Page 23 of All That Glitters

I put the rubber guards on my skates, then toss them into my duffel and stand.

“Thanks.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll try to talk about things more. I guess.”

Nash cringes. “You really are terrible at this.”

I shove him, making him laugh.

“Wanna go get some food?” he asks instead of staying on the topic, which I appreciate. Because he’s right—I am terrible at this sort of thing. Marigold made it easy, but I think even with her my comfort stemmed from knowing her most of my life.

Sometimes I feel guilty for being the way that I am. It’s not as though I have a reason to be so closed off. My parents are supportive and amazing. Sure, my dad isn’t overly sentimental, but he’s never held back love. But there’s something in me that just doesn’t do well with sharing my emotions. I’d rather deal with the problem that causes them than talk about them.

“Sure, sounds good.”

We head out of the arena, and a realization hits me along with a gust of wind. I stop in my tracks.

“We rode here together.”

Nash glances over his shoulder. “I thought you might have forgotten about that.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, and start walking again.

“Because you seemed like you needed more time on the ice. I figured I could see the PT and by the time I was done, you might be too.”

Guilt settles in my stomach like a stone.

“I should have remembered.”

Nash shrugs. “If it was a problem, I would have said so.”

Since he seems unbothered, I decide not to harp on it. The gesture isn’t lost on me, though, and I’ll have to think of some way to repay him for waiting.

“What did you see the PT about?”

Injuries are fairly common in hockey, so seeing a physical therapist is normal. But Nash has never complained about anything.

“My right ankle has been giving me trouble. Seems to be getting better though. Ricardo thinks I’ll be back to a hundred percent in a few weeks. Would be sooner if I could stay off it, but I don’t have that luxury.”

He could tell Coach he needs some rest, but there’s another guy gunning for his spot right now. If he took time off, there’s a chance he’d get replaced altogether.

“My shoulder is kind of the same,” I tell him in an effort to open up. “Hurts like crazy in a fight, but there’s nothing I can do besides rest and stretch.”

We get to his truck, and he unlocks the doors for us to get in. I slide into the passenger seat.

“I’d rather a hurt ankle than missing teeth, though,” he says as he starts the truck and turns on the heat.

I raise a brow.“You’d rather be injured than lose a tooth?”

“Crutches get sympathy from women. Lost teeth do not.”

I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

I can’t help but think of Marigold. Your smile is too pretty for you to ruin it playing hockey, she used to say. The words never failed to warm my chest. If anyone else called any part of me pretty, I’d hate it. But coming from Marigold, it meant the world.

“My sparkling personality can only do so much. I need my looks, too,” Nash says, making me shake my head.

I reach into my duffel bag and pull out my phone as he backs out of the parking space. There on the screen is a name I haven’t seen since last summer.

Goldie: Do you want to meet in the library tonight to talk about the article?