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JESS

I toss my phone to the end of the bed and it glances off my toe.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

I rub my little piggy and blame Liam. He is so out of touch with, well, everything. His emotions, his kid, civility. And yet … I don’t let myself reach the conclusion to the itty-bitty spark of … never mind. Fresh off the rejection train, I can’t let myself go there.

Retrieving my device, I call Cara and launch right into it, stream-of-consciousness style, armed and ready with all my grievances, but where to start?

“The message in the Knights portal said to bring black licorice, so I did.”

Laughter sounds in the background.

“Is this a bad time?” I ask.

“No, we were about to turn on a movie, but that sound was Pierre admitting guilt.”

Through the phone’s speaker, I hear him say, “The plan was to have you bring a new kind of candy each day just to razz him.”

I can almost hear Cara roll her eyes. “Plan thwarted.”

Anyway, in the hallway at the Ice Palace, he ran cold, then hot. Practically nestling his head into my hair like he never wanted to leave while at the same time slicing me with eye daggers and the clear message to get lost.

Pierre chimes in again, “Ellis’s default setting is cynical, surly, and like he has to control every little thing.”

“Exactly!” I proclaim. “It’s like he wants me to quit.”

At the same time, Pierre and Cara say, “Don’t do that. He needs you.”

“If that’s true, and I highly doubt it, he has the worst way of showing it ever. Though he did ask me to make a cake. Probably so when I add a creamy drizzle to it, he can mash it in my face.”

They both snicker.

“His play took a dip before the incident with Badaszek—shortly after Christmas.”

“What happened, anyway?”

Cara says, “I think he had a breakdown. He puts so much pressure on himself.”

Pierre counters, “More like a crack-up. He’d been way off for a couple of weeks. I’d wondered if an ex had reared her pointy face back into his life.”

Cara says, “If so, she was a real witch.”

Pierre uses a different but rhyming word and his wife scolds him.

“Hang on, I have to put money in the swear jar. Sorry about that, ladies. Sometimes I forget I’m not in the locker room.”

Cara whispers, “Have you seen Liam’s abs?”

“No, but Grandma Dolly is eager.” Fine, I am too. Well, in real life. If HR knew how much time I’ve spent scrolling #MrDarcysAbs, they’d fire me. If they’re anything like his biceps and all his -ceps, they’re exceptional.

“I heard that,” Pierre calls.

Cara says, “Some of the ladies in the office have a pool. I bet on you and want to know whether I’ll be adding to my glamorous vintage luggage set.”

“You know I’ll get you anything you want,” Pierre says.

“I want to save up and gloat,” Cara teases. Then, in a whisper, she adds, “It’s to use when I surprise Pierre on a trip to an actual Ice Palace in Sweden for our anniversary.”

He must’ve ducked out of the room.

“That’s so romantic.”

“Shh.”

“I’m back. Had to grab some snacks.”

“You were talking about an ex. I thought Liam didn’t date.”

Cara says, “He doesn’t. We’re just speculating. But someone must’ve broken his heart.”

“If he has one.”

Pierre says, “This is what you need to know about Liam. He has a love-hate affair with everything in his life, including hockey, but that’s mostly because of his temper, running alternately hot and cold.”

I’m nodding along. Never have I felt so understood. “Exactly this.”

He continues, “It’s not so much that he has a chip on his shoulder, he just gets frustrated when things don’t operate as they should. Rainer, his dad, is German by birth, so Liam, as an aficionado of the fine engineering of his father’s homeland, believes everything, including the team, should operate like a well-oiled machine. But it doesn’t always because we’re human and have emotions.”

“He keeps his tamped down real tight. Except the mean ones.”

“Those come out on the ice from time to time which led to players and fans speculating about his absence last month.”

“That was an amazing summary,” I say.

“We spend a lot of time together,” Pierre replies.

“I wonder what he’d say about you,” Cara says.

“Maybe you don’t want to know,” her husband murmurs.

“But I do know that you’ve helped him a ton. Lately, my dad isn’t scowling when he talks about him.”

Pierre says, “Of course he is. He scowls at all of us. But that’s his way of showing affection.”

