Page 47 of Checking from Behind

"Good. Now go home to your hot as hell hockey player."

I laughed as I walked over to my car and climbed in. I drove home with the windows cracked a little, the cool November air hitting my face. When I pulled into my driveway, Marshall's truck was parked at his house, and I noticed something on my front porch.

I got out of my car and walked up the steps of my porch and saw a brown paper bag from a pet supply store. A yellow ribbon tied the handles together. When I grabbed it, I saw a yellow post-it note stuck to the front. I pulled the note off the bag and read it.

For Cooper, all-natural duck jerky because he deserves it. M.

I opened the bag to see a pile of jerky inside. I smiled as my chest ached in the best way. The man had bought treats for Cooper. It was such a small thing, and it undid me more than any grand gesture could have done. I pulled out my phone and quickly texted him.

Lillah: Thank you. Cooper says you're his favorite human.

Immediately my phone vibrated.

Marshall: Tell Cooper he is my favorite dog. Now, you can come on over; I rented a movie. Bring Cooper.

I went inside and quickly fed Cooper while I changed into leggings and a sweatshirt. Then I clipped Cooper's leash on, and we walked over to Marshall's. I was about to raise my hand to knock when the door opened and Marshall stood there. He'd been watching us as we walked over.

Cooper bounded in through the door, and Marshall let out a whistle, catching his attention. When Cooper turned to look at us, Marshall held up a piece of jerky and threw it to Cooper, who caught it midair.

"Show off." Marshall chuckled.

I laughed as we settled on his couch, Cooper at my feet eating his jerky. I tucked myself against Marshall's side, my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me, and pulled me against him, kissing my forehead.

Marshall had chosen an action movie, one with lots of explosions and a plot that I was having a hard time following, partly because I wasn't paying any attention. Marshall had his hand in my hair, his fingers working through the strands in slow passes, his thumb tracing circles on my scalp while I lay with my head in his lap. The warmth of his hand moved down my body, heavy and grounding.

Halfway through the movie, I looked up at him. He was watching the screen, his jaw relaxed and his breathing easy. No tension in his shoulders or face. He looked like a man exactly where he wanted to be. On the couch with his girl and her dog.

"Hey." I said, placing my hand on the back of his.

He looked down at me and smiled. "Hey."

"I'm happy." I said as I studied his eyes.

His arm tightened around me, and he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.

"Good. I'm happy too."

When the movie was over, we made our way to the bedroom. Cooper took his spot on the floor beside the bed, where Marshall had placed a large dog bed for him without being asked. He hadn't even told me he'd done it; one night, it appeared.

I crawled under the covers and moved into the center of the bed, Marshall pulling me against him, his arm around my waist with his chest warm against my back. I lay there in the dark, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, and I thought about what Mila had said.

Alone isn't the goal. The goal always was to allow yourself to get strong enough to let someone in without losing yourself.

She was right. I had done the work. I'd rebuilt, gone to therapy, shed so many tears I thought I'd never be able to cry again, and had mornings where getting out of bed was the hardest thing I'd done in my life. I'd earned this. I'd given myself strength, and it wasn't diminished by allowing someone in. It completed it.

For the first time, I fell asleep with my jaw unclenched, without checking the locks three times. I fell asleep feeling safe and warm in his arms.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MARSHALL

I wasn't sure I would ever get used to reading about myself on the internet. Three articles had been published in the last week. One was from a Boston Sports Blog, "Hayes Leading the Enforcers' Playoff Charge". Then there was a thorough analysis of my stats and where I was going with the team. There was another article from a national outlet that was running a feature of this season's top rookies, and my name was in the second paragraph. They also included a photo of me in mid-celebration after my goal against Tampa. There was also another piece from a hockey analytics site that broke down my skating speed, shot accuracy, zone entries, and on-ice impact using metrics that I barely understood.

I sat at the island in the kitchen eating scrambled eggs while I scrolled through each of the articles. I'd worked for this, to see my name in articles, written by other people. But I wasn't used to being looked at, and it made me uncomfortable. Back home, before hockey, no one cared who I was or what I did as long as you showed up and did the work. Your handshake and your follow-through measured you, not your follower count or your analytics. Here it was different. People had their opinions of me, and I'd never met or spoken to them. They were strangers, and they were writing articles about my career and my future as if they knew me.

Jeremy had warned me about this when I first arrived. I still remember when he leaned over to me while we were having dinner after practice, one of my first nights here.

"The attention is coming, Hayes. You're too good for it not to, and when it does, enjoy it. It will feel weird at first. When it's good, enjoy it, and when it's bad, because there will be bad, ignore it and never ever read the comments."