Page 51 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

T en days without Claire have turned me into a sad sack.

And my mother, the sweetest woman on Earth, has no sympathy for me.

“Can I get you anything, Ma?” I ask, taking her tray and setting it on her dresser. Her hysterectomy went well, and the doctors are pleased so far. They’ll still prick her with needles and test her until the end of days, but her prognosis looks good right now.

“There is one thing I need,” she says, smiling up at me from her seat by the window.

“Yeah, Ma. Anything. You name it. Could you go for some ice cream?”

She shakes her head like she can’t believe she raised such a dummy. “I don’t want ice cream, Peter. I want you to remove your head from your behind and make things right with Claire.”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple, Ma. What she did was risky as hell, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’m just worried about her, but maybe that means I’m not the right person for her.”

My mother sighs with frustration. “Do you worry about me, Pete?”

“Are you kidding? You know I do.”

“And do you worry about your brothers? About Gramma?”

I shake my head. “Of course. You’re my family.” I have no idea where she’s going with this, unless she’s decided to gauge my loyalty.

“How about Van and Rosco, or Ollie and JT?”

“Yeah, when something’s wrong, of course I worry about them. They’re my best friends.”

“If you care about all of us so much, and you worry about us, too, why haven’t you issued us any ultimatums? Or walked away from us?”

Oof. Leave it to Ma to go for the jugular. “It’s not the same,” I protest. But my words are weak. She knows it and I know it.

Ma takes a sip of tea before she lands her final blow.

“If you’re so worried about her, Pete, why are you the one hurting her?

Your job isn’t to keep all the bad things at bay, honey.

Nobody can do that. Bad things happen. But when you love someone, you support them through the tough times.

You listen to them. You help them. You don’t walk away. ”

“You’re pretty smart, Ma,” I say, letting the truth of her words sink in.

“Of course I am, honey. Where do you think you got it from?”

It’s been three days since Ma told me to get my head out of my ass, but there were logistics to deal with. Grand gestures don’t just happen, you know.

I enlisted the help of my friends, and they came through, like I knew they would. But now it’s all down to me. Claire’s sitting on a bench by the fountain, and I need to make my move.

“Hey,” I say, walking up to her like I haven’t essentially ghosted her for about two weeks.

She eyes me with caution, and I can’t blame her. But I’m on a mission, so I stick to the script.

“Have you seen the latest issue of The Howler?”

“Uh, yeah. I wrote some of it, so I’m familiar.

” The glare penetrating from her eyes tells me Frosty Claire is back in action.

Well, she can bring it. Because I love every version of the woman—the scathing, scowling one, the sweet and loving one, the funny as hell one, and the fearless one.

The one who isn’t afraid to dig for the truth and expose the injustices she finds.

“It’s a good issue,” I say, the words hanging awkwardly in the air after they leave my mouth.

A stilted silence descends, so when I realize she’s not taking the bait, I pull out my phone and start yapping.

“There’s a new feature article. Did you see it? They have this new reporter on staff and he’s good, like, really good.”

Claire’s eyeing me like she thinks I might be delusional.

“We don’t have any new staff members,” she says.

“You do, though. Here, look,” I take the opportunity to hand her my phone. I’ve got the article all cued up, and I watch over her shoulder as she reads.

I Am the Dumbas s

By Peter F. Santos

Every week for the past few years, the students of Bainbridge University have asked Claire Fowler for advice. She doles it out weekly, giving it to us straight. She doesn’t sugarcoat things; that’s not her style.

But I don’t need to tell Claire my story and ask her if I’m being a dumbass.

I am. There’s no doubt about it.

The question is, how do I fix it?

Well, I can start by telling Claire I’m sorry. I can tell her that when you love someone (because I love her), you support them no matter what. You put your fear aside, and you take theirs, too. When life gets hard, you stick by them.

Claire did that for me, but I didn’t do the same for her.

Claire Fowler is one of the toughest people I know, and that is saying something. She held her head high in this campus when half the population wanted that gorgeous head on a platter. She isn’t afraid to tell it like it is, and her fearless expose sparked much needed change on this campus.

She’s the most incredible person and I know, and I want her back

So, here’s the plan, Claire. Let me know what you think: You keep being fearless, and I’ll be right here beside you.

When she’s done reading, she looks up at me with unshed tears in her eyes. “Is this real?”

“So real we had to promise Andy season tickets to all our home games.” I clear my throat, because what I said in the article was a start, but it wasn’t enough.

“Claire, I’m sorry. I didn’t put my faith in you, and there’s no one who deserves it more.

I let my fear override any good fucking sense I might have.

You were right. I need to talk to Kersey.

And we need to figure out what the hell is going on up at Woodcock. ”

“I’ve made some calls,” she says. “I’m investigating. It’s who I am, and I’m never going to change that, Pete. Not for anyone.”

I reach out to trace my finger over her cheek.

“And I’ll never ask you to again. Your fearlessness, your sense of justice?

They’re part of what I love about you and I was wrong to try and tamp that down.

Can you forgive me? Because I will prove to you every day that I am worthy of you, that I’m the partner you deserve.

I do some dumbass shit, sometimes, but I will be better for you. ”

Claire’s smile—the one so rarely given—is blinding. “I like to think we make each other better,” she says. “And yes, I forgive you. You’re the best partner I could ask for. We do make a pretty good team.”

She leans in to kiss me. It’s not gentle, and we’re not shy. Somebody clears their throat, and Claire pulls back. “Do you think we should move this conversation someplace more private?”

“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation. “But first, I have a proposition for you.”

“No,” she says automatically.

“No?” I ask. “You haven’t even heard my proposition.”

Her smile is beautiful. “No more enemies with benefits. We’re not enemies, Pete.”

“Damn right we’re not, but that’s not my proposition.”

She waggles her eyebrows, and I laugh at my sexy, impatient girlfriend. “Soon, I promise. “But first, we’re going on a road trip.”

“A road trip?” she asks. “Is this your sneaky way of taking me on a hike?”

“No, but I’ll file that idea away for the future. For right now, you’re coming with me. Like you said, we’re a good team. We need to get on the road because it’s a decent drive and we’re gonna be late if we don’t start now.”

“What are you up to?” she asks.

“Let’s just say I know a guy. Well, two actually.”