Page 13

THIRTEEN

Rowan

Seeing Blake’s parents at the arena was jarring.

They never liked me, blaming my very existence any time Blake had a bad game or failed a test or anything else. It was mostly his dad, but his mom was more neutral than anything else. It really bothered me in high school; now I find it mildly amusing. I almost feel sorry for Blake because his father’s always been harder on him than warranted. It’s none of my business, not anymore, but I hate that he’s still as judgmental as ever.

The plan was to sit far away from the entire Rourke clan at dinner, but Phoebe plops down next to me like we’re long-lost besties, and her mother sits on her other side, with Blake and his dad across from us. I’m on an end, so there’s nowhere for me to go without getting up and being blatantly rude, so I do my best not to let my irritation show.

“Tell me everything about working for the team,” Phoebe says. “I work in marketing, and I’d love to move into sports.”

“I don’t know much about the marketing side,” I admit, “but I love what I do. I majored in kinesiology and am thinking about getting my master’s degree in something like physical therapy, but I’m not sure yet. It’s expensive and I travel during hockey season, so I need to figure out a way to make it work.”

“How did you wind up working for the team?” Mrs. Rourke asks.

“I interned for a baseball team in college and then got a job working for a minor league hockey team after I graduated. When the last assistant trainer left the Phantoms, I heard about the job, applied, and got hired.”

“Good for you,” Mr. Rourke says, lifting his water glass in a mock toast. “Didn’t think you’d?—”

“Dad.” Blake gives him a look.

“What?” His father feigns innocence. “I was going to say I didn’t think she’d be interested in anything that would deal with blood and whatnot. I seem to remember her being a little squeamish back in the day.”

“I was fifteen, sixteen,” I say defensively. “It took a little while, but I realized I liked helping people, and once I did my internship, I saw how much I enjoyed working in sports.”

“And now that the head trainer is on medical leave, she’s really stepped up,” Blake adds.

“Ro is da bomb-diggety,” Connor adds, since he’s on Blake’s other side and hears our conversation. “She’s literally the only one who knows how to wrap my ankle when it bothers me. Even better than Gene. She has a magic touch—and I don’t mean anything rude by that. She’s the best.” He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

He’s nineteen going on fourteen, except when he’s on the ice, where he looks like he’s been playing for decades.

“Well maybe she can rub some of that magic on Blake here,” Mr. Rourke says. “God knows, he could use a little hockey magic.”

Could this guy be any worse of a father?

I guess he could be, but not from where I’m sitting, and I can’t just let the comment go.

“Blake has the most points of anyone on the team during the playoffs,” I say, referring to his scoring statistics. “And he hasn’t had any injuries, so I’m about as sure as I can be that it has nothing to do with me.”

I bite my lip to hide my grin as his father snaps his mouth shut. Thankfully, the waitress appears and starts asking for our drink orders, effectively shutting down the conversation.

Since I have an almost thirty-minute drive home, I order iced tea instead of anything alcoholic.

“So, do you have a husband?” Phoebe asks as the waitress makes her way around our side of the table. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

I chuckle. “No. I’m pretty single these days. This job literally takes up all of my time.”

She gazes over at her brother and her voice drops to a whisper. “Blake says the same thing. Except he’s so disillusioned.”

“Disillusioned?” I ask. “You mean, with hockey?”

She nods. “It’s… hard. He barely makes enough to survive. He works at a gym in the off-season and saves up so he has money when he needs something. I think next year might be his last.”

“Really?” I had no idea it was that bad.

Blake is one of those guys who lives and breathes hockey, so the idea of him retiring at twenty-nine seems unfathomable. He’s never wanted to do anything else.

But I also understand the minor league salaries aren’t great, and a lot of guys don’t want to struggle financially as they get older, especially the guys who have families. I saw a lot of that on the team I worked for before the Phantoms.

“His car is old, he and Bodi are roommates because neither of them can afford a place on their own, and last night he said something about this being his last chance to make something of himself.”

My heart squeezes. Nothing that’s happened in his life is my fault but it still hurts me to hear how much he’s struggled. I assumed he was doing fine. I knew he was still in the minors, but there are only so many NHL teams, and those twenty-three roster spots fill up fast. Guys come to the NHL from all over the world, so the pool of players is huge. Guys like him are lifers—they can’t imagine doing anything else. They play until their bodies won’t allow it anymore, and then they find something that hopefully keeps their finger in the hockey pie.

It never occurred to me that he wasn’t living his best life.

In my head, I always imagine him sleeping with two or three women at a time, partying on his days off, and then doing the hockey thing.

“Honestly, we hadn’t seen each other in almost a decade,” I admit. “I had no idea how he was doing.”

“You really haven’t crossed paths at all?” she asks. “Even though you work for different teams within the same organization?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I knew he was playing for the Rebels, but he didn’t get called up at all this season, and like I said, last season I was out with a nasty flu when he was here. Half the team went down with it, which is why he got called up. By the time I was better, he was back in Phoenix. And to be honest, I had no reason to talk to him. Our breakup wasn’t nice.”

She grimaces. “He never told us what happened.”

