Page 17 of Stick With Me
“Your interpretation of Midwestern slang is cute.” There’s a moment of silence before he continues, “Are you okay? With what happened back there?”
“No.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Seeing your eight-pack abs was a real hardship.”
He throws his head back against the seat. “You’re on a roll today.”
I’ve gotten pretty good at steering conversations away from topics I’d rather avoid. “I’m good, I promise,” I lie.
If I was having a hard time before keeping my thoughts of Jace in a neatly packed box tucked into the attic of my mind, seeing him today made it ten times more difficult. Yet, at the same time, seeing him move on has given me the fuel I needed to do the same. I refuse to sit around crying over a man who’s already in bed with someone new. Absolutely not; I have more self-respect than that.
Ryan and I slip into comfortable silence, but before long, I’m humming along to the music, which turns into full-on singing. I almost feel bad for Ryan’s ears, but when I glance over, he’s clearly entertained as I belt out the lyrics, making up a few when I don’t know them. The rest of the ride is more of the same—me singing, Ryan teasing me, and both of us breaking into fits of laughter.
As we pull off the rural highway and onto the gravel road that leads to our destination, I spot a wooden sign promising baby animals. “Oh my God! They have baby gators. Can we go see them first?” I nearly shout in my excitement.
“I thought gators weren’t a big deal to you Floridians?” He chuckles. “Yeah, let’s go see them.”
We make our way through the entrance booth and secure tickets for the boat tour, as well as the package that includes a photo op with the baby alligators. I’m sure this is an attraction meant for children, but I’m pumped.
As we wait in line, with an hour to spare before the boat departs, Ryan adjusts his hat, which does little to conceal his identity. But it’s not the hat’s fault—his towering six-foot-three frame and the natural air of authority he carries make him stand out. Even without knowing who he is, you can tell he’s someone important.
“Do you get recognized often when you’re out in Chicago?” I ask, giving voice to my inner thoughts.
Ryan looks at me with a puzzled expression, likely because of my random question. “Sometimes, but not a lot. Unless I’m with a group of my teammates or in Saints’ gear, I can usually go unnoticed. Why?”
“I was just curious. I guess I’ve gotten used to not being able to do silly little things like this.” I twirl the ring around my thumb, clearing my throat before continuing. “When I was with Jace, fans would approach him all the time, and he’d always complain about it. It never bothered me, but it always put him in a bad mood. I mean, without fans, he wouldn’t even have a job. The least he could do was show them some appreciation. But he wanted to avoid it, so we avoided it.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah, that really sucks. I’m glad I get to be the one here with you today. And hey, one perk of hanging out with someone not on the cover ofEA NHL 24?” He raises his brows and holds his hands out in a playful gesture.
I laugh and shove his broad shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.
We reach the front of the line and are called up by the alligator handler. “Right up here, folks,” he says, pointing to a mark on the ground where we’re told to stand. “Well, aren’t you a lovely couple?” I open my mouth to correct him, but he continues to give us directions, “Sir, you hold Albert right here under his front legs, and Miss, you can hold his tail.”
Ryan secures the tiny gator with one large hand as instructed, then with his other hand pulls me closer and drapes his arm over my shoulders. “Saygator!” the handler calls just before the camera flashes.
When I leave the Everglades in the early evening, my hair is windblown and tangled, my cheeks ache from the constant smile on my face, and I have a wallet-sized photo of Ryan and me holding Albert the alligator tucked in my purse. And that night, before I fall asleep, I spend more time than I probably should staring at the photo of us.
EIGHT
The highlightof the skills competition was my absolute domination over Knolls. It’s rare that I outshine him, but today, the hockey gods were on my side. I skated circles around him, outperforming him in every drill. Speed skating? Nailed it. Precision shooting? No contest. Stick handling? Left him in my dust. After his confrontation with Hannah yesterday, seeing the frustration on his face each time he placed lower than me was way too satisfying.
I’m bummed Hannah wasn’t in the crowd to see it all, but I can’t blame her for bailing. She puts on a brave face, acting like the run-in with Knolls didn’t faze her, but I saw it in her eyes. It rattled her. It pisses me off to see him upset her again. Hasn’t he done enough? Apparently not, because he keeps messing with her emotions. The possibility she might still have feelings for him, that she might even want to go back to him? It scares the shit out of me.
Jealousy is new to me, at least when it comes to women. In all the years I spent as Hannah’s friend, I didn’t love seeing her with Knolls, but knowing she was happy made it easier to support them being together.
I don’t know all the details of their relationship, but I always assumed they were happy. That she was happy. That’s why I kept my feelings for her in check. But after she cried over brownies and explained Jace’s view on fans and how it affected her, I’m second-guessing everything I thought was true. How the hell did he not know that simple gestures are grand to her? Then, to top it off, he tries convincing her to have dinner with him while he’s got fucking hickeys on his neck? I can’t help but question what she ever saw in him. Sure, he’s good at hockey, I’ll give him that, but beyond the rink, he’s a shit person.
I want her to be happy. I want to be the one to make her happy.Fuck, I really want to be the one to make her happy.
Tonight is the first step in that plan. Our first date. I hope she knows it’s a date… but honestly, I’m not sure she does, which could be a hiccup in my plan.
When I confirmed the plan for tonight, she laughed, and every time she said the worddate, it dripped with sarcasm, like the idea of us going on a date was amusing. Not exactly a great sign, but I’m not going to let it throw me off.
Since it’s our first date, I pulled out all the stops, booking a table at the nicest restaurant I could find. It’s not really my scene—I’m not even sure if it’s hers—but after seeing where she grew up, it’s clear she’s used to the finer things.
I didn’t grow up with much, not like she did. After my dad left, my mom and I moved from a small townhouse to a middle-class suburban home when Greg came into the picture. From there, it was dorm rooms and, eventually, a modest one-bedroom apartment. Fox calls me cheap, but I just like to keep things simple.
It’s hard to shake the mindset. Even though I have money now, part of me still doesn’t trust it won’t disappear. Buying a brownstone feels like a huge leap, and I’m really counting on that contract extension from the Saints to come through.
I make my way out to the common area of the suite. Hannah’s door is closed, so she’s probably still getting ready. Our reservation is at eight, so we’ve got time. I pull out my phone and check my messages, seeing a handful of texts in the Saints’ Sinners group chat. I haven’t had a chance to catch up since I got to Florida.