We all laugh and I reflect on relationships. The ones I’ve seen that are successful and the ones that are abysmal failures. Pierre and Cara fall into the first category. Every relationship I’ve had lands in the latter. I’m the not-proud owner of a short list of dating disasters.

Though, when Cara told me about Pierre, I never thought it would work out. She’s quiet and reserved. According to Grandma Dolly, Pierre used to be known as the Frenchman and not simply because of his French Canadian heritage. While Cara had never kissed anyone, he had a lot of experience in that department.

Still on the phone, he continues, “Now that Liam is back and named captain, I’m concerned he’s struggling but is hiding it well.”

“You should talk to him.” I’m not sure whether Cara is addressing her husband or me. I didn’t expect this to become a three-way call, but so far Pierre has been surprisingly insightful.

However, a realization about a crucial piece of Pierre’s story hits me like a cell phone on my toe. They don’t know about Liam’s son.

“He’s not the kind of guy to ask for help, but why?” Cara asks.

Pierre says, “Pride.”

At the same time, I say, “Stubbornness.”

Cara laughs. “You’re both probably right.”

“But what am I going to do about it?” I ask vaguely.

My bestie starts to say something, probably along the lines of asking why I think it’s my problem to fix.

Pierre interjects, “I’d suggest you tell his assistant to bring him candy to sweeten him up but?—”

“She’s already baking him a cake. Wait, are you?” Cara asks.

“You could just mash it into his face.” Pierre chuckles.

Cara asks, “How are things coming with the rule-breaking?”

Pierre practically loses his mind when I start to recap the five rules Liam outlined. “No personal questions and you’re not allowed in his personal space?”

“I’ve dented those.”

“Tell me what he keeps on his bedside table,” Pierre says.

I answer, “A Bible and a box of tissues.”

“What a good boy.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe he meant his personal space, like—?” Cara starts.

Pierre cuts her off. “If you’re referring to Liam’s abs?—”

I click my tongue. “You guys gave me an idea.”

“Tell me it’s a twelve-month calendar featuring his abs. We could make a mint,” Cara says.

“Does my salary combined with my abs mean nothing to you?” Pierre asks his wife, faux insulted.

“It’s not always about the money but the thrill of how it’s obtained.” I can practically see her scheming.

We burst into laughter.

I say, “I was thinking that I’d get him some moisturizer for his calloused hands, but put self-tanner in it and then?—”

Around what sounds like Pierre crunching a mouthful of popcorn, he says, “I see where you’re going with this, but he’d never use it.”

“My vision for the personal space thing was that you seduce him,” Cara suggests.

Pierre and I both gasp and say, “Cara!”

“He hates me. Why would I do that?”

“I highly doubt he hates you.”

I pout. “He told me he doesn’t like me.”

“Yikes,” the couple chorus.

“What were the other rules?” Pierre asks.

His wife says, “My rule is for you to save me some popcorn.”

The crunching goes quiet.

I continue, “I’m not allowed on his phone and cannot discuss his private matters with friends, family, or anyone.”

“Those make sense, but oops ,” Cara says.

“This isn’t exactly a private matter because it involves me directly,” I say, circumnavigating the rule.

“What was the last one again?” Cara asks.

“Under no circumstances am I to wear his jersey.”

Pierre hoots so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. When he calms down, he says, “Bro does not hate you. Not at all.”

I frown, not following but wondering why I care whether he likes me. I’d hoped we could become friends or at least be civil, but that’s not probable.

“I can’t believe he included that as one of his rules.” Pierre is practically dying with laughter. “We’re about to flick on a movie, but I promise Liam opposite hates you.”

Then the line goes quiet.

Cara sends a text telling me she’s sorry for the abrupt ending to the call but that we’ll talk tomorrow.

What’s the opposite of hate?

No. No way. He definitely doesn’t love me. I don’t think that word is in Liam’s vocabulary.

His actions, rules, and so many of the things he’s said, including but not limited to Don’t like you and how my smile is too much make it very clear that he’s one hundred percent not interested.

Not that I want him to be.

Do I?

My thoughts trip over the moment in the hallway after his game. We were so close I could smell his masculine, soapy scent. His blue-gray eyes were dark like the sky just after the sunset.

I remind myself that I’m more of a sunrise kind of gal, always looking toward the promise of tomorrow.

When my boss doesn’t despise me.