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Lynn’s words rang in Benjamin’s head throughout the next week.
Could she be right? Could his feelings of failure and inadequacy actually make him a better coach and mentor?
She didn’t badger him into making a decision. “All I ask is you think about it. Take a few days and get back to me when you’re ready.”
They finished their walk in quiet companionship and his turbulent emotions slowly calmed. The inner voice that had urged him to flee faded and by the time Oscar was in bed he was more than ready to accept Lynn’s slow, confident seduction.
Their lovemaking was always intense, but that evening he sensed something more. In every languorous touch and deliberate kiss, Lynn was sending a message. A message he couldn’t bear to interpret. Not yet.
To have her believe in him and then fail her, too, would be too much to take.
Home games on Tuesday and Wednesday and the road trip Friday and Saturday had prevented them from seeing each other since. That was the excuse he gave himself, anyway. He thought he caught a glimpse of her during one practice, yet when he looked again she wasn’t there. He couldn’t decide whether she was allowing him space or had given up on him. His fingers itched to dial her number. He didn’t.
He wished he had someone to talk to about his reluctance to do the mental health presentation, but the only person he wanted to talk to was Lynn. It was an ironically vicious circle that made his head ache.
The team arrived home early Sunday morning after the usual post-game, overnight bus ride. He passed out in his cold bed for a few hours, and then tossed a load of laundry into the wash and set aside what needed to go to the dry cleaners the next day. He opened the fridge, surveyed its meager contents—half a jar of jam, a stale loaf of bread, and a wilted head of lettuce—and shut it again. Pacing to the door that opened onto the tiny outdoor deck, he gripped the chilly railing and scowled out over the roof of the shopping complex below. The air took nippy bites out of his skin through the thin material of his T-shirt. He bore it as long as he could but it soon forced him back into his soulless apartment.
Much like his office at the arena, he had spent no time making his home feel lived in. A copy of his parents’ wedding photo hung on the wall but nothing else broke up the beige expanse. A dark grey sofa was placed under the photo, across from the television that he barely used, and a dinette table was tucked against the wall in front of the peninsula counter. He’d bought those three items, as well as his bedroom furniture, on a quick afternoon shopping trip the day he’d arrived in town.
He doubted it would take much more than four hours to erase all evidence he’d ever lived there. God, he was tired of living as if the axe was about to fall.
Before he could second guess himself he pulled out his cellphone and tapped to connect to Lynn. She answered after one ring.
“Hi!” Just that single syllable released a coil of tension he hadn’t realized was there. “Congrats on the road trip.”
Her recognition of the Canyon Cats winning streak was gratifying, but not what he wanted to talk about now. “Thanks.” His breathing was shallow, his pulse thready. Why was this so hard to do? “Uhm, I was wondering. Would you and Oscar like to come for dinner tonight?”
“To your apartment, you mean?” He deserved the shock in her tone. They’d been sleeping together for more than a month and he had never invited her over, let alone suggested a family meal.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “To my apartment. I’m cooking. What would Oscar like?”
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LYNN PULLED OFF HER glove with her teeth and tapped the apartment entry system screen. Oscar was perched on her hip, his diaper bag slung over her shoulder. A carload of supplies waited to be unpacked, but she’d never make it in one trip.
Benjamin’s face appeared on the screen and her mouth curled to match his wide smile. “Hi. Come on up.” The lock clicked and she pushed through. The apartment building was a newer one that had yet to become redolent of cleaning solutions and cooking smells, with a shiny tile lobby and a wall of glittering mailboxes. In the elevator she let Oscar press the button for the fifth floor, reminded herself to wash his hands the first chance she got, and watched the numbers click upward, butterflies dancing in her belly.
The doors slid open and she stepped out. Benjamin appeared at the far end of the hall, striding toward her and Oscar, his smile undimmed.
“Hey.” He lay a gentle kiss on her lips and then plucked Oscar from her arms. Her son went willingly. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
She followed him into his apartment. His invitation had come as a complete surprise, and she had no idea what it might foreshadow. Though he’d welcomed her at his mother’s for Christmas, that had still been one step removed from his own life. Tonight had to mean something, if nothing more than he’d forgiven her for putting him on the spot by suggesting the mental health workshop.
He tugged off Oscar’s boots, set him down, and then removed his tiny jacket. Her son stood wide-eyed, absorbing the new space. “Let me take your coat.”
She shook her head. “I have to get his highchair from the car.”
“Give me your keys. I’ll get it.” He held out his hand. “It’s probably better if you stay with Oscar, anyway. He might not be happy with just me.”
