Page 57 of Her Goal
Emerson says, “He has deliciously dark lashes, lush lips, and?—”
“Then you marry him.”
“I’m holding out for Jett.”
“Then why were you asking if there’s another Robo?” Thinking of some of the things Hunter used to say to me, I add, “I have an athletic figure and guys prefer?—”
Cara, finally stepping up to bat and taking my side, says, “Don’t talk about my best friend that way.”
Shifting tack, I carefully say, “He and I don’t always get along.” But I’m not sure if I’m talking about Hunter or Hudson. The past and the present meld together, getting blurry. Or it could be the fatigue combined with overconsumption of caffeine and sugar. The more I let myself think about it, the more I wonder why I had a crush on Hunter.
“You mean you two banter? It’s part of the fun.” Delaney presses her lips together, forcing back a smile.
But we do it more than I do with my own siblings. Actually, we’ve grown out of bickering for the most part.
Gathering my bag, I say, “Guys, I have to go to work.”
“You mean you’ve finally gotten what you always wanted and now you’re unsure,” Cara says.
I lift a shoulder. Gracie plants her hand there and passes me a book. “Read this and call me in the morning.”
I stuff the novel in my bag and head over to O’Neely’s, once again feeling like the best course of action would be to hide behind Sir Goalwain the Green Knight Gretzky.
17
HUDSON
As unexpected andamusing as the anniversary party and my last figure skating lesson with Leah were, complete with enough homemade food and desserts to feed the entire NHL, my craving for a good steak just won’t quit.
Or perhaps it’s just that I need space from Cobbiton and how my past has collided with the present—possibly the future too.
Growing up as a twin, most people expect that we would’ve been inseparable, practically one person in two bodies. Or at the very least a dynamic hockey duo much like Liam and his brother.
For as far back as I can remember, Hunter and I were distinctly different.
While I was a people pleaser, tried to keep our mother content, and mostly followed the rules, he was a rebel.
I leaned hard into being a goofball and making people laugh to offset my brother’s seriousness.
I was a jock and Hunter was artsy.
I’ve always been quicker to smile and he was moody.
You might think one of us is the angel and the other is the devil.
Sure, we played street hockey and video games together, but it was more like we were two strangers who lived in the same house and happened to look a lot alike.
It’s odd because when people ask if I have siblings, and I share that I’m a twin, they’re intrigued and then shocked when I say we were never really close.
It’s not for my lack of trying. He just never opened up. Quite the opposite actually. Hunter built a fortress around himself. Leah tried in earnest to get in, but he only ever showed her one dimension—or maybe that’s all she let herself see.
When I dig into my entrée at one of Omaha’s premier steakhouses, a few of the female servers give me the fluttery, flirty look that I know all too well. Even if they don’t recognize that I’m an NHL player, some of the dudes do. In hushed tones, they argue whether it would be cool if they interrupt my meal.
When I’ve polished off my ribeye, my server, Leanna—of all names—asks if I have room for dessert. “We have pumpkin spice cheesecake, dark chocolate tart with caramel sauce, apple cobbler topped with whipped cream, and?—”
I wait politely in case she forgot the last one, even though if I were going to have dessert, I’d pick a plate ofpolvorosaswith milk. I don’t reckon they offer those here.
She taps the air with a manicured nail. “Hang on, you look familiar.”
