Page 91 of Something Like That

Cool air swirled against her back, making her shiver. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her tighter against him.

She needed to stop being a coward and just say it. And if he rejected her, it would hurt, but at least she’d know. She took a deep breath, readying herself to spill her guts.

“My dad was… my relationship with him was complicated.” His voice was low, hushed in the quiet gloom.

Her heart rolled up her throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain laced through his words, or because she was getting a reprieve. She didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything—but nodded, so he’d know she’d heard him.

His fingers swept against her hip, a lazy rhythm that belied the erratic thump of his heart under her cheek. “He was tough on me when I was growing up, but I wanted it. I wanted to make him proud.”

She swallowed hard and wrapped her arm around his waist, giving a squeeze. He placed his free hand over top of hers. It was warm and strong, just like him.

“And now, he’s never going to see me reach the top. Never going to get to see me handed the trophy.” There was a rawness in his voice that made her throat ache and her eyes hot.

She tilted her head back to look at him. The light from the streetlamp wasn’t enough for her to see fully, but she could make out his profile. He was staring at the ceiling. She had a feeling he was deliberately not looking at her.

“I’ll win for him.” There was a conviction in his voice now, the words run through with steel. “I’ll win the championship in his honor. It’s not the same, but at least it’s something.”

She pushed up onto her elbow, moving her hand to the center of his chest. “Nick.”

There was a cautious note in her voice that she knew she should temper, but she couldn’t quite get there. He’d be absolutely crushed if it didn’t happen. And there was more than a good chance it wasn’t going to happen, even if he was back in the lineup. A lot of factors had to come together for a championship win, and most of them were out of his control.

He tensed underneath her, just the slightest bit. That wasn’t a good sign.

His phone, which he’d placed on the nightstand, rang.

“Hold on a minute. That’s the team.” He rolled to the edge of the bed and into a sitting position, his back to her. She decided not to read anything into it, even though she felt empty and cold now she was no longer wrapped around him.

He pushed the answer button on the phone. “Hello?”

The silence was suffocating. She scooted up so she was sitting, her legs tucked underneath her.

“What?” There was a note in his voice that made the skin on the back of her neck tingle. The muscles of his back and shoulders tensed. “Okay, yeah. Uh, you too.” He pressed the end call button and then just sat there, staring at the phone.

“Nick?” She placed her hand on his back. He was as hard as a marble statue.

He shrugged off her touch and shot to his feet. She tried not to take it personally, but it was difficult. He started pacing, his long strides eating up the space of the small room quickly. Restlessness and something she couldn’t quite pinpoint rolled off him, making her muscles twitch.

“Nick, what’s wrong?” Panic and apprehension coated the words, scraping against her throat on their way out.

He stopped and faced her, shoving his hand through his hair. “I’ve been traded.”

Shock jolted through her, tossing her heart against her ribs like a tennis ball. She scrambled off the bed. “What? To where?”

“San Francisco.”

Oh, shit. The San Francisco Barons were new in the league and still in the building phase of their program. They were currently basement dwellers in the conference, nowhere near making the playoffs.

“I’m so sorry.” The words were trite, inadequate, but there was nothing she could say to make this better.

His career was pretty much over. He probably only had a couple of seasons left before his body said no more. At least with New England, he could’ve won the cup and then retired on his own terms. Now, the best he could hope for would be a dream season next year, followed by a miracle playoff run.

The chances of that happening were so tiny, you couldn’t see them with a microscope.

The Barons were filled with young, inexperienced players, cutting their teeth in the big league. They probably wanted Nick because of the experience he’d bring to the locker room. It was highly doubtful it would be enough to turn things around so quickly.

“It’s fine,” he said, and shrugged, although it was half-hearted at best. “Just part of the game.” His voice was back to being flat, devoid of any emotion.

Except it wasn’t okay. He’d spent his whole career with New England. He’d been drafted by them, first overall. They were the only club he’d ever known.