Page 145 of The Home Grown
And I kiss him. Deep and profound, hoping he can feel what I’m saying, understand what he means to me.
I pull away and we stare into each other’s eyes, the moment completely surreal but also not so, at the same time.
Then he nods.
BETTSY
“Good news?”I turn towards Ellie, my hands still in the washing-up bowl. Since she cooked, it makes sense that I do the washing up while she made a few phone calls.
She walks over to the table in the corner of the kitchen, setting her computer down first, followed by her phone.
“Yep. So, Megan has a chair she’s happy for me to rent. And she said I can start whenever I’m ready; I told her about my sister, and I think she felt a bit sorry for me.”
“Or she knows how great you are and what sort of clients you’ll attract to her place,” I say.
I pull my hands from the water and dry them on a tea-towel before turning to face Ellie.
“Or she’s just helping out an old friend. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her. I’m terrible at keeping in touch with people,” she says.
“Same. If I didn’t see the guys every day, I don’t think I’d stand much chance, either. And it’s not for lack of wanting, just … things take over. Days slip by.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She pauses then reaches for her phone. “And I’m just waiting for confirmation from Jenna, about her hair trial.”
“Oh yeah? That’ll be good.”
“She mentioned something about this weekend. And the possibility of coming to your playoff game or something.”
She flashes a look in my direction, her eyes twinkling in a way that has me rushing towards her, scooping her into my arms, taking in a blend of perfume and her freshly washed hair.
“Mike—stop.” She laughs, and I feel it everywhere.
“But I’m excited. It’s playoffs, baby! Playoffs!”
“I don’t know what that means,” she says as I set her down.
“Oh, sweetheart—you have a lot to learn.” I run a hand over my beard. “This doesn’t get properly cut. Just know that. Not until we’re done.”
“Is this a tournament or something?” she asks.
Damn, honestly. Ellie’s naivety surrounding hockey is refreshing. I get to build up the excitement, get her as revved up as I am. Give her a view from my lens.
“It’s theultimatetournament. No room for mistakes. No room for anything that’s not the best hockey we’ve ever played. We’re not just playing for the joy of winning…” I pause for effect. “… we’re playing for thecup.”
Ellie blinks at me. “I thought you played for one of those before? The?—”
“No, no, no. This is different. It’s an emotional attachment. It’s all or nothing. It’s gritty, it’s—everything I love about hockey.” I can feel my heart racing in my chest—the very talk of playoffs sending me into a frenzy. “It’s why we work hard all year. It’s why we play through injuries and?—”
She gasps. “You don’t play through injuries, do you?”
“Sometimes,” I shrug. “Look, you’ll get it once you’re there. The atmosphere is electric. It’s just … playoff hockey.”
Ellie smiles, reaching for her phone.
“Well, speaking of playoffs … Jen has added me to a group chat and there’s talk about playoff jackets?” She wrinkles her nose in confusion.
“Lemmie see.” I take the phone and scan the screen. “Oh, the ‘WAG’ group. Lucky you. I ought to tell you, even though my sister should officially be the boss—being the captain’s girlfriend—Vicky calls the shots.”
The reminder of my feud with Vicky springs back into the forefront of my mind.
