"It was the worst fucking moment of my life. And it haunts me every single day. It's always there. And it makes me feel like an asshole. Because if that's how it feels for me, I can't even imagine how much worse it is for him."
Holly knew the chain of events, of course. She'd watched the career-ending hit. And the aftermath. But hearing Luke tell his story, to actually see his pain, still so close to the surface, it made her heart bleed.
And all she could do in that moment, high in the dimly lit bleachers of the chilly, small-town arena, was put her head on his shoulder and cry with him.
11
HOLLY STOOD AT the counter of her father's kitchen, dicing onions, while Luke Maguire chopped peppers. It was like playing a surreal version of house, and Holly had to remind herself that the domesticity was just an illusion. After their trip to Millerville, they'd both wanted to continue seeing each other. But they agreed on very clear rules for their dalliance. Just sex, no commitments. Still, the lines kept getting blurred.
Like how he'd dropped her off at home at four o'clock, and by six she was on her way to his place, with only a quick stop to drop off her niece's newly signed Team USA jersey to slow her down.
Like how she'd spent the next two days at his fancy condo with him, having sex and watching movies and eating takeout.
Or how it had taken everything she had to keep her standing Tuesday night dinner date with her father and leave Luke behind. But when she told Luke why she was leaving, he'd volunteered to come with her.
Things were getting very complicated.
"Do you know what I enjoy about this?" He gestured back and forth between them with the knife.
Holly raised an eyebrow. "About the fact that I have boobs and you don't? I could take a wild guess."
Luke winced with annoyance. He was so easy to bait. "No. And keep your voice down. We're at your dad's house."
He was adorable, she decided. "Yeah, but he's not here," Holly reminded him, glancing at her watch. 6:20. He always ate at 6:30 on the dot. Where on earth is he?
"Besides," she added, "what else am I supposed to guess with you waving that blade around at chest height?"
"I was gesturing to signify us." He lowered his voice. "Our illicit affair."
"What do you like about us?" she asked, ignoring the way her heart stuttered at the topic.
"That we don't talk hockey."
She hoped her face didn't give away her disappointment at that answer. "Oh?" She turned back to the onions, dumping them into the pan on the stove. They sizzled as they hit the hot oil, releasing their fragrance almost immediately.
"Everyone in my life wants to talk about hockey. About Ethan. About the Storm. My thoughts on our last game. My thoughts on our next game. My thoughts on games I'm not even part of. Sometimes it feels like I don't talk about anything else. It's actually kind of a relief that you don't care about it."
Holly added the peppers Luke had cut to the pan, as well as the bag of stir-fry veggies she'd left in her dad's fridge last week.
She knew he meant it as a good thing. He was trying to say he was comfortable with her, and it was a lovely sentiment. But it made her gut hurt. Because that thing that he liked about her? It wasn't her at all. She was dying to debate hockey with him. Ask him his thoughts on all those things he was tired of talking about and share hers.
She gave the veggies a halfhearted stir, forcing a smile when he stepped up behind her and kissed her neck. "I'm glad," she lied.
And it reminded her that their entire relationship was based on lie after lie. Luke might be comfortable with this woman who didn't exist, but it was Holly's real heart on the line.
There was a big commotion at the front door and while it was right on time, it was much too big to be just her father.
Holly groaned inwardly. Her brother and niece must've decided to come over for stir-fry. Karen was probably working a stretch of nights at the hospital, and Neil was a notoriously lazy cook when his wife wasn't around to supervise.
Holly's suspicion was confirmed a moment later when a hungry eight-year-old girl came rushing into the kitchen. "Smells good, Auntie. Dad and I were going to have McDonald's but..." Melissa trailed off, eyes round as hockey pucks as she started to hyperventilate. "You're Luke Maguire. Ohmygosh, you're Luke Maguire!" By the end of the sentence, Melissa's voice was so high-pitched only dogs could hear her.
Holly laughed. "Breathe, monkey."
"Dad, Luke Maguire is at Grandpa's house! Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Maguire?"
Luke nodded. "That's the plan."
"That is so awesome! Your brother is my favorite player of all time. No offense."
"None taken," Luke assured her.
"Aunt Holly got my Team USA jersey signed by him. How cool is that?"
"She did?" Luke's raised brow held questions she didn't want to answer.
"Luke, will you sign my hat? Aunt Holly, is there a marker around here so I can get my hat signed?"
Saved by the autograph seeker. Holly rooted through the junk drawer as Melissa flitted around like a butterfly drunk on excitement. "My team's in the play-offs, too, you know. Just like yours."
"Is that so?"
"Yep. And we're gonna win, too. Dad! Luke Maguire is in Grandpa's kitchen. He's gonna sign my hat. Dad?" Melissa disappeared back into the living room in search of Neil.
Thank you, she mouthed at Luke, tossing him the marker she'd found. He caught it easily, but he waved off her appreciation like it was no big deal. Considering he'd finished explaining to her how much he'd been enjoying his hockey reprieve, she found his kindness toward her niece even more touching.
"So that's why you went to see Ethan before we left. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Oh, you know," she said, nudging the drawer shut with her hip. "I was worried your fragile ego might not be able to handle that Melissa's heart belongs to your brother."
Luke made a halfhearted effort at a laugh, but his preoccupation was obvious. "He actually signed it, though?"
"Yeah. He signed it."
The relief on Luke's face was heartbreaking.
"I'm really sorry about all this craziness. I understand that you were trying to escape hockey. I didn't realize it was going to be a full house."
Whatever Luke was about to say was cut off as Melissa marched back into the kitchen, pulling her dad along by the wrist.
"Nice try, monkey. You expect me to believe a hockey superstar is hanging out in Grandpa's kitchen and..."
"Told you." Melissa pulled off her ball cap and handed it to the hockey superstar hanging out in the kitchen.
Holly suppressed a laugh as her brother lost all ability to speak. His complexion, every bit as fair as her own, flamed red as he recognized their guest.
"Neil, meet Luke. Luke, this is my older brother, Neil."
"Hi. Wow. Hi."
Luke grinned as he signed Melissa's hat and handed it back to her. "Nice to meet you, Neil."
"You, too. Wow. Just...wow. Why didn't you warn me, Hols?"
"Or me," added her father. "When you said you were bringing someone home for dinner, this was definitely not who I was expecting," her father said gruffly, extending a hand. "Frank Evans. It's a pleasure to have you in my home."
Luke shifted the marker to his left hand so he could return the handshake. "Thank you for having me, sir."
"Okay, dinner's almost ready. How about everyone who just got home goes and washes their hands so they can help set the table."
"The table?" her father scoffed. "The first game of the Buffalo-Wisconsin series is on TV right now and you want us to eat at the table?"
Holly shook her head in defeat. "Why do I even bother?"
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, Holly was sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Luke and her brother, with Melissa on the floor at Luke's feet. Pop, as always, was comfortably ensconced in his recliner. All of them were enjoying heaping bowls of teriyaki chicken stir-fry.
The first period featured some pretty intense hockey, and her family was in fine form, heckling the refs and players alike, hypothesizing the trades they'd make if they ruled the hockey world.
"Hey, Luke?"
He grinned down at the star-struck girl at his feet, and Holly hated her traitorous heart for noticing how good he was with her.
"Hey, Melissa?"
"Um, remember the time you scored that goal against the Wyoming Stallions back on October seventeenth? You stole the puck from Alfredsson at the blue line and then you skated so fast and scored right through the five-hole? And the goalie was just lying there 'cause he couldn't even believe it?"