Page 34 of Blue Line

“I’m just saying.”

“Don’t just say,” I grind out. “Are we going to skate or stand around and gossip like old people? Or are you tired, old man? Need a break?”

I know I’m changing the subject abruptly, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t need anyone analyzing why I’m doing it, and if there’s anyone who’s going to figure out the real reason, it’s Brody. He can read people, on and off the ice, extremely well. That’s what made him a top point leader in the league and a future Hall of Famer, and that’s what makes him a great assistant coach. The last thing I need right now is him asking too many questions.

He shoves me. “I might be retired, but I’ve still got it.”

“Sure.” I skate away, moving in front of the net, grateful that he’s letting the subject of my fake engagement go. “Let’s see if you can get the puck around me.”

“You’re on.”

We spend the next two hours running drills until both of us are sweating and out of breath, and my legs feel like lead.

“I should probably get home to Aubs,” he says when we make it back to the bench.

I nod, once again feeling the pang of sadness at being left behind while my friends start families of their own, and I’m left with no one. Hadley’s face pops into my mind, and I’m grateful that at least right now I do have someone. I have her. Even if it is fake.

I’m sure she’s wondering where I am. Or maybe she’s not. But either way, I should go too. I need to tell her what I told Sutton and Hunter about our relationship. I can only hope she hasn’t told anyone anything different.

“You can’t tell anyone about what we discussed before. Not even Aubrey,” I tell Brody.

He shakes his head. “I can’t not tell Aubs. We tell each other everything. I am not keeping this secret from my wife, my very pregnant and hormonal—although don’t tell her I said that—wife.”

I get it. I do. I wouldn’t want my spouse keeping secrets from me.

“Fine. But no further. She can’t tell anyone.”

“Scouts honor.” He holds up two fingers.

I snort. “Were you even in the Scouts?”

“No, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”

We collect the pucks strewn about the ice before heading to the locker rooms.

I check my phone, but don’t have any missed calls or texts from Hadley. And then it hits me—we never exchanged numbers. That has me hurrying through a shower and quickly changing my clothes so I can get home to her.

Chapter thirteen

Hadley

Shit. Shit. Shit. All I wanted to do was make Weston a nice meal to thank him for, well, everything, and I went and burned the chicken. I’m usually a fine cook. I can’t make anything fancy, but everything tastes good and isn’t burnt. But not today, apparently.

I glare at the oven, although it’s not the oven’s fault. It’s mine. I forgot to set a timer and then got caught up tweaking my portfolio and resume. What was supposed to take ten minutes took over an hour, which meant burning dinner because I was so focused on my task and forgot I had something cooking. It also had me second-guessing every photo I’ve ever taken and thought was good, because maybe they’re not that great. Maybe I can’t land a job because I’m not a good photographer.

I should probably go to the grocery store and grab something else for dinner, but at that moment, the front door opens.

“Honey, I’m home,” Weston yells.

Fuck.

“Hi, fiancée,” he greets me when he walks into the kitchen. “What is … oh.” He steps closer to me, peering down at the burnt chicken and vegetables on the pan. “I’ll eat pretty much anything, but I think that’s a little much.”

“Sorry,” I huff out. “I fucked up and forgot to set a timer.” Tears well in the corner of my eyes, and I roughly run my hand over my face to get rid of them. I whirl around and pull the garbage can out so I can scrape the burnt food into it. “I’ll run to Publix and grab a rotisserie chicken and a bag or two of frozen vegetables.”

“Hadley?”

“I fucking ruined dinner,” I snap, scraping at the pan with the spatula so aggressively that pieces of burnt carrots and broccoli go flying onto the floor. “For fuck’s sake.”