Page 10

Chapter 10

ZACK

At practice, I’m always hyper-aware of where Amber is in the stands. And maybe it’s a little silly, but I find myself showing off a little, adding some extra flair into the drills. I definitely catch her smiling and looking impressed, so I think it’s working. And when I look good, it makes the team look good, so there’s nothing to worry about.

Or so I think until Coach Green pulls me aside after practice. “You’ve got a little extra pep in your step today, huh?”

“I guess so, Coach.” I make the mistake of glancing Amber’s way, and Coach Green catches the look.

“You know, I asked if you wanted to escort Dr. Morrison home instead of one of the other guys because I knew you wouldn’t try anything, like hitting on her.” he says, giving me a knowing look. “You respect the team, and you know she’s off-limits as part of the coaching staff. A little showing off is fine. But if this turns into something more—if lines get crossed—you and I are going to have a problem. Understood?”

I nod forcefully. “Yes, Coach.”

He regards me with narrowed eyes for a moment before slapping me on the back. “You’re a good kid, Colt. I trust you can keep things professional.”

And I really, really want to, but apparently the universe has other plans.

It’s a late practice today, so it’s dark when I walk Amber home. I even stuff my hands in my pockets to make sure I’m not tempted to get any closer to her than I need to.

We reach her apartment, and I leave her at the door as usual. I’m a few steps away when I hear her curse softly. “Everything okay?” I ask, turning around.

Amber’s rummaging around in her purse. “I can’t find my keys.”

“Can you call your landlord?” I take a few steps closer, hoping that the keys are just buried at the bottom of her bag.

“I don’t have his number. There’s an after-hours maintenance number listed on the wall by the mailboxes, which is right through there in that locked mailroom. That makes perfect sense, doesn't it?” She gestures at the locked door. “Of course, I never thought to take a picture of it. I didn’t think I’d need it.”

I check the time while she continues to search her pockets. It’s getting late, and she needs somewhere to sleep. “You know, my couch is pretty comfortable,” I offer hesitantly. “I pass out there all the time.”

Amber’s head pops up and she stares at me. “I couldn’t… I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing if I’m offering.” I jerk my head toward the end of the street. “Come on, I’m just around the corner.” When she still hesitates, I add, “I used to sleep over at your house all the time, remember? It’ll be just like the old days.”

“That was a little different,” she mutters, but she finally steps down from her porch and follows me to my condo. When we get there, I unlock the door and gesture her through.

She looks around my apartment, eyes wide. I’m sure she’s taking in the spare furnishings, the lack of any real personalization apart from some hockey posters on the wall. I don’t spend a lot of time here, so I don’t feel the need to make it all that fancy.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” I say lamely.

“It’s nice,” Amber replies, but I can tell she’s just being nice. I appreciate the attempt, anyway.

I go grab some spare sheets and a blanket from the linen closet to make up the couch for the night. “You can borrow a shirt and some sweatpants if you want,” I offer. “To sleep in. I want them back in the morning.” I tease.

The joke is meant to make her laugh, and it works. “I’d love some sweatpants,” she says. “I don’t think I’d be able to get to sleep in these slacks.”

I hurry into my room and grab the cleanest-smelling sweatpants I can find and bring them out to her. She goes into the bathroom to pull them on, and I take a minute to try and compose myself.

My mind is racing, trying to do everything I can to keep this from getting weird. I’m just offering her a place to spend the night, I remind myself. That’s allowed.

What was she going to do otherwise, sleep on the sidewalk? I realize that we could have just asked a neighbor to let her in the mailroom to get the manager's phone number…that just shows how much Amber's presence affects my "mental performance" when attempting rational thinking.

I am certainly not going to bring up talking to her neighbors now.

Amber emerges from the bathroom with my sweatpants tied snug… hugging her just right around her hips. Suddenly, breathing feels like a full-body workout. I look away and just kind of stand there while she goes over to the couch, wrapping herself in the blanket.

I’m not sure what to do with myself. I don’t want to get in her space, but it’s also too early to think about going to bed.

“You can come sit.” I look back at Amber, into her sparkling eyes. She pats the cushion next to her, her smile teasing—but something softer’s hiding underneath. “I actually wanted to talk to you a little bit.”

I sit down on the other end of the couch from her, my heart pounding. “What did you want to talk about?”

She shrugs, still smiling. “Well, I feel like I don’t know anything about your life. All we ever talk about is the Blades.”

“The Blades kind of are my entire life right now,” I say, relaxing a little.

Amber rolls her eyes. “I know that. I mean, what’s been going on for the last ten years? What did you do with yourself in all that time?”

“This isn’t some kind of secret performance coaching method, is it?” I ask, pretending to be suspicious.

She shoves my shoulder playfully, sending electricity sparking through me. “No! I’m just curious about you. I used to see you pretty much every single day, and then…” She shakes her head. “So. What happened to you after high school?”

I lean back, settling into the couch. “Well, I went to Minnesota to play hockey, full ride scholarship. I got drafted to play for the Hawks after I graduated, so I got to play in Canada for a little while.”

“That’s so cool!” Amber’s mouth drops open. “I’d love to visit Canada sometime.”

“I was only there for two seasons, but from what I remember, it was nice. I didn’t get the chance to do a lot of exploring, though.” I think back through the other teams I played for. “You know my team history already. I got traded around a few more times and ended up here, in good ol’ Red Oak.”

Amber fidgets under the blanket. “And is it weird? Being so close to home?”

“A little, at first.” Red Oak is only about an hour away from our hometown. I grew up wanting to play for the Blades, but after our senior year mess, I wanted to get as far away from here as possible. I don’t tell her any of that, though. “I think I’m used to it now.”

“I think it’s nice. I’m happy to be back.” Amber smiles at me, and my stomach flip flops again.

In that moment I know— we’re way past “just colleagues.” And I don’t think I want to go back.