Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,65

importantly, finally, finally understanding that he could never love Dani properly if he was always worried about being worthy of her heart. He had to believe he was worth it, not to just give her his in an effort to avoid looking beneath.

But could he?

As he wrestled with that, with understanding he needed to be able to accept her love so they could build something lasting, his cell—connected to the plane’s WiFi—buzzed.

He tugged it from his pocket, saw a text from his mom.

Thanks for letting us crash your date with Dani. She’s wonderful.

Yes, she was.

It’s not crashing when you’re invited. Thanks for coming to the game.

The “…” danced on his screen, and he waited for the message to appear. Waited what felt like an eternity since his mom was a slow texter. But as he did all that waiting, he found his own fingers moving, tapping out a question he didn’t really process until it was sent. Until the “…” on his mom’s side disappeared.

Do you ever wish you had a different son?

His throat seized, fingers flying again, wanting to explain that he’d meant intellectually, or with a different profession, or—

No.

And then his cell vibrated with an incoming call. From his mom. And fuck, he didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t want to delve too deeply, not when the realizations already had him feeling raw.

“Hello?” he murmured, after putting his earpiece in.

“I know you’re on the plane,” his mom said, her voice an odd blend of fierce and gentle, “so I’ll keep this brief. I love you. Just as you are.” She paused for a brief moment then went on, “When I see you doing something you love, when I watch you interact with others, demonstrating warmth and kindness and empathy, you make me so fucking proud to be a mother. To be your mother. I look at you and feel like my heart is going to explode with pride.”

He inhaled, but she kept talking.

“And I’m so sorry that I haven’t made that clear, that I made you doubt, that I didn’t—” Her voice cracked.

“Mom,” he whispered.

She cleared her throat, voice going brisk. “And I know you’re on the plane and aren’t really supposed to talk on the phone, so I’m going to hang up now. But that doesn’t mean that what I just said isn’t true.” A breath that rattled through the speaker of his earpiece. “And it doesn’t mean that I’m not getting on a plane and coming out to San Francisco as soon as possible for us to talk about it in person, okay?”

“Mom,” he whispered again.

“Okay?” she repeated.

“Okay,” he said.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured before hanging up and sitting back, his heart pounding, eyes sliding closed. The words washed over him, settling inside, and he felt the wound in his heart start to stitch closed. It wouldn’t go away with a few conversations, he knew that. But it was on the way, and he also knew that he’d continue to work on it.

Because he wanted to live without that spike jabbing at him. He wanted to be whole, so he could move forward.

With Dani.

He was going to move forward.

With Dani.

Determination washing over him, he glanced up the aisle and saw Fanny staring at him, concern on her face. He nodded, mouthed, “Thanks.”

She smiled, nodded, mouthed back, “Family.”

Another blip in his heart, more of that wound stitching closed. Because she was family, just as the team was, and he was finally understanding that his place in it was more than professional. It was family. Truly. Not just something that was said on the surface or a good sound bite. They saw his value, and he was doing them a disservice to not see the same.

Another understanding came on the heels of that one.

If he kept the team out of this, if he kept their family out of his attempt to win Dani, he’d miss out on this. On the family coming together, looking out for one another. He’d miss out on the little insights from some of the people who knew her best, on the advice from his friends who’d won their own happy endings, on the kick in the ass he needed when he was feeling defeated.

This didn’t need to be a victory he earned on his own.

He could—and should—use every tool in his toolbox.

Flipping the page in his notebook, he began a list.

The first item was Hot Tamales, followed by the types of junk food she’d bought during their grocery shopping