Page 22 of Hot Shot
I shut her out of my life. I can’t expect her to come back like nothing happened. Like I didn’t hurt her in the worst way.
I have so much to make up for. So many tattered threads of our friendship I need to mend. A process I know will take time. And if it takes me the rest of my life to do it, I’ll gladly spend my days fixing what I broke because she’s worth it.
Neither of us are the people we were before. What we’ve been through has changed us—me more than her—and the first step to re-establishing our relationship is getting to know each other again.
“Are you still strict with your diet? Now that you’re not playing.”
“Who said I’m not playing?”
“You quit the team, coached the Canadian national team. I just assumed…”
“I play pickup games whenever I can. And I do a lot of one-on-one training with a number of professional players since I quit. I’m probably in better shape now than I was before. It’s amazing what a few extra hours of sleep can do.”
“And now you’re training the Rogues full-time.”
“Not yet. But I will be. Walker and I need to put together our plan. We haven’t had much time to talk about it yet. But I know his style, I think we’ll fit well.”
I know Blake, grew up beside her on the ice, watched her streak across it for years. And the years I played on the same team as Walker have given me insight on how his mind works. “You two are going to crush it.”
“That’s the plan.” Taking a step toward the house she says, “I’ll grab that shower so we can eat.”
“I’ll set the table.”
She eyes me and I can see her mind rolling something around. Pulling in a slow breath I wait, but in the end she gives me a smile laced with sadness before she turns and heads inside.
I don’t know if it’s relief or disappointment that fills my chest. The last few minutes may have felt like old times but I’m not a fool. I know this isn’t what it once was. Our lifelong friendship broke apart when I pushed her and everyone else in my life away.
The minute Celeste came to me and told me she was pregnant, I made the worst decision of my life. I knew it then, but I did it anyway.
And instead of going to the people who had my back, the people I trusted, I went it alone, took a path that led me through the fires of hell before spitting me out here.
Blake
I don’t know what to expect when I leave the bathroom after my shower, but it isn’t the scent of baking bread.
Dumping my dirty clothes in my room I follow my nose to the kitchen to find Bran pulling a loaf of crusty looking bread out of the oven. “How the hell did you make that so quickly?”
“Shit!” He bobbles the pan as he puts it on the stovetop. “You scared the crap out of me, woman!”
“Sorry.” I move closer, take a big breath of yeasty air. “But how did you make that so quick?”
“I have a routine. I’ve always got dough ready to bake.”
I can’t keep the shock from my face or my voice. “You bake bread?”
“Didn’t I tell you I made the loaf we had yesterday?” he asks as he flips the bread out of the pan onto a cooling rack. “I could swear I did.”
“Eh…” I try to remember but the scent of fresh bread and the bubbling soup have my stomach growling. “You might have. I can’t remember.”
“Yeah, well, I bake a couple of times a week. Once a loaf gets low I get the next batch ready to throw in the oven.”
“Very domestic of you.” I grin. The idea that Bran, the boy who used to bitch about washing dishes or picking up his dirty clothes—my gaze darts around the house.
Nothing is out of place.
There are no dirty dishes in the sink or clothes on the floor or empty pizza boxes overflowing the bin. “You’re very domesticated now…”
His movements stop abruptly, his whole body going rigid, and I swear, he isn’t breathing.
