Page 118 of Pucking Strong

Okay.

A weight lifts off my chest as the word sinks deep. He’s willing to let me try. He’s willing to let me see where this can lead. Erick Baker’s “Unbroken Promise” filters out from my pocket, as Teddy and I slow dance in the sand. I don’t care that a photographer is taking pictures of us. I don’t care that everyone else thinks we’re crazy. No one can tell me this is a lie. Standing here, holding him, feeling him in my arms? Nothing about Teddy O’Connor is a lie. Even when he can’t say what he means, he shows you in action. All you have to do is pay attention.

Teddy is the truth I never saw coming. The truth that I could want more from life, deserve more. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to open myself to another in this way. I don’t know how to want someone. Christ knows I don’t know how to be wanted.

I’m just going to follow Teddy’s lead. I’m going to act on instinct. And my every instinct is telling me that, in this moment, what I want is to dance with my husband on the beach.

“Okay, whatexactlydid he say?” Colin takes the beer and two jumbo soft pretzels I offer him. All around us, rowdy hockey fans crowd in, laughing and chatting. It’s the first home game for the Rays since their stretch of aways.

And since Henrik and I danced on the beach.

I thank the concession stand attendant, slipping our bottles of water and the bag of cotton candy into the backpack hooked on Karolina’s wheelchair. Giving her a push, we weave through the crowd, heading for the VIP section. We’re here early enough to catch the tail end of warm-up.

Colin walks at my side, resolutely being an asshole by wearing a Jags jersey to an NHL game. Why did I even invite him? He takes a bite of one of the soft pretzels, talking as he chews. “Did he give any indication of how slow he wants to take things?”

“None. We danced on the beach and drove home holding hands. When we got home, Karolina was in hysterics because her rainbow unicorn stuffie lost an eye, and Hanna couldn’t find a sewing kit to put it back on. I had to run out and get one. By the time we got that sorted, Hen was exhausted and stressed, saying he had to go to bed because of his travel schedule. That was four days ago.”

“But you told him you loved him?”

I groan. “Col, I spilled my freaking guts. I told him everything. It was so embarrassing.”

“And you’ve said nothing to each other since?”

“No. I mean, we’ve talked every day. But it’s just been about Karro and, like, ‘Hey, good game,’ and stuff like that. He got home yesterday, but I was at a fundraising thing. It’s all just been a little crazy.”

“Unbelievable.” Juggling his beer and pretzels, he tries to show the attendant his lanyard pass.

“I got you,” she says, scanning the pass.

Once she scans mine and Karro’s, I wheel Karro up to the elevator. “Press the button, sweets. We’re going down.”

Shifting her pile of new Rays merch to the side, Karro reaches out with her casted arm and presses the Down button. When the elevator arrives, we wait for it to clear before stepping in. I wheel Karro in backwards. Colin stands at my side with a stupid smirk on his face.

“What?”

He just shakes his head. “You are so down bad. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.”

“How is that helping?” I try to keep my voice down as the elevator starts to move.

“Just talk to him, bro. Next time you see him, tell him, ‘Henrik, my one true love, I wanna know you in the biblical way.’”

“Did you forget the part where I saidslow? We’re talking glacier pace here. And he might not even want that from me. Like, ever. Never.”

Colin turns to me, a look of horror on his face. “And you’re cool with that?”

“I don’t know! This is completely uncharted territory for me, Col. I only ever do relationships where the banana bread comes first.”

He swallows a sip of beer. “Banana bread?”

I gesture down at Karro with a dramatic nod of my head.

He snorts. “Ahhh … good old banana bread. I love banana bread. I knowyoulove banana bread—”

“Don’t.”

“Wait. Does Karlsson not like banana bread? Or is he more of a sourdough bread eater?”

I grimace. “Can we change the kind of bread, please?”

---