Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,22
inches between us. The sun glitters gold on the lake in front of us, and I lean back on my arms, letting the stone cool my overheated body.
“So basically, no one saw the hockey thing happening. It was sort of an accident and one I’m pretty sure my dad hasn’t forgiven himself for yet.”
Harlow laughs and leans back, mirroring my pose. “This sounds good.”
“Yeah, local football legend raises hockey pro. Family can’t live down the shame.”
“Okay, so tell me about it. But keep in mind I don’t speak jock, so you’ll have to dumb it down for me.”
“Ha, pretty sure I don’t have to dumb down anything for you.” But I do need to keep my eyes off that bare stretch of skin between her shorts and tank. Damn. “Here’s the short version. I was athletic, energetic. You know how it is with kids. They do all those tyke-level sports, getting a taste of everything.”
She wrinkles her nose. “My father isn’t really into sports. I played the piano and clarinet.”
And her mom passed away when she was young. I feel like an ass.
“Well, I was a kid who took to all of it. Mostly because I had an overload of energy and my mom was willing to run all over Enderson to help me burn it off. But the expectation was always that I’d play football like my dad. Only problem was, football’s a fall sport and once it ended, I was climbing the walls.”
“Hockey’s a winter sport?”
I smile. “Yeah, it is. There are other winter sports too. Thing is, the basketball coach made the mistake of asking my mom out in high school.”
Harlow’s eyes go wide. “He didn’t dare!”
“Right? Needless to say, there was no way in hell William Grady’s kid was shooting hoops.”
“Why not something else?”
“Mom’s favorite cousin played hockey. So, I hit the ice.”
“And that was the day the football died?”
“Hardly. I played both sports into high school. My dad still thinks I could have gone all the way with football.”
She turns to me, squinting in the morning light. “You don’t think so?”
“Nah. I didn’t want it with football the way I did with hockey. I had a lot of the components you need to win. But if it’s more than the win you’re after, you have to want it. You have to want it more than anything else, because there’s a cost to getting it, and there’s only the one way that payoff works out.”
I can see her absorbing what I just told her. Weighing it in a way I don’t see with most people.
“Was it hard to choose?” Her voice is quiet, thoughtful. “Knowing what your dad wanted for you wasn’t what you wanted?”
“It was brutal. Before I told him was the worst. There were months of that gnawing ache in my gut when I knew I was going to let him down.”
She nods, looking off into the distance. “I know that feeling.”
“I hung on to that longer than I should have. And then one night after a meatloaf dinner, I finally sacked up and spit it out. He just stared at me for what felt like an eternity. My mom let out this horrified squeak and, yeah. That was a rough summer.”
She’s watching me intently now. Her eyes soft and curious. “But it was worth it? You’re happy? No regrets?”
It takes me a minute to answer. No one asks me that. Ever.
I’m playing in the NHL. It’s a dream not many realize. But it comes with sacrifices that start the second you realize you have to put it before everything else, and that might continue well past the last time you step off the ice.
But none of that changes my answer.
“I’m happy. It’s been a long time coming, but I’m finally where I wanted to be.” Or I will be once the contracts are signed. “And as to regrets? Only that I wish my dream hadn’t come at the cost of my dad’s.”
“I get it.” She smiles again. “But even if he was disappointed at first, that man is so proud of you now. No matter how he teases you, I don’t think even he would change a thing.”
I like that she sees it. That she understands. I like that she’s sitting on “the bed” with me in one of my favorite spots in my hometown.
Hell, I like her. Period.
Chapter 9
Harlow
I wasn’t sure about crashing my second bachelorette party in as many weeks, but Janie wouldn’t hear of me skipping out. And now that