Page 107 of Cross Check

The restaurant was backed up with orders, it took an extra twenty minutes to get my food, and I hit every red light on my way to the Washington Monument. By the time I jog up to the landmark, I half expect Amelia to have left.

“You’re still here,” I say, out of breath when I spot her sitting in the grass. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“I would do a lot of unspeakable things for food.” She stands and looks at the bags in my hands. “Can I help you carry something?”

“I got it. We’re going to follow the Reflecting Pool to those trees over there.”

“Speaking of Reflecting Pools, remember when you saved me from falling in?” Amelia grins. “Feels like yesterday.”

“Just doing my part as a concerned citizen.” I match her smile. “My hands might be full, but I’m ready to catch you again if needed.”

We talk on the short walk. I listen to her share about their practice earlier this afternoon, and I mention I’m sore from our weightlifting session. We find the spot I like and I set the bags down, unfolding the blanket over the grass.

“I’m surprised you’re comfortable going out in public like this,” she says. “You’re a Stanley Cup champion in a city that loves hockey. Aren’t you afraid someone is going to recognize you?”

“I have my hat and sunglasses, and I don’t wear any Stars gear. It also helps that I’m on the shorter side without any noticeable tattoos.” I put a rock on each corner of the blanket to keep it from blowing away with the spring breeze. “I’m good, but I’m not a superstar. If someone saw me, I’d be a double or triple take kind of person. The ‘huh, why does he look familiar?’ guy.”

“Then it hits them that you’re Grant Everett, the hockey player, not some C-list celebrity hoping for his fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Exactly.” I sit on the blanket and gesture to the empty space across from me. “I like being on the cusp of anonymity. I can go places without being noticed while Maverick and Liam get mobbed whenever they’re in public. I can’t imagine how exhausting that must be.”

“In a few years, that will be you.” She peers in the bag and pulls out some items. “Holy crap. You went all out.”

“Overboard for sure, but there are worse things in life than having too much pasta.”

“Carbs are my love language.” Amelia unwraps the garlic bread and pulls off a piece. “I’d hate to ever give them up.”

“What about the idea of pasta bread?” I steal the loaf from her and take a piece for myself. “You bake the bread with a serving of pasta on top of it.”

“I’d be in heaven. How do we patent this immediately?”

I laugh and pull out two entree dishes. “Fettuccini Alfredo for you. With extra parmesan.”

“Thank you very much.” She discards the plastic top and lets out a low groan I do my best to ignore. “My life is now complete.”

“Don’t eat all of it. I want a bite.”

“Stick to your spaghetti and ranch, you weirdo.” Amelia slurps down a forkful of noodles. “How are you feeling about the end of the season?”

“There’s a lot of pressure on us to repeat as champions, but we’re staying in the groove and focusing on what we can control.” I take the top off the plastic container housing my ranch dressing. I bite back a grin when she wrinkles her nose. “One of these days we’ll go against y’all in the playoffs.”

“Maybe this year. Maybe next year. Maybe not ever. When we do—and the Goldminers win—I hope you’re prepared for me to brag for ages.”

“She becomes an associate coach, takes her team on a nine-game win streak to end the year, and gets cocky all of a sudden. Whatever happened to that humble woman who had some self-doubt?”

“She’s gone.” Amelia pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth. “You helped with that.”

“I did?” My eyebrows pull tight, and I frown at her. “How?”

“You encouraged me. You showed me that men outside of my very close circle can and will support me. You make me feel valued and worthy, and your friendship means a lot to me.”

Compliments are a natural part of being a professional athlete. When you get your ass kissed enough times, you start to think you’re a god. I hear it from all sides—Coach Saunders; my teammates after I make the extra pass to set up a goal; Hannah and my parents; my agent, who sees the sponsorship opportunities that come in.

Amelia is different. She always has been. There’s no bullshit with her. If she says it, it’s true, and I didn’t know how much I was missing out on until hearing what our friendship means to her.

But, fuck.

Friendship is hard.