Alex

Kyle shrugs out of his captors’ holds and walks out of the locker room. I turn to grab my gloves off the bench and Garrett claps me on the shoulder. “You stood up for me, man. I think I’m going to cry.”

Knocking his hand off my shoulder, I glare at him. “Shut the f**k up,” I say, but then I follow it with a grin. “You might make me cry.”

We laugh all the way out onto the ice for our warm-up.

***

She picks up after the first ring, as if she’s been waiting for my call, and that knowledge burns nicely right in the center of my chest.

“You. Kicked. Ass. Tonight!” she yells so loudly, I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

Yeah, I did kick ass. Two assists during regulation and I scored the tiebreaker in overtime, averting the need for a shootout. When the puck cleared the goalie’s left shoulder, I had my arms lifted in victory even before the red light went on. My teammates came hurtling out of nowhere, throwing their arms around me in celebration, the entire pile of us eventually crashing to the ice in a hodgepodge of arms, legs and hockey sticks. The smile on my face was a mile f**king wide, and I knew the camera was on me…showing Sutton that smile.

I don’t even know what to say about her praise, actually a bit embarrassed by her exuberance.

“You should have seen your face, Alex,” she murmurs into the phone. “After you scored that goal. It looked like the sun had just risen for you.”

Her words punch me in the gut and my chest constricts. That’s exactly how it felt: like a brand-new sunrise, and I know that’s exactly what my face reflected. That she understood that…that she got me. That’s what punched me in the gut.

“That’s about how I felt,” I admit to her. “It felt amazing.”

“I’m glad,” she tells me sincerely. “Someone as amazing as you deserves to feel that way about yourself.”

Wham!

Another punch…another painful squeeze to my chest. Is it supposed to hurt in this pleasurable way when someone shows care for you? I’m not sure, because this is all an unknown to me.

“How is it that you make me feel so good about myself? About what I do? Christ, Sutton, I think I’ve smiled more in the short time I’ve known you than I have my entire life.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, “I think I’ve smiled more than normal too since meeting you. It’s a two-way street.”

I know it gets brighter in my room because her words make me f**king grin like an idiot. Settling back into the pillows on my bed, I say, “So…tell me about your day.”

“It wasn’t as exciting as your day, that’s for sure. Actually…I have a difficult case…a young girl who’s really struggling to stay away from meth. Her parents are both addicts and the drug is within easy reach. I spent a lot of time talking to her today.”

Whistling through my teeth, I say, “It’s just unfathomable to me, really. That parents would have that stuff in the house.”

“Hell, her mom offered to do it with her,” she seethes into the phone.

“What the hell? She needs to be removed from that home,” I growl into the phone.

Sutton sighs wearily. “She turned eighteen a few months ago, and as an adult, she’s beyond the help of social services. All I can do is counsel her, urge her to stay strong. I’m trying to get her to join one of our support groups, but she’s resisting.”

“Do you see this a lot?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer I’m pretty sure is coming.

“Unfortunately, I do. But I see a lot of happy endings too. I’ve been able to help some kids through.”

I think of my own craptastic childhood with an alcoholic father who abused his son under the guise of teaching him to play hockey. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like anyone could see what was going on. My father’s abuse was varied but well played. He bruised me only where it wouldn’t show, and no one ever saw his brutal drills that went into the early morning hours and had me collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration. No, there was nothing classic that would raise a single teacher’s or coach’s eyebrow when it came to me. In fact, John Crossman put on such an affable attitude around others, no one would believe in a million years he would run his young son into the ground in order to develop him into a machine.

What would I have done if I’d had a resource like Sutton when I was younger? Would I have listened to her advice? Her teachings? Would it have helped to have someone to vent to? To know there was someone who had my back?

I have to think the answer is yes. I think I would have responded well to someone like Sutton, because let’s face it, I’m responding pretty f**king fantastically to her right now.

“I have faith in you,” I tell her. “If anyone can reach her, it’s you.”

“Yeah? Why so much faith in me?” she teases.

“Because you reached this crusty bastard,” I tell her with a laugh. “You accomplished practically the impossible with me.”

“You’re such a sweet talker.”

“Yeah…so not a sweet talker, not normally. I guess you inspire the best in me.”

She laughs softly into the phone and I want to immerse myself in the sound. I wonder if she laughs like that just with me—that smoky, rich sort of laugh that comes from a true delight deep down inside of a sexy-as-hell woman. It makes me remember something that I had pushed to the back of my mind, but now surfaces again.