Claire
I was expecting this.
I just was expecting it sooner.
Smitty’s waited an entire week between my whirlwind start with Jackson on the road trip and today to find a time to corner me.
The whirlwind has continued, really, and I’ve had far less time with Jackson than I wanted.
Mostly because we slept that first day away, both of us exhausted by the game that ran long because of a shit-ton of penalties being called—on both teams—and a delayed flight on our return trip home. Then, the next morning, I had to zip over to Gran’s because she had a burst pipe.
Her basement was flooded, with sewage no less.
Thankfully, Jackson saved the day, stopping by with a plumber friend and taking Gran and me out to dinner once things were under control.
But the damage was…a lot.
And disgusting.
And so, Gran’s staying at my place.
I love it, love that I get this time with her, but between getting her necessary things to my apartment and cooking, cleaning, and setting her up in my guest room, I’ve barely had time for work.
Something that’s made harder with the obscenely busy game and practice schedule this week. It’s meant that Luc and I have been running around, and the guys working their asses off, and—
That I haven’t had a lot of time to do anything but sleep, soak in what little private time Jackson and I have had (minimal at best), and cram work into any available moment.
Well, anyway, I guess it’s not really a surprise that it’s taken a week for this conversation to take place.
“I texted you,” I say softly.
“Texts hide a lot of shit,” he mutters, eyes fixed on mine. “Are you really okay?”
“Frazzled. Busy as hell. Exhausted.” I sigh. “But happier than I’ve ever been. It’s like…well, like you said, practice makes perfect, and Jackson and I are working on perfect.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s been a week.”
“And sometimes that week is enough for you to know what’s very right and what’s very wrong in your life,” I tell him.
He scowls, but I see it.
The softening on the edges of his expression.
So, I give him what he needs to be at ease.
“I told you I was tired of being on the sidelines, but terrified to jump onto the field alone, terrified to let anyone in. Jackson”—this time my sigh is contented—“well, he makes me forget I was scared in the first place. I can’t say that it’s going to be all adorable puppies and rainbows now that we got our shit together, but I’m happy and excited to be out here living.
Silence.
His scowl deepening.
“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“I hate that I don’t have a chance to punch that smug fucker in the nose.”
“Liar,” I tease. “You’re upset we found our way to each other without you interfering and playing matchmaker.”
He waggles his brows. “Who says I didn’t?”
“What?”
“A pointed question in the locker room?” he asks archly. “Questioning whether he’s capable enough? Coaching you through the scary bits so that you were open to a new opportunity?” He sobers. “The asshole from the first date nearly fucked it all up, but luckily, I knew that Jackson had a white knight hidden beneath all that black armor.”
“You couldn’t have known all of that.”
He blows on his knuckles, buffs them on his shoulder. “Couldn’t I?”
“Now I know why Jackson tried to strangle you,” I grumble, pushing off the wall, intending to head back to my office.
“You heard about that?”
It’s my turn to waggle my brows. “I hear everything. I know all.”
A glare. “And you didn’t give your man an ass-chewing about hurting me?”
“You’re big.” I shrug, but I’m biting back a smile. “Plus, I know he didn’t really hurt you. For one,” I say, “he wouldn’t, and you know that as much as I do.”
He opens his mouth, but I keep talking.
“For another, both Kailey and Samantha”—his wife and my friend and the team’s head trainer, also my friend—“told me that you didn’t even have the tiniest bruise.”
“I did too.”
“Did not,” I say because I’m a child.
“Did too.”
I’m grinning, happier than ever, soul light, heart singing with joy.
Because I’m living, even if it’s to get into a silly, joking argument with my friend.
I rise up on tiptoe, press a kiss to his bearded cheek. “Did not.”
“Did—”
I drop back onto my heels. “Tell you what.”
“What?”
“Next time that Jackson tries to strangle you, I’ll make sure you don’t get a boo-boo.”
His lips twitch. “Rude.” A beat. “What about if I decide to strangle him?”
“You won’t,” I say. “Because you don’t like hurting people either.”
He opens his mouth.
“But you know,” I add in a hurry, knowing it has to be a hurry, otherwise I won’t get my words in over him, “all of this is because you helped me realize how much I’m missing by hiding in the shadows.”
“Clairey girl,” he rumbles, eyes gentle, voice soft. He reaches out to hug me.
I step back, my eyes stinging, but I ignore them.
Know that’s enough sappy for this early in the morning.
Otherwise I’ll be full watering pot.
“Plus,” I say, so sickeningly sweet that he smiles at me, just for a moment—
At least until the rest of my words process.
“—you know that if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you.”
Then his eyes widen.
And his mouth drops open.
And…I take advantage of having Smitty on his back foot for once, spinning on my heel, starting for my office and the work that waits for me there.
But I’m barely two feet away before my watch buzzes.
Stomach clenching, I glance down, worried it’ll be another crisis with Gran.
Thankfully, though, the message makes me smile.
It is from Gran.
But…it’s from the Gran of old telling me—
My heart leaps.
Living. We’re all starting to live again—me and Jackson and even, Gran…
Albeit with the aid of a little hockey player magic.
I smile and my phone buzzes again a heartbeat later with a message I know will be from Jackson.
“Smitty?” I ask, turning back, finding him still standing there, gaping at me like I’ve lost my mind—
Or maybe like I’ve finally found the courage to live my life.
“Yeah, Clairey girl?” he asks, sounding more than a bit befuddled.
Clairey girl, one.
Smitty bitty, zero. Or maybe a hundred, but—I mentally shrug—I’m not going to admit that.
I’m going to focus solely on battles from today.
Okay, on battles from the last thirty minutes.
Okay, on battles from this hallway in the last ninety seconds.
Winning.
“How do you feel about bingo?”