Page 71 of The Do-Over Girl

“Don’t jinx it,” Nash says as he concentrates on his food, looking like he wants to marry the turkey.

“After the holidays, your schedule is easy,” Steve says, “and you can coast to the finish line. Then all you have is the state tournament to win.”

“We have the Save APA benefit game to play before the tournament,” Nash points out, waving his fork, laden with a hunk of turkey. “Don’t forget I have to survive that.”

“You aren’t nervous, are you?” Steve asks, incredulous. I glare at him to not go there—too late.

Nash studies his food, shoves a pile of stuffing in his mouth, and gives Steve a steely-eyed stare. When he’s finished chewing, he says, “Why the—” he darts a glance at Charline and continues, “Why would I be nervous? Except for the old guys—and before you say it, I want to point out I’m the youngest of the former NHL players on the team.”

“Then what’s there to survive?” Steve digs in, the former journalist in him reappearing at the wrong time. I try kicking him under the table, but the table is too wide, lucky for him.

Nash stares at him, not eating and not speaking for a couple of beats while we all wait for his answer. I dread it.

“Injury,” he finally says, and then spears another piece of turkey with his fork and shoves it in his mouth.

A change of subject is in order. “This gravy is so good, Charline. You obviously made it from scratch.”

“Of course I did.”

“I wish you would’ve let me help you in the kitchen.”

“You would only have gotten in my way. I’ve been doing this too many years on my own to start training help now.”

Later, when we’re in bed, I trail my fingers along Nash’s shoulder and work up the courage to ask him about his injury.

“If you’re worried about an injury, why play in the game, Nash?”

“I’m not worried. I’m playing in the game because I’m a fucking hockey player, and I miss it. It’s worth whatever the risk is—which is small.”

He turns on his side and caresses my face with one hand. “Don’t you worry about it either. Nothing but here and now and making the most out of every moment, every experience.”

He kisses me to seal the deal, and I let myself drown in the overwhelming joy of our moment.

“How’s your book going?” he asks when he settles back on his pillow.

As far as changes of subject go, I can’t argue with this one, so I tell him all about it. And he listens with the intensity of a man who’s truly interested.

* * *

Christmas comesand goes with snow and festivities and an exchange of the only gift we agreed to give each other—a kiss at midnight on Christmas Eve. Nash went to Florida to see his parents Christmas day, and even if he’d invited me, I made it clear I wasn’t about to leave Charline alone. Steve went to Boston to celebrate with his family and gave Nash a ride to Logan Airport.

Charline and I joined Nikki and her husband and kids for dinner, and nothing could’ve been more festive than sharing Christmas with three children ages five to ten.

It almost made me wistful.

“Merry Christmas, Kali,” Nash says Christmas night. I hear the unspoken, I miss you, whether I should or not.

“I miss you,” I tell him, whether he likes it or not.

“Of course you do,” he says. I laugh.

“How were Nikki’s kids?”

“Over-excited to the point of rambunctious—and delightful. It was so much fun to watch them open gifts with all their energy and joy.” I sigh before I catch myself.

“Sounds like your Christmas day was more fun than mine—not that I have anything against my parents. It was good to see them—even if they did fall asleep watching a hockey game.”

I laugh. “When will you be back?” He left his trip open-ended because he hadn’t seen his parents in a while.