“I went to surprise him and…” I let my voice trail. No reason to dredge up ancient history with his sister. “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t all that happy to see me.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m sorry. Eighteen-year-old boys suck.”

“Yeah, and eighteen-year-old girls can be clingy and insecure. I’m not blameless in the whole thing. But it’s okay. We’re friends now and the past is behind us.” Somewhat.

“I’m glad for that,” she says. “It’s no fun to work around someone you dislike or have bad history with.”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

I’m not sure if that’s true, but I’m tired of feeling uncomfortable around him. After our talk, I felt better but I’m still harboring a little resentment. Hurt. And I’m not sure what it will take to truly get past it.

“I’m sorry my dad was such a jerk to you,” she says after a moment. “The rest of us have grown and changed, but he’s still the same.”

“Different generation,” I say graciously.

“He’s so hard on Blake,” she murmurs. “Always riding him, giving him shit for how disappointed he is that he’s still in the minors. It’s awful. Mom and I try to run interference, but it doesn’t always work. Then they argue and Blake goes out and gets drunk.”

“I’m sorry it’s like that for them.”

“Are you close to your parents?” she asks.

“It’s just my dad now, Mom passed away when I was in college. I see him pretty regularly even though he still lives in Michigan. He can’t come for this series, but if we make it to the next one, he’ll be here for a stretch of games.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

The food comes and conversation shifts. Connor tells everyone about his girlfriend Effie, Mr. Rourke talks about his work as a high school basketball coach, and Bodi eventually pulls up a chair next to Phoebe and they start talking about something they all did the last time she was in Phoenix. It seems like this is my cue to escape and I surreptitiously start gathering my things.

“Hey, are you leaving?” Blake stops by my chair on his way back from the restroom.

“Yeah, I’m tired and I want to ice my arm before bed.”

“Still bothering you?”

“It’s better, but it starts to throb a little after a long day like today. Besides, I have to be back at the arena at nine for a staff meeting.”

“Oh, okay. Then I guess I’ll see you at practice.”

“You will.” I get up, but Mr. Rourke doesn’t seem anxious to let me slip out.

“Leaving already?” he calls. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up. I want to hear all about what it’s like working for the Phantoms. Since we can’t count on Blakey here becoming a regular.”

I pull in a slow, steady breath as I think of how to respond because the last thing I want is to spend any time talking to him. He’s such a jerk, and I can only put up with his veiled insults and passive-aggressive attitude toward his son for so long.

“Dad, her day starts before ours,” Blake says. “And she has an early morning meeting.”

“Yeah, I’m tired,” I admit. And it’s the truth. “Good night, everyone.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Blake says, nudging me toward the exit. “Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.

He guides me out before his dad can protest.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’d forgotten how your dad is. I figured he would have mellowed by now.”

“Not hardly,” he says with a scowl.

“I’m sorry he treats you that way.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it. And some of it I deserve. You know they took out a second mortgage to give me the best chance possible to play in the pros, and as a thank you, I slacked off in college, ruining my chances to make the big leagues, but no one can beat me up about it more than I beat myself up.”

“We all make mistakes,” I say gently. “I mean, look at me. I was so determined to follow you that I didn’t apply anywhere else. By the time you made it clear you didn’t want me there, I had no other options.”

“Oh, shit.” He looks contrite. “You never told me that. I’m so sorry. I was completely self-absorbed and thought… well, they didn’t have a kinesiology program, and even though I won’t claim I behaved the way I did for solely altruistic reasons it wasn’t completely selfish either. I wanted you to go somewhere that would get you into a good program, one that would help you find a job when you graduated. You didn’t need to be in Minnesota.”

“Well, I couldn’t get in anywhere at the last minute either. I took some classes the second semester at the local community college, but I basically lost the whole first year. I didn’t graduate until I was twenty-three.”

“I’m genuinely sorry about that. I feel terrible because I know it was my fault. I should have been more honest with you before the end of senior year. I didn’t want to hurt you, so I didn’t know how to bring up breaking things off, or even taking a break.”

“Look, I was na?ve too. The signs were all there, but I chose to ignore them because I was a girl in love. In retrospect, you probably did me a favor, because I lost my mom that year, so I guess it’s a good thing I was local, which allowed me to be with her.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom. I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” I lean against my SUV and sigh. “We weren’t in touch. We weren’t friends. We weren’t…anything.”

“No. And even though I apologized, I want to explain too. I wish I’d treated you better. I felt I needed my freedom after we graduated, but I still should have been kinder, gentler. You deserved the truth about what I was thinking. I should have insisted you apply to other colleges early on, before it was too late for you to get in anywhere. That was shitty of me. I was too busy enjoying our amazing sex life.” He looks embarrassed, which is rare for him.

But it feels good.

I’ve waited nearly ten years to hear an explanation.

It doesn’t change anything, but it gives me some of what I need to maybe get closure.

“Thank you,” I say finally. “I appreciate you taking the time to explain what was going on in your head back then.”

“I really am sorry, Ro.” He leans over and gently takes me by the shoulders, briefly gazing into my eyes before pressing a soft kiss on my cheek.

Then he turns and walks back into the restaurant.

Leaving me more confused than ever.