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Now what? That wasn’t a message that left any room for discussion.
Oliver: If you ever want tickets to a game, I can hook you up.
The reply came quicker than I expected.
Jackson: Appreciate the offer, but I’m not much of a hockey fan.
Well shit. That was clearly not the way I wanted this to go. I was supposed to give him an opening, get him to a game, treat him to dinner, have sex.
The fuck? I shook my head to clear that particular thought process. Okay, I needed to pivot. Tease.I can do this. I have game.
Oliver: Next, you’ll tell me you don’t like sunshine and beaches either.
There was a brief pause before Jackson’s response popped up.
Jackson: I might not watch a lot of hockey, but I’d watch you anytime, on the ice or off.
Wow, that man had way more game than me. He’d actually come out and full-on flirted. I stared at the message, a mix of surprise and something that felt suspiciously like excitement bubbling up inside me. This was new territory, and fuck, what did I do now? The last time I’d flirted properly had been with Melissa, and I’d been seventeen, for God’s sake.
Oliver: Is that so? Well, maybe I’ll have to give you a reason to come to a game then. I promise it’s more exciting than it looks on TV.
Great, there was absolutely zero game in that. I mean, what even was the connection there? All I’d done was mention the game again.
Jackson: With you on the ice? I’m there.
Jackson: I’ll even have one of those signs up for you.
Oliver: What will it say?
Jackson: Come score on me.
Jackson: emphasis on come
Yep,that would do it. Jesus, I was hard as steel. Jackson was winning the flirting with a solid gold medal performance. The conversation was veering into uncharted waters for me, and though part of me wanted to retreat to safer topics, another part was curious to see where this would go. Jamie had said it was okay. The kids didn’t want me to be lonely. I was attracted to Jackson.
Come on Team!Oliver.
Oliver: Tell you what, how about I leave a ticket for you at will call next game? No pressure.
Oh Jesus, what the fuck was that? Why didn’t I make more of the come part? I could have written anything about wanting to come, and instead I didthat?
Jackson: I’ll make the sign.
Oliver: I’ll look for it.
Jackson: Goodnight, Mr. Hockey.
Oliver: Goodnight, Detective.
I put the phone down, a small, uncertain smile tugging at my lips. Maybe Jamiewasright; perhaps it was time to start exploring what life had to offer beyond the rink and my responsibilities. Tonight’s exchange with Jackson was just talking, just words on a screen, but it felt like a first, tentative step toward something new.
Something possible.
* * *
I strodeinto the hospital room where Joe lay. The sight of him—pale and fragile against the white sheets—squeezed my heart tight. He was asleep when I first got there, and his sister, sitting by his side, rose to shake my hand. As if she’d already said it a hundred times she explained what his injuries were in simple language.
He’d suffered a subdural hematoma, a severe brain injury, and it was this that had left him comatose for the last few days. He had memory issues, but he was resting peacefully.
