Page 3 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Tim gave her a long look and then slammed through the back door into the house.
Then she turned to me, her eyes flashing with accusation, and I knew I’d have hell to pay.
“I’m sorry—”
“For what? For eavesdropping on a private conversation? Or for leaving without a backward glance three years ago?”
Ouch. “I’m sorry on both counts.”
“Apology accepted for count one.”
I moved close to her, watching her heave cloudy puffs of air into the cold night.
“What about count two? What do I need to do to get you to forgive me for that?”
“I’m not sure, Brady.”
My chest tightened. The words struck me and I felt as if he might shatter like ice in spite of knowing the truth all along. In spite of not knowing I still cared so much. Or not allowing myself to acknowledge the empty pit that had once been my love-filled heart.
“It’s cold out here,” I said. Not that I cared.
“Let’s go inside. My mom will be thrilled to see you.” She paused a beat, softening, “And you look like you could use a hug.”
“I could. But not from your mother. Not yet.” I looked around in the direction of the detached garage. “You still got the net and some sticks?”
“You know we do. Want to shoot pucks?” She spoke like we were still neighbors and I’d stopped by. The tightness in my chest eased.
“That would be groovy,” I said. Our old inside joke. She smiled, the smile I’d seen in my dreams ever since I’d left her behind. I reached out a hand because I was indulging myself and took hers.
Miraculously, she didn’t pull away as I led her down to the driveway. Her hand felt cold in mine and I wanted to warm her up. Needed to warm her hand and her heart, needed to have a shot at having her back.
There it was. The urgent need blasted through the blockade I’d erected to protect my chicken shit heart. I was so bad I couldn’t even feel shame about my emotional cowardice, though I knew I should. She knew it too. I let go of her and she opened the garage door, then dragged the net outside. I grabbed two sticks from the rack where they’d always been and a couple of pucks from the bucket.
“Are these pucks the originals we slapped around a dozen years ago?” I held one up. It had a chunk missing and I could swear I remembered the night it happened. Another angry late-night puck shooting session. I’d come over to the Rizzo’s’ because I couldn’t stand staying at home with my old man. My drunk old man.
“Forget about it, Brady.” My eyes snapped to hers and I could swear she’d read my mind. “Drop the puck. Let me shoot a few at you. Might help me get over my complex about being deserted.”
I laughed because she gave me a wry smile. It was all I could do not to close the distance between us and hold her, feel her warmth against me. But since I wasn’t so sure about the warmth, I dropped the puck and passed it to her. She caught the pass and one-timed it past me without missing a beat, right into the back of the net.
I let out a whistle. “We could use a shot like you on the team. What are you doing next week?”
She laughed and banged her stick on the ground. “I’m just getting started.”
Grinning, I dug the puck from the net and passed it back to her. But this time I wasn’t going to stand around and watch. I moved in to play defense and deflected her shot in a lightning move to make it miss the net.
“Since when do you play defense?”
“I’ve always been on the defensive. Didn’t you know? According to all the psychologists, I have defensive defiance disorder.” She made a face at me, trying to keep it light. But God help me, I moved closer, because nothing tempted me more than Angela joking around, teasing and playful.
I reached her and dropped my stick, then took hers from her hand.
“What are you doing, Brady?” Her words sounded more breathless than wary and that sent a shot of something hot and urgent through me. I put a hand on her arm, then pulled her with me back to the garage.
“It’s too cold out here. Let’s go inside the garage.” I took her inside the open door and she came with only the smallest bit of reluctance.
“You’re not cold. I know you. You’ve never let the cold bother you all your life.”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
