Page 120 of Face Off With Fate

Graciella was already looking back.

We didn’t say a thing, yet that shared look felt like an entire conversation.

The doors at the far end of the rink swung open, and laughter bounced off the ice.

My hand stilled against my daughter’s back.

“Well, well, well,” Graciella said, stepping onto the rubber matting at the rink’s edge, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. “What do we have here?”

“Gracie!” Goldie was off my lap before I could blink, latching onto Graciella’s leg. “Daddy’s going to play hockey today with the boys.”

“He is? Does insurance know there’s a geriatric man attempting to go out on the ice? Feels like a hazard risk.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m quite capable,” I said, holding her gaze.

The corner of her mouth twitched. She knew exactly what I was referencing.

“Gracie, will you play with me?” Goldie tugged at her leg. “Daddy says I have to be here until Nana comes, but I’m bored.”

I pushed up from the bench and moved toward them.

“Bored? I thought you liked watching me play?” I scooped her up, tossing her high enough that her laugh pitched into a shriek before I caught her. “I don’t think Gracie is here to entertain you, Golds. Go with Jimenez. He’ll get you snacks.”

She whipped her head to him so fast I was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “Can we get snacks from the secret place?”

“Of course, mija.” Jimenez waved her over. “That’s the only place to get the good stuff.”

They disappeared toward the locker room corridor, Goldie’s hand swallowed up in Jimenez’s, her little voice rattling off a list of demands.

And then it was just us.

Well, close enough. The guys were filing out onto the ice, and the scrape of blades and warm-up chatter filled the rink around us. But nobody was paying attention to Graciella and me standing by the boards.

“Where’s the secret place?” she asked.

“Thatcher’s locker.” I smirked. “He stocks it with her favorites specifically for when those two go rifling through his stuff.”

Graciella shook her head. “That girl has got us all wrapped around her finger, huh?”

“She’s not the only one.”

Her eyes caught mine, pink blooming across the apples of her cheeks, and she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You know…” Her gaze dropped to my jersey before sliding back up, the corner of her mouth curving up. “I kinda wish this were a sport where you could play shirts versus skins.”

“Oh yeah? And which team would you put me on, Trouble?”

She reached out and curled one finger into the fabric at my collar, tugging it down an inch. It didn’t reveal much, just the edge of the padding underneath, but the air between us thickened.

She flicked her eyes back to mine. My next breath came out a little shallower.

“Shirts.”

My hand wrapped around her wrist before she could pull away. I was already a head taller than her in bare feet, and on skates, I had to fold myself nearly in half to get close to her ear.

“I have it on good authority,” I said, keeping my voice low, “that you very much like seeing me without a shirt.” I felt her breath catch. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you had a lot to say about it. Right before I cooked you pancakes.”

She stepped back half a step, eyes cutting sideways to scan the rink.