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I dropped a note in his mailbox the next day. The prospect of Brody leaving to start college that week left me in a chokehold. I couldn’t let him go thinking I was a desperate teenager. So, I apologized for putting him in an awkward situation. I wished him well for his scholarship and spent the next few days licking my wounds in my room, hoping for a message or a call from him that never came.

I opened my mouth and dragged my toothbrush over my teeth, almost punishing myself with the ferocity of my strokes. A nagging feeling played in my chest. If you’d have asked me yesterday if I was over Brody Flockhart, I’d have said absolutely. But tonight, downstairs in the kitchen, when his breath hit my neck, a familiar tickle of energy played in my stomach.

I tried to get over him. I was one of Tuft Swallow’s mosteligible spinsters, after all. But even after five long years, I couldn’t shake the memory of that night. And that kiss.

I finished my teeth and bent over to spit the bubbles down the drain. On the way back up, I caught my reflection. My eyes burned bright, almost feverish. Eve’s words about the photos with a model whirled around in my head. I wasn’t an idiot. Coop told me bout their exploits when he visited Brody in Denver. The nights out. The women.

Surely Brody hadn’t thought of me once in the last five years? At least not in the way I wanted. And now he was back, handsome as all hell, and sleeping ten feet below me.

3

BRODY

Thin morning light filtered through the blinds as I shifted my body for the hundredth time. Ro had it right. The couch was lumpy, alright. But, I was low on agreeable options. Staying at the local inn, Tuft Swallow’s answer to the Bates Motel hadn’t appealed. It wasn’t the money. I had more than enough. But the owners were old friends of my dad. I didn’t want them to recognize me. They’d be all up in my face, asking questions, wanting to know why I was back.

I asked myself the same damn thing when I rolled into town.

I let out a puff of air. Who was I kidding? I knew exactly why I’d come back to Tuft Swallow. When it looked like my world could come crashing down along with my hockey career, I craved comfort, pure and simple, with no conditions. I needed a friendly smile. A smile I’d never forgotten. From the only person who still sparked a glow in my heart. The girl I’d avoided for far too long.

Ro.

She’d grown into a woman in my absence. Standing next to her in the kitchen last night reminded me of all the reasons I’d hated leaving her.

I sighed. Being near Ro couldn’t change reality, though. The result would be the same. My fate was at the mercy of my damn stupid bones and one stubborn doctor.

I flipped onto my back, trying to get comfortable. My lower leg ached like a beast. I could almost picture the loose chips of bone going ten rounds under my skin, grumbling to each other about how they’d been so rudely dislodged from their homes. Right now, I’d give anything to show them the way back.

I threw my arms over my head, and they hit the pillow with a soft thump. When I’d signed my life over to hockey, I knew what it could mean. I understood the damage that playing could wreak on my body. As a defenseman, I prided myself on being notoriously tough. Fast and flash.I wasn’t called the “Denver Dominator” for nothing.

But for one split second, I’d let my guard down. Turned my back at the wrong moment. Lowered my stick just enough for a tank of a guy to check me from behind. In that one crazy move, he’d sent me barreling into the boards, feet first. I’d never forget the sickening crack.

The moment the pain ripped through me, I prayed for a clean break. But no. Afreakof a break, the doc had called it. A one-in-a-million smash that left my bone looking like a shower of confetti. He’d done his best to pin me back together. And I’d done my part. Stayed at the rehab center. Spent hours in P.T.

Initially, the staff had to turn visitors away. The press, enthusiastic puck bunnies, even my teammates. They couldn’t cope with the numbers. But over time, the well-wishers dwindled, along with my optimism.

I moved again. The starched sheets scratched against my skin, and a low groan escaped my mouth. I couldn’t stand the dull throb any longer, so I moved my stiff body and sat.

A creak from the ceiling hit my ears, and I looked up, my breath in my throat. After a beat, I let it go. What was I expectingto see? A Ro-shaped imprint on the ceiling? A map of her room, complete with a neon X marking the spot where she might be standing? I went to sleep last night wondering the same thing, imagining how much distance lay between us.

I shifted off the couch and walked to the window, lifting one slat of the blind. A couple of kids rode their bikes in circles in the street, the ring of their laughter making it through the window's glass. A frowning woman hurried past on the sidewalk, clutching a stack of books, and a shaggy white goat chewed on a wooden chair in the garden next door.

Hang on, a goat? I squinted into the sunlight. It looked like a goat, but someone had dressed it in a green sweater, complete with large wooden buttons and a shiny bell around its neck. No passers-by lifted a brow. Like a goat dressed in knitwear was an everyday sight. The corners of my mouth lifted. Tuft Swallow hadn’t lost its “crazy.”

I moved about the den, trying to loosen my dumb leg. Stretching usually helped, but one night on Maggie Swan’s couch had been like a stint on a medieval torture rack.

The team physio called me the model patient. I’d hit the gym, put in the hours, prayed to whatever gods would listen, and even played in some non-contact practices. But the speed and movement left me in agony. I'd run out of options with my contract coming up for renewal in a couple of weeks.

Now, any decision was down to fate, and…and… muffins? Chocolate muffins. I breathed in the buttery aroma, and my belly rumbled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up to the smell of baking.

After a quick shower, I dried off, threw on jeans and a shirt, and headed to the kitchen. The scene of last night’s T-shirt massacre. It’d been a dramatic way to run into Rowena Swan again. Still, the memory of her standing in front of me,pink-stained, holding a plastic spatula over her head, made me chuckle.

“Good morning,” Maggie said with a smile. She picked up a cloth and bent down to remove the source of the incredible smell from the oven. “You hungry? I remember you boys always waking up ravenous. Sometimes, my cooking was the only thing that got you out of bed. How are your folks, honey?”

I sat at the old wooden table opposite the stove and ran a hand through my hair. “They’re doing just fine.”

Maggie placed a steaming tin of muffins on the counter and stood with one hand on her hip. “Are they happy down in The Keys? The move was very sudden.”

I huffed a laugh. “They had their reasons.” The moment opportunity struck, my parents couldn’t get out of town fast enough. Tuft Swallow was a great place to grow up, but my folks weren’t born and bred here like Maggie.