

“She remembered me,” I said quietly.

He scratched his cheek. “Yeah, well, I doubt she’d forget the girl she found her son with in the rink utility closet.”

I covered my mouth. “I completely forgot about that.”

He chuckled. “I think she thought I was going to be a teen dad for a solid month after that. Here ya go.” He pushed some clothes at me, but then didn’t let go. “Piper,” he said, forcing me to look up at his sincere eyes. “I wasn’t being mean when I said you look like yourself.”

I rolled my lips together. “Yeah, well, it currently looks like I’vebeen through a hurricane, so it sounded like you said I always look bad.”

His face flinched. “No. I just meant…without all that…” He pressed his lips together and motioned around my face and hair. “You look like how I remember you, when we were young.” He held a strand of my curly hair between his thumb and forefinger. “I like your hair like this.”

Something in my chest settled. Sometimes I forgot he knew me before I even knew hair straighteners existed.

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “All right, c’mon, showers right over there,” he said, guiding me by placing his large hand on my lower back.

When his hand was gone, I missed it.

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