Page 75 of Lucky Laces
Christ.
My temple throbs.
But Dee is sitting on the other side of the table, her expression a mix of worry and hope, and when she nods encouragingly at me, I know I have to try to make this work.
I have to try.
“It’s good,” I agree, acknowledging the cheers, theclinkof our bottles soft amongst the sounds of early evening—wind rustling, birds chirping, the occasional car driving by.And I’m not lying.The beer is from a local brewery near Jean-Michel’s winery, Oak Ridge Vineyards, and we—King, Rome, West, Rhodes, Cam, and I—are all obsessed.It’s more than good.It’s fucking delicious.
But I don’t taste it tonight, not in the least.
Because my stomach is in knots.
Silence falls, but it doesn’t last—hell, it doesn’t stand a chance, not with Smitty here.
“Heard you guys saw some action in the quake.”
I pause, set my beer on the table.“It’s not like it was war.It was twenty-something seconds of shaking and a couple of hours of chilling.”
“Because you were trapped in an office at the team’s practice facility,” he says dryly, emphasizing thetrapped.
I shrug.“Plenty of people had it worse.”
“That why you have stitches on your leg and Coach Dee just gave you pain killers and antibiotics to take?”
I scowl.“I’ll be good in ten days.”
Smitty laughs and it’s so loud it makes the rest of us jump—well, not Kailey, but she’s clearly used to the man’s crazy since she just pats her husband’s leg and glances at Diana, saying pointedly, “Would you mind helping me take some pics of those flowers in the back planter bed?My friend Lexi would love them.”
She doesn’t need help taking the pictures.
She’s trying to give us—Smitty and me—space to talk.
I smile despite myself—Kailey is quiet and shy, but apparently capable of handling hockey players (grumpy or not)—and some of the tension leaves my gut when Smitty’s face goes soft and he catches her hand, squeezing it before she disappears deep into the yard with Dee.
“Plant scouting?”I ask dryly even as I don’t doubt that Lexi—the woman who’s married to the Breakers’ GM, Luc Masterson—would love to get pictures of my flowers.
The yearly plant challenge the Breakers compete in was something she dreamed up and it’s famous in the league’s circles.Everyone on the roster receives a plant during the beginning of the season, and the player who keeps it alive the longest wins a prize.
Us hockey players are all competitive fucks, so it’s no surprise the battle is intense for whatever mysterious prize the winner receives.
But seriously, thank God we’re not stuck doing that shit on the Eagles.
I’d much rather climb a thousand steps covered in glass barefoot than be responsible for caring for a plant for an entire season.
Though I guess I do—the climbing steps (minus the barefoot and glass parts)—with Rome before every game and practice.
So, I guess we all have our things.
And maybe that’s why when Smitty agrees, “yup,” then immediately changes the subject to why Dee called him here tonight, I don’t bristle, don’t let my pride take over and push him away.
“You know I’m dyslexic?”he says.
“Yeah,” I tell him.“You started that charity, right?”
A nod.“The reason I brought it up is because Dee says?—”
“I’m not dyslexic,” I tell him.“I was tested as a kid, and the specialists said I wasn’t.”
