Page 55 of On His Schedule
“She wanted to follow me to college and through my career. So she figured out a way to be on the team that didn’t involve playing the sport. She’s committed to it.”
“That’s a long time. Did you tell her not to do it?”
“Why would I tell her not to?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. So, she could do what she wants to do.” It’s something I’ve always told her, but she’s never listened.
“She’s the best equipment manager Camden U has had in a decade. The boys love her. Coach loves her. She is going to be running a front office in the AHL by the time she’s twenty-six and she still won’t have told most people the reason she got into it.”
“She’s never told me this.”
“Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I mean I know she’s committed, but I thought it was just because she came from a hockey family, and it was her way of being close to it.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely part of it.”
We pass under a streetlight. I realize, only because the light shifts on him, that he has been walking on the roadside of the sidewalk the whole way.
We turn onto Main. The Vietnamese place is closed. When we get to the door, I take my keys out. But I don’t unlock it. We stand there for a moment.
I turn to face him. My back is against the door. He is half a step closer than he should be. The streetlight is behind him and his face is in the half-shadow.
“Well.” He looks down at me.
“Thanks for walking me home.”
He looks at the door behind me. “Yeah.”
I say, “You should get back.”
Neither of us moves.
He hesitates when he says, “Should I walk you up?”
“You really don’t have to.”
“Then I’ll stand here until you’re up there.”
I turn around and unlock the door. He holds it open, and I shrug, so he takes that as a welcome to walk up to the door. I unlock my apartment and let the door fall open.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m home.”
“Lucy.” He says my name the way he said it in the hallway after Tuesday’s session.
My heart races as I lift my face to look at him. His broad shoulders take up most of the hallway.
“Uh,” I swallow. “Yeah?”
He steps closer to me, and I don’t step back. I inhale his scent.
“I’m going to get you some water.”
“Oh,” I say, laughing. “I can do that myself.”
He walks to the kitchen anyway and pulls a cup out of the cabinet. He pours a glass of water, takes a sip for himself, and then hands it to me.
I look at the cup, and then I look at him. Then I start laughing my head off. “You just took a sip from this!”
