Page 95 of Put a Rink on It

“He shoulda told you he loved ya sooner. I no know what made him wait s’long.” She shrugs after dropping the bomb. “See? Flaws.”

A flicker of dread bubbles in my abdomen at her statements, reminding me she’s mentioned something similar before. I don’t have a chance to ask her to elaborate—if she even would—before Nero’s back.

“All set. Bill paid and autographs signed.”

I shift Kaitlyn to Nero’s side, and she peers up at him.

“I tink you might be my he-ro, Ne-ro.” She pauses for a minute, the meaning sinking in. “Looka me rhyming words like a poet.”

Nero helps her walk through the door I hold open. The air is cooler than when we arrived, but the rental car waits right out front. “You’ve always been good with words, Kaity.”

She covers her heart with her hands. “Aww, tanks. That meansalot. You’re good with da ‘ockey stuff. Even if I’ll never don’t understand da rules.”

“Not for lack of my teaching you.” I open the back door of the car, and Nero helps her inside, pleading, “Please say you won’t puke.”

She brushes his comment off with an awkward wave of her hand. “I can ‘old my liquor. I’mma big gurl.”

“Famous last words I’ve heard before.” He cups her chin, waiting until he has her attention. Her comment about him being a great dad chooses this moment to reappear, though I can’t say she’s wrong. If he wanted kids. “I’d rather not have to pay for a car detail. Give me a warning, k?”

“I’ll sit in the back with her and hold my dress out if need be,” I offer. “How far’s the drive to her place?”

“Ten minutes.”

“K.” I slide in after her, coaxing her to the other side. She makes it as far as the middle, and I consider it a win. Nero closes the door, hopping into the driver’s seat a few moments later. Kaitlyn’s head flops onto my shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed a second later.

I catch Nero’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s like you’ve done this before,” he remarks.

“Both as the one who’s drunk and the friend who makes sure she gets home safely.”

“Thank you,” he mouths, the car starting a moment later.

I nod in response, crossing fingers and toes it’s a vomit-free car ride.

CHAPTER 30

nero

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Ships, I’m moored,” I call out to the empty mudroom off the front door. My bag falls off my shoulder onto the shelves, and Marina’s instructions intrude on my thoughts: “Your bag goes on a hook, not the shelves,” coupled with a demonstration of how to hang the bag. A chuckle tears out of me as I follow her instructions. To her credit, it keeps the house tidier and takes only a few extra seconds to hang it rather than drop it. “Marina, where you at?"

“Kitchen,” comes her muffled reply. She sits at the island, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, an oversized Nautilus jersey covering her top half. A combination of a half dozen books, notebooks, and planners covers the surface, along with highlighters of at least four different colors, pencils, and three different-colored pens. A deluge of memories from our college study sessions floods me.

“What’s all this?”

She peeks at me, her smile instant if not wobbly. “Weighing options.”

The comment hits like a crushing body check. I swallow the anxiety creeping in. “For what?”

“A lot of different things.” She slams the books shut and stacks everything in a pile. “It can wait until later. How was practice? How’s the ankle?”

Two games ago, a stick caught on my skate and pulled my foot from under me, twisting my ankle. Because of the angle I fell, it’s more bruised than anything, but it’s been enough of a pain to skate on. It’s healing, but I’m supposed to be taking it easy.

“Tolerable. The trainer taped it, which held through most of practice, and the ice bath after helped. He said to try heat today to see what that does.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, eyeing the filet mignon steaks marinating on the top shelf.

“Know what we haven’t done since we’ve gotten engaged? Or maybe ever?” Marina asks.

“I will when you enlighten me.”