Page 117 of Icebound

“Why are you staring at your beet salad like you want to kill it?” Wyn’s voice breaks me out of my jealous thoughts. I can’t stop imagining Nina with that guy.

Kissing him. I stab a beet on my plate. Laughing with him. I spear another one. Fucking him.

“Ro?”

I snap my neck up. “What?”

She twirls her fork in the air. “You’re giving your beets murder eyes. Why? I thought you liked beets.” She glances at her phone and drops her fork. It clatters to her plate. “Oh, I forgot!”

She scoots back from the chair, grabbing her purse. I launch out of my seat. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She gulps down her water and then slams the glass on the tablecloth. “I totally forgot that I have to teach a golf lesson. I have to go. You should stay and talk, though. Finish lunch with Dad.”

First Nina and now this?

I narrow my eyes. “Did you really forget you had a golf lesson?”

It would be just like her to meddle and force my father and me into spending time together. She hooks her purse over her shoulder. “No, I really do have a golf lesson that I forgot about. You two have fun. I’ll get a ride. Stay.” She kisses our father’s cheek. “Bye, Dad.”

“I can drive you,” I offer, standing.

“No. Sit back down. I said stay,” she commands. “Talk. Be together. Enjoy.”

Yeah, she planned this and the Nina thing. Wyn dodges through waiters until she’s outside, leaving a big pile of awkwardness for me to clean up. My father stuffs a beet into his mouth. I do the same. We finish chewing and then dab our lips with napkins.

He nods to my arm. “So, how’s the shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“That’s great.”

“Thanks.”

As I slip into my default one-word answers, Nina’s advice rings in my head. Maybe she’s right. Morgan’s going to be in my life, so I should try harder with him. Another jab shoots through me at the thought of her with that asshole, but I clear my throat, adding to our conversation.

“Well, my shoulder isn’t good, but it’s healing. I’ve been going to practices, and our backup goalie’s playing pretty well. Really well, actually. Feels like I’m passing on the torch in a way.”

Smithy won’t stop smiling now that he’s been handed the opportunity to prove himself as our goalie, and I can’t blame him. He practically came in his pants when Coach told him he’d be taking over the net.

My father sips his water. “Do you think you’ll be back next season, or are you still thinking of retiring when your contract’s up?”

I give my father the one-liner I tell everyone except Nina. “I’ve thought about it, but the team’s counting on me, so I have to come back next season.”

I flex my arm, gauging the pain. Not too bad today. I’ve been watching all their practices from the bench, and we won the last game with Smithy in the net. It was a blow to realize they don’t need me as much as I thought, but it’s also somewhat of a relief. To be honest, it’s nice to know Smithy can carry the team once I’m gone.

Less pressure on me.

“Have you talked to anyone about this decision?” Morgan asks.

“Yeah, last week I spoke with one of our sports therapists.”

“What did they say?”

“He said my pride’s holding me back from leaving the League because all the media bullshit made me want to prove everyone wrong. Classic athlete stuff.”

He might be right. I don’t want some journalist forcing my hand, and deep down, I’m nervous about what life without the League means, but the therapist made a good point.

So many players find fulfillment outside hockey. Mueller went on to become a world-famous poker player. Not that I want that life, but I’d finally have time to explore other passions.