She didn’t try to free herself, didn’t want to give him that much satisfaction, as if having his skin on hers was too much for her to handle. “Of course.”
His fingers tightened momentarily and she thought, hoped, he’d release her, prayed he couldn’t feel the erratic beat of her pulse. But when his grip loosened, he didn’t pull away, just traced the rough, calloused tip of his forefinger along the delicate skin of her inner wrist.
“Did you watch?” he asked.
She blinked at him. Couldn’t think, could barely breathe. “What?”
“Did you watch the last game?” He dragged his finger over the heel of her hand, his nail lightly scraping her palm. “Did you see when I raised the Cup?”
After winning the championship, it was tradition for the players to take turns hoisting the Cup on the ice.
“No,” she said, sliding her hand away from him. She’d avoided TV while the games had been on, hadn’t even so much as glanced at the sports section of the paper. Wouldn’t let him back into her life in any way, shape or form. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t watch any of the games.”
His mouth tightened and he nodded, as if understanding why she’d had to protect herself. “I always thought you’d be there.”
Her throat dried. Her mind spun, took her back to when they’d been together. For as long as she’d known him, he’d wanted to win the Cup, to have that shining moment on the ice. They’d talked about it, dreamed about it together. Of how it’d feel, how she’d be there, cheering him on. Celebrating with him.
Maddie wanted to rail at him, to scream and hit him. To leap to her feet and make one hell of a grand exit. She sat there, unable to speak or move.
Neil linked his hands together between his knees, stared at the flickering light on the porch floor. “As I raised the Cup, I looked into the stands. I saw Gerry and Carl but I kept searching. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for...who I was looking for...until I got home that night and it hit me.”
“Don’t,” she told him sharply. Succinctly.
Don’t drag me into the past. Don’t get to me with your sad eyes and somber words. Don’t make me care about you. Not again.
Holding her gaze, he lowered his voice. “I was looking for you.”
* * *
NEIL’S WORDS HUNG in the air between them, quiet and honest. He wouldn’t take them back, no matter how much trouble they caused him.
He’d thought of her that night. They’d won the last game at the Knights’ rink and the place had gone wild. When he’d held the Cup above his head, tens of thousands of fans had erupted into riotous cheers, stomping their feet, screaming his name over the music pumping through the PA system. He’d been beyond himself, his battered body exhausted, his entire being filled with a sense of euphoria, of pride and accomplishment, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was, without a doubt, the greatest moment of his career, the moment he’d worked so hard for. It’d been perfect. And he’d looked for Maddie. Had wanted to share it with her.
With the girl he’d left behind.
“I’m honored,” Maddie said, her flat tone and crossed arms a good indication that she was lying through her teeth. “Although I am surprised I crossed your mind at all.”
“You did.” Too often. After all these years, he still thought of her, and he hated it. Hated how, when his defenses were down, she slipped into his mind. Into his dreams. “What we had, it...meant something to me.” He exhaled softly. “You meant something to me.”
Her mouth dropped and she blinked. “Wow,” she breathed, shaking her head slowly. “Wow. Thank you, so much, for that incredibly patronizing, completely dispassionate declaration. Meant something to you,” she muttered, lifting her beer to her mouth only to lower it again without taking a drink so she could skewer him with one of her scathing looks. “Your lucky socks meant something to you. Your conditioning coach and the lunch lady who always gave you extra dessert meant something to you. I loved you.”
Her voice was whisper-soft, her words as intoxicating, as powerful, as they’d been all those years ago when she’d so freely told him of her feelings. Repeatedly. Endlessly. Until those three words had suffocated him, constantly prodding him for a response. One he’d been unable to give.
“I loved you,” she repeated. “More than that, I trusted you.