Page 33 of Cross Check Daddies
Maybe he won’t respond. Maybe that’s good. A clean break is the best option. The responsible one.
But as the elevator glides upward, I check my phone again. Still nothing.
I press it to my chest. Close my eyes.
Part of mewantshim to respond. Just to say something. Anything. Because that would mean he cared. It would mean I’m not the only one stuck in this tangle of wanting something I shouldn’t.
But another part of me hopes he lets it drop. That he hears what I didn’t say aloud—I can’t afford this.
Not with the game. Not with Cam. Not with all the things I haven’t worked through.
The elevator dings. I step out, walking down the hall like nothing’s changed. Like I didn’t just shut down something that made mefeelagain.
My phone stays silent in my hand the whole way down the corridor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cam
The sun spillsthrough the kitchen window, warm against my bare chest as I slice into a fresh pineapple. Salt and citrus cling to the air, along with the scent of seared steak on the grill pan.
Days off don’t come often, especially not when you work behind the scenes of a professional hockey team, so I’m determined to enjoy this one. I flip the meat, pressing it down with the back of the tongs when I hear the front door open.
Boots drop. Gear hits the floor. “Hey,” Tanner says.
“Didn’t think you’d be home this early,” I call out, tossing the tongs into the sink.
He walks into the kitchen, sweaty from practice, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. “Coach sent us home early. GameHatch meeting or whatever. Said to clear the space.”
“Ah.” I hand him a beer without asking. He takes it and leans against the counter, broody as hell.
I glance over. “You planning to glower all day or just until that beer kicks in?”
“I’m not glowering,” he mutters.
“Sure. And I’m not making you a steak.” I turn back to the food, trying not to press.
He takes a slow sip. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“We haven’t talked about Brooke being back.”
Her name lands like a stone dropped in still water, and that old ache stretches out beneath my ribs. I clear my throat. “We’ve seen each other. Talked things out.”
“Yeah?” His eyes don’t meet mine.
“Yeah.” I want to leave it at that, but something in his voice makes me pause.
He sets the bottle down. “I’m heading up to take a nap.”
“Don’t forget your protein,” I say. He gives me a faint nod and disappears down the hall.
I watch the doorway after he’s gone, then slide into the quiet space between memory and hunger. Brooke in high school, always sketching logos on the back of her notebooks, dreaming up names for companies that didn’t exist yet.
Damn, she was magnetic. Ambitious as hell. But softer too, before the world had time to burn that lightness out of her. I was convinced she was it for me. The kind of girl who could rewrite your entire sense of self just by looking at you like you were worth something.
Even now, after everything, I still think about how she kissed me before my senior championship, her hands on either side of my face like I was made of something rare. Though I’ve tried to date since, gone out with women who were beautiful and smart, none of them ever made me feel like I mattered the way she did.
