Page 48 of Playing the Pucking Game

But I want her to know. As she said earlier: she knows me. She’ll know the significance of my actions.

Shit, I’m not even sure I’m aware.

Was this…did I…did I plan a date?

No. I just wanted to hang out with my roommate, with the girl I grew up with.

We’re…friends. Kind of.

“There’s a card with the flowers,” I state before stepping aside and moving around her.

I’m out of the room and kicking my bedroom door closed before she has a chance to say anything.

As I move, my groin hurts, and I curse myself for not grabbing an ice pack on the way.

I could go back out there, but I refuse to see the moment she figures out what that really was out there.

“Fucking idiot,” I mutter as I drag my T-shirt off and stalk toward my bathroom.

I don’t need another shower, I had one when I got back, but the need to shut myself in my own little rainfall heaven is too much. It’s easier to forget reality when there is nothing but thesound of falling water around you. It’s the same with the rain, but there doesn’t seem to be much chance of that tonight.

Kicking my pants from my legs, I leave a pile of abandoned clothes behind me before turning the shower on and stepping under the water long before it’s warm enough.

A shudder races through me, but I don’t shy away. It’s nowhere close to being as bad as an ice bath.

I like the pain, embrace it, and use it to help me focus, to push me forward.

My eyes fall closed as I think about who I’m doing all this for now.

Sure, at the beginning, I played hockey because I loved it. Because I got to hang out with my best friend and have a laugh. I wanted to be like my dad. But as I got older and truly began to understand the legacy he left behind, the more I wanted to do him proud. And that need only got stronger when he passed.

It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. We weren’t ready. He wasn’t even sick, for fuck’s sake. But none of that matters because he’s no longer here. All that’s left is his legacy, and I have every intention of keeping it alive.

He was one of the greats. He won three back-to-back Cup finals and all of the prestigious awards. He held records for years that others have struggled to beat.

Honestly, I can only ever dream of being as good as him. He was incredible.

Regardless of how good I was, he always supported me. He was the best coach a little boy with stars in his eyes could get.

I just hope he’s up there somewhere now, looking down on me with his proud smile.

Everything I do is for him, because of him. I just wish he’d gotten to see more.

My heart is in my throat as I think back over times gone by with my dad. Hell, our whole family.

The thought of Parker plucking the card from the flowers and reading the truth is enough to have me hiding in here a little longer.

When my skin is wrinkled, I figure I need to man up and face reality.

Turning the dial, I step out and grab a towel.

After wrapping it around my waist, I pull the bedroom door open, leaving little puddles of water behind me.

“The fuck?” I bark, my heart lurching at the sight of someone sitting on the edge of my bed.

Parker’s eyes widen, and she jumps to her feet. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouted. I thought you heard me.”

“Clearly fucking not,” I mutter as I rip my eyes away from hers in favor of walking toward my dressing room for a clean pair of boxers.