Page 22 of Over the Line

“End of February.” Chris put his arm around Jasmine’s shoulders. “Just in time for the All-Stars.”

Jasmine giggled. “Think you’ll be an All-Star and a dad in the same month?”

Chris laughed. “I don’t know if I want that kind of pressure.” He paused and turned an innocent look on her. “Maybe you and Asher can hold out until March?”

I snorted. “Doesn’t work that way, kid. Sorry.”

“It better not.” Jasmine poked Chris. “This baby’s coming in February. Make peace with it.”

He pretended to be exasperated, but then they were both laughing.

I just watched them, hoping they couldn’t see how overwhelming it was to see them like this. I respected my son, and admittedly, I envied him the wisdom and maturity to not rush down the aisle. He had the means to take care of his family, and he clearly wanted his fiancée to be happy on her wedding day.

Sometimes I still regretted sprinting down to the courthouse with his mother a week after we found out she was pregnant, and not just because we’d ultimately ended up divorced. She’d always dreamed of a beautiful wedding. Not a huge or expensive one, but she’d wanted the white dress and all the other trappings. She’d wanted to dance and drink champagne, and what she’d gotten was a brief ceremony during which she’d been trying not to throw up. We hadn’t even made it through our small family dinner afterward because the restaurant’s smells had been too much for her not-just-morning sickness.

She’d deserved better. We both had.

I was pleased to see that even though Chris probably hadn’t planned to become a father just yet, he was handling it better than I had.

And I was still relieved beyond words that, by some pile of miracles, I hadn’t missed out on this stage of his life.

CHAPTER 8

LIAM

At practice and at games, I paid almost zero attention to the people behind the glass. I loved fans, but I’d learned long ago to ignore anyone and anything outside the rink because I needed to focus on the game. Don’t read the signs. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t acknowledge that a world exists past the boards.

The one exception I made was kids. During practice and warmups, I always found a few kids and tossed them pucks. Their smiles were the best, and they always clung to their pucks like they’d just been given the coolest treasures in the world.

This morning, three kids were gathered by the glass during practice. I scooped up enough pucks for each of them, then glided over to where they were standing.

The way their eyes lit up—that was the highlight practice most days, today included.

I smiled back and tossed the pucks over one at a time. The second one took a couple of tries—it kept getting hung up in the netting—but it finally went over. The third followed without much work. All three kids clutched their new pucks and bounced with glee.

I grinned and tapped my glove on the glass.

Just as I was about to skate away to continue warming up, someone in the stands caught my eye. I looked and…

Oh. Fuck.

Kanes hadn’t told me his dad was back in town.

There he was, though, sitting four rows back, hands tucked into the front pocket of a black Pittsburgh Phantoms hoodie. He was talking to someone else… but then he wasn’t.

He was staring right back at me, mouth still open as if he’d stopped mid-syllable.

Our eyes locked. Oh, hell. I’d thought about him way more than I should have ever since we’d sat through those games back in October. And he was just as hot in jeans and a hoodie as he’d been in a suit. Fuck me. I was supposed to skate after laying eyes on him? Skate, and play hockey, and be the captain… how?

Thank God, a whistle broke the spell before I stared at him for a conspicuously long time.

I jerked my attention away from him and back to skating, and I couldn’t figure out why my heart was beating so fast as I joined my teammates by the whiteboard. What the hell? I shook myself and tried like hell to focus on the drill Coach Miller, our offensive coach, was describing.

Halfway through the description of the drill, I realized I’d been concentrating so hard on concentrating… I’d missed most of what he was saying. Fuck. That wasn’t good.

Lucky for me, the diagram he’d drawn on the board was a familiar one. I recognized this as a zone entry drill he ran us through frequently. Awesome—bullet dodged. He liked to break out completely new drills, though, so I’d damn well better pay attention for real next time.

I made it through the drills, thank God. Well, kind of. On the first run-through, I passed to Temo, and he clearly wasn’t ready for it. I knew I’d screwed up even before Coach Miller blew the whistle.