Hawke

Her hand stays steady at my back as I lift up straight, taking the towel in my own hand to hold it in place. She walks alongside me gingerly while I skate to the bench, which has an exit door on one end that will lead back to the locker room. A few of the players slap me on the shoulder as I walk past. Grant Izerman, a second-line defenseman yells out, “Get stitched up so you can come back out and kick his pansy ass.”

I can’t help but chuckle, because that’s exactly what I intend to do. A tiny cut sure as shit isn’t stopping me. Hell, I played with a fractured jaw three years ago for two periods, only accepting a face guard when the AT wouldn’t let me return to the ice without it.

It’s funny, even through the layers of my gear and thick sweater, I can actually feel the loss of Vale’s hand when it drops away so I can precede her through the exit door. I’ve been wanting to talk to her, not only to find out what she meant about loyalty to herself, but because I’ve been feeling increasingly guilty about the way I handled things with her.

I practically accosted her in my bathroom, knowing full well she had a boyfriend, then outed her to said boyfriend about the nature of our prior relationship, which I know put Vale in a bad situation. I don’t feel guilty about Todd, but I do feel guilty about Vale having to deal with the fallout. Even more so because I had purposefully set myself on a mission of not adding any more stress to her life right now. I had no fucking business touching her or demanding answers, because in the grand scheme of things, what does it fucking matter? Vale and I are over and there is nothing she could possibly say to me that will erase the pain, nor let me forget all the things I lost. I know I should just be happy with reconnecting with her and Dave, so that’s what I need to focus on. I need to let Vale be…let her get married to her toad of a boyfriend and have lots of little babies that hopefully look like Vale and who can play inside their white picket fence. This is something I need to do and let go of the other shit, and we’ll both be happier for it.

Vale slides past me, entering the locker room and heading over to the training/medical room set up for the visiting team. Our travel doc, Herman Collins, is waiting for me, having been watching the action from a TV feed back here.

“Up on the table,” he says briskly, and I watch with my one good eye as Vale starts unloading the necessary supplies from the travel case. I hop up onto the table, and in just under five minutes, Dr. Collins has my injury evaluated, lidocaine injected, and the cut closed with four stitches. The entire time, I watch Vale, who keeps her eyes solidly pinned on Dr. Collins’s hands as they work me.

I wait for her to give me a glance—not expecting any conversation due to the presence of Dr. Collins—but just something to show me what she might be feeling. I wait and wait for it, but it never comes. The minute the last suture is placed, Vale heads out of the locker room to get back to the ice.

—

The elevator door opens to the hotel lobby and I file out along with a few of the other players. We decided to hit up a local pizza joint that supposedly serves the world’s best deep-dish pies known to man, although I’m sure every Chicago pizza place boasts the same thing. We’re all buzzed after our final 4–2 victory, and despite the slight throbbing in the cut above my eye, I’m high on the win.

I’m heading out with Grant and Max, although a few of the other guys said they’d meet us up there. I imagine we’ll stuff our guts and then head somewhere for a few beers after.

As we head through the lobby, a small group of fans wearing Cold Fury jerseys waits for us, clamoring for autographs just before the large carousel door that leads outside. We stop and oblige, signing jerseys and scraps of paper. When I look up to the next woman waiting, my eyes slide past her face and into the restaurant that sits off the hotel lobby. I see Vale in there, eating a salad by herself and scanning something on her phone, which lies on the table beside her plate.

My eyes cut back to the fan in front of me, and I dutifully sign her jersey and pose for a picture. I do that three more times, each time not able to resist glances back at Vale as she eats in solitude.

When the last autograph is handed out, Max and Grant start for the door, but I stay pinned in place, indecisive. One more glance at Vale.

“Hey guys, I’ll catch up to you in a bit,” I call out, and they both turn to look at me inquisitively. “If I’m not there in fifteen, order without me.”

I wait for them to leave and then turn toward the restaurant. I’m sliding into the booth seat opposite Vale before she even notices me. Her head jerks up, and at first I don’t get even a hint of recognition, but then she breaks out into an easy smile that catches me off guard. I was quite sure I’d be getting daggers.

“Hey,” she says as she sets her fork down on her plate.

“Rabbit food for dinner?” I ask with a cut of my eyes down to her meal before looking back up at her again.

“Have to keep my girlish figure,” she quips.

I chuckle and stretch my legs out, making sure to spread them wide enough so they don’t touch her. I don’t think I could handle touching her.

She looks at me with vague curiosity and a touch of wariness. I decide to go ahead and put her totally at ease.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” I tell her with my eyes holding hers. “I shouldn’t have come on to you like that. Shouldn’t have been such an asshole and said those things.”

“Oh,” she murmurs in soft surprise, and I can see her shoulders relax a little.

“And I’m really sorry for outing us to Tad,” I say with what I hope is a charming smile.

She returns it hesitantly but says, “Todd.”

“Whatever. I’m sorry about that. I know it’s not stress you need right now.”

Vale’s eyes hold me for a moment, then drop to her plate. She picks up her fork, toys around with a piece of lettuce covered in blue cheese dressing. “Todd and I broke up Saturday night.”

“Oh, fuck,” I groan, actually sorry over the fact that I caused that. Well, wait…no, I’m not sorry, but I keep that to myself.

Her face raises and she gives me a smirk. “It wasn’t because of you.”

Hmmm…I don’t like that either. I kind of want to be the cause of her dumping the toad.

“Actually,” she says with sober eyes, “I just sort of realized he wasn’t the one.”

“Bad kisser, huh?” I say jokingly.

“Good kisser,” she says, and I wince internally. “But he proposed to me, and that sort of put things in perspective.”

My eyebrows raise sky high, as I had no clue things were that serious. “Proposed? As in bended knee, ring, and marriage?”

“Well, he sort of blurted it out in the parking lot of my apartment, but in fairness to him, I think he was nervous.”

For some reason, that makes me sad. Sad that a man that wanted someone like Vale to spend the rest of her life with him didn’t have the decency to make it good for her. This thought confuses me somewhat, because I’m not sure why Vale holds any vested interest for me. Outside of not wanting to cause her undue stress while she’s going through this stuff with Dave, I’m not sure why I’ve got some protective instincts rising within me.

Vale takes a stab at her salad and an idea strikes me. “Hey, you want to dump the roughage and come eat pizza with me and a few of the guys? We’re going to grab a few beers after to celebrate our victory.”