Page 6 of Love at Teamsgiving
There was one snag. Junie didn’t like me warding off the guys on the football field. I heard everything they said in the locker room and not one of them was good enough for her, despite our family feud—in which our mothers barely tolerate each other under a thin veil of so-called friendship. Of course, I let her think her brother put me on guard duty. But that was nothing to the claws that came out when she’d join her dad and brother for my games. They were a hockey family, and she was not a team player when it came to the attention I’d received from the opposite sex. Either that or it was payback.
So yeah, our rivalry involved sabotaging each other at every opportunity when it came to flirting, dating, and hooking up.
But that ended one winter’s night in college during a snowstorm. If I let myself think too much about how romantic it was with the snowflakes dotting her hair, the pink in her cheeks, and her lips on mine, warming us both up ... I might just want her back.
Okay, fine, I do. But I’d never admit it because I know all too well that it’ll be a warm day on a hockey rink before that happens.
It’s early and the autumn air is just cool enough for me to see my breath, and just like that, she skates back into my mind.
I reach the hospital where Shane is finishing his physical therapy residency. It’s the same place where I last saw Junie. Her father passed away a few months after we broke up. I was there to be a source of support, but she told me not to bother going to the funeral.
Of course, I attended. Her father was like family.
Junie and I were great in so many ways, but listening to each other wasn’t one of them.
Waiting outside, my phone beeps with a message from Shane, saying he’ll be right down. I hadn’t checked my texts since getting off the plane. Although I usually receive messages from several team members across various group chats, I realize the captain must’ve deleted me now that we’re nearing the start of the new season—now that I’m playing for a different organization.
My career began with the Empire State Kings here in New York. The next year, I was traded to the Cascades in the Pacific Northwest, and the year after that, I was moved to the St. Louis Liberators. Now, I’m on the Nebraska Knights.
To say I feel like a kid caught in a custody battle, being shuffled between homes, is an understatement. I keep telling myself that the fourth time will be the charm, even though that’s not a thing.
My older brothers tease me about it because they can get away with that. The younger ones keep their mouths shut because they like the advantages of having a pro NHL-playing brother, given the puck bunny situation. Though I hear the Knights are more of a family-oriented organization and all the WAGs scare the fangirls away.
Shane emerges from the hospital looking haggard. As we’ve always done, he launches into conversation without a preamble, as if we’ve already been hanging out all day.
“I’m not cut out for night shifts. Don’t tell Erica, but I’ll hire a nanny when we have kids if it means I can get a full night’s sleep.”
“You’re already thinking about kids?”
“Of course. The pre-marital counselor wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Are you?”
He nods. “Aren’t you and Juniper?” He coughs and clears his throat. “Dude, I’m sorry. I blame sleep deprivation. I meant,weren’tyou and Juniper? Scratch that. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“No worries.” I start walking in the direction of the bakery where he said we’d meet his fiancée.
Shane pivots on his heel. “Change of plans. Er, detour.”
We cross the street to another bakery. The scent of dough, cinnamon, and sugar fills the air.
“This place is new,” I say, getting my bearings.
He gets in line. “Best cinnamon buns in the city.”
The place is decorated for fall with garlands of colorful leaves, potted mums, and a little scarecrow on a stick poking out of the tip jar on the counter.
Shane places his order and asks if I want anything.
The gooey cinnamon dough is tempting, but I just ask for a coffee.
He says, “Actually, you’d better hold off until we get to the bakery.”
“We’re at a bakery.”
“Where we’re meeting Erica.” He pays and takes his paper plate with the cinnamon bun that’s nearly the size of his head.
I scratch mine, trying to understand.