Her son toddled into the living room. “Okay. Thanks.” She didn’t mention the portable playpen she’d brought. Benjamin wouldn’t know what was in the black carrying case, and if things turned out differently than she hoped he didn’t need to know she’d brought it along. She explained where she was parked and he hurried away.
Toeing off her boots, she left them on the mat by the door, and then stepped deeper into the apartment. It was open concept, with a kitchen to her left, living room directly ahead, and a door and window looking out over a miniscule deck. The kitchen was well lit and airy, despite the dark January afternoon, with stainless steel appliances and faux stone surfaces. Savoury scents emanated from the oven and the counter was cluttered with clean but not yet put away prep dishes.
Despite the homey, lived-in appearance of the kitchen, the rest of the apartment was bare and cold. Not one knickknack or memento was displayed on the built-in shelving and the single framed photo on the wall only served to punctuate the overall barrenness.
Oscar had discovered a small crate placed on the floor between the wall-mounted television and the sofa. He was emptying it out with determination, and her heart clutched.
Toys. Benjamin had bought her son toys. To have at his apartment.
She was in so much trouble.
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BENJAMIN STARED AT the door of his own apartment, folded highchair gripped in his tense fingers and held in front of him like a shield. The hall was silent, the soundproofing doing its job, and for a minute he felt the panicked certainty that Lynn and Oscar had left.
Since he had her car keys, he was being an idiot.
Rolling his shoulders, he opened the door. Oscar’s giggles danced to greet him. Lynn sat next to him on the floor, driving a truck over his legs and up his belly, making a growling sound he assumed was her attempt at a motor. The toys he’d bought that afternoon while getting groceries were scattered about. From the oven, the roast with vegetables he’d put in an hour ago smelled just the way his mom used to make it.
Lynn looked up and grinned. His lungs squeezed at the warmth and welcome in her eyes, his heart suddenly taking up more space in his chest than usual. He smiled back, hoping he didn’t look as strained as he felt. He really, really wanted this evening to go well. He wanted to prove to Lynn he was trying—trying to make her a part of his world, trying to work through his ingrained habit of running when the going got tough.
“Here, let me get that.” She clambered to her feet and took the highchair from him. “There’s a knack to opening it.”
“Would you like some wine? Dinner won’t be much longer.” He moved into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and took down the two wineglasses he’d also bought today. While he had the basic dishware essential to bachelor life, his stock hadn’t run to crystal.
“Love some.” She deftly clicked latches and pressed levers and flipped her wrist and the highchair unfolded. Before she’d arrived, he’d moved one of the dining chairs from the four-top table to make room for it, and she slid it into the waiting space.
“I have to ask.” Keeping an eye on Oscar, still fascinated by the new toys, she reached across the counter and accepted the glass he gave her. “Why? Why did you invite us over?”
He’d planned for this question. While he wasn’t ready to admit his deeper, personal reasons, he could give her an answer she’d accept. “I wanted to talk more about the White Spruce Mental Wellness presentation. I’ve decided I’ll do it.”
While he hadn’t expected her to jump for joy, he had thought he’d get more of a response than a low, humming acknowledgment. She sipped her drink, pale blue eyes direct and candid, her expression mildly encouraging. “That’s good news. But I don’t want you to do it because you feel pressured. I didn’t realize when I asked that it might be distasteful to you. The last thing I want to do is add more stress to your life. Not for something like this.”
He joined her on the other side of the counter, leaning his hips against it. She shifted and he felt her gaze on his profile. “I think I have to. Raising the issue made me face things I haven’t thought of in a long time. It has given me a different perspective on my career.” Not that he’d accepted his failures. But he was beginning to believe they might not be as bad as he’d always thought.
“Good for you.” She shifted again, this time mirroring his stance with her back to the counter, and laid her head on his shoulder. The flowery scent of her shampoo curled into his nostrils and he gave into the urge to rest his cheek on her head.
For a moment they stood in silence as Oscar crawled around the living room, babbling to his new toys and appearing completely at home. The ache in Benjamin’s chest intensified until he wondered if he was having a heart attack like his father had. An emotion he couldn’t identify bubbled and churned and threatened to overwhelm him.
He opened his mouth, preparing to jump off the deep end and tell Lynn a few of the thoughts racing through his brain. The beeping of the oven timer interrupted him before he could speak.
Not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, he rubbed his chin on her skull and straightened off the counter. “Dinner’s ready. Want to help me set the table?”