Page 140 of Rebound
To be fair, the boxes are neatly organized.
I’m about to close the door because there’s nothing interesting in here when something catches my eye. I walk further into the room to confirm. It's a black tote container and the label on the outside has my name.
I blink at it in surprise and jump when I hear a noise behind me. I turn around and see that Salem has followed me into the room. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I bend down to pick him up.
“Do you know why there’s a box with my name on it?” I ask him. “Any idea what your dad is up to?”
He licks his mouth and the look on his face clearly says that he’s a cat, he has no idea what’s going on. My curiosity has brought me into the room, but I’m not going to violate Roman’s privacy by opening the box. Which has my name on it.
Who has a container in their house with someone else’s name on it? My husband has a lot to explain.
I don’t geta chance to ask him because as soon as he comes home from practice, he tells me to get ready because we’re going to be late. He doesn’t tell me what we’re going to be late for.
I swap my sweats for a pair of leggings and a sweater, pulling on my ankle boots. Roman is in joggers and a Titans hoodie, so I assume we’re not going on a fancy date. I find that I’m correct when we pull up in front of the community center.
“What are we doing here?” I ask him.
He turns to me with a sly look on his face. “Do you want to play hockey with me, Lavinia?”
My mouth drops open in surprise. “Seriously?”
He shrugs, an almost shy smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m sure you miss it and I think we’ll have fun. I haven’t played hockey with you since we were kids.”
I remember what he told me—I’m the reason he started playing hockey. It’s such a huge statement, I’m still having a hard time wrapping my mind around it. Both that I inspired him and that he willingly admitted it.
Women in sports is still a niche area, and I’ve rarely met people who admit to watching female sports and that we’re as good as the men.
“Baby, if you want to lose to me, you only need to ask,” I tease.
“I play for a team that won the Stanley Cup last year,” Roman says.
I push open the door and exit the car. “We’ll see who’s the better player after I wipe the floor with you.”
Roman exits the car and pulls out two duffel bags from the trunk. I notice that one of them is mine. I point at it. “Did you go to my apartment and get that?”
“I did. Please tell Jules I’m not up to anything nefarious.”
I’m impressed that he went to that much trouble to plan this date. It’s not about getting my gear in advance. It’s that he went to Jules to do it. Whatever she may say to me, there’s no way she’s going to let him know that she’s impressed by him. If anything, she’s going to make things harder for him on purpose.
Putting on my gear fills me with nostalgia. I’m happy where I am now, but there was a time when I thought I wouldn’t be here. It’s so hard to move on from something that’s taken so much of your time, energy, and mental space.
Some part of it has to do with Roman. He’s always told me the truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not. And Jules is right. Roman’s always trying to build me up, not knock me down. Having that from someone other than my family, people who’ll love me no matter what, has helped me understand my own potential.
I pull my hair into a braid and walk out of the change room to see Roman already on the ice. I step onto the ice for the first time in two years, and God the feeling is unmatchable. It’s like gliding through the clouds.
“This might’ve been a mistake,” Roman says, his eyes raking over my body. “You look way too hot in your jersey for me to concentrate on hockey.”
I scoff, tossing my braid over my shoulder. “If you think that’s going to distract me, you don’t know what kind of player I am.” My eyes fall to the tripod and camera he’s set up at the edge of the rink.
“I figured you can use this for content, if you want,” Roman explains. “I know a lot of your followers will love to see you playing again, even if it’s here.”
Worry flickers to life inside me. I haven’t played in front of any kind of audience since before my injury.
“What if I’m not good anymore?” I ask.
Roman’s face softens and he drops his stick. Skating over to me, he cups his hands around my face, making sure I’m looking right at him. I love it when he does that, like he’s forcing me to see the sincerity in his eyes and telling me he’ll never lie to me.
“You are the best hockey player I know, and I’ve played on a lot of teams. A little injury isn’t going to change that. I only wanted to give you the option of posting because I know how much you miss playing. I’m not going to let you fail, Lavinia.”
