Page 49

We both looked at her. She hadn't touched the shortbread. She hadn't looked up once.

"Bug?"

"I kept falling. Everyone saw." She looked up. "The tournament is so close and I'm getting worse instead of better."

Alex leaned forward on his elbows. "Can I tell you something?"

She looked at him.

"Your crossovers are clean. The technique is there. You're not getting worse."

"Then why do I keep falling?"

"Because you're trying to go as fast as girls who've been doing this since last season. They've got six months of reps on you. You learned it later, so your body needs more time to build the speed. That's not a talent problem. That's a time problem." He held her eyes. "And time is fixable."

"So I'm not bad?"

"You're not bad. You're new at something hard, and you're catching up faster than you think."

She was quiet for a second. Then she looked at him.

"I wish you were my coach."

Alex reached across the table and wiped whipped cream off her nose with his thumb. She almost smiled.

I watched them. He'd come off a shift, walked into a hallway for me, carried my daughter out of it, and now he was sitting here making sure she was okay before he let himself be tired. I reached for his hand under the table. He laced his fingers through mine.

We tucked Hazel in together that night. She'd felt better after dinner, talking again by the time we cleared the table, asking Alex questions about hockey she'd been too tired to ask at the coffee shop. By bedtime she was herself again, or close enough. She curled into her pillow with her stuffed animal tucked under her chin and fell asleep within minutes.

"She must have worked herself out today," I said.

Alex turned on the nightlight. We pulled her door shut and stood in the hallway.

I stepped into him and wrapped my arms around his neck. His arms came around my waist as I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Thank you. For today. You'd just come off a twenty-four. And you still showed up for us, walked us out of that situation, and sat with us until we were both okay."

His arms tightened around me. "You never have to thank me for that."

I kissed him. It started as a thank-you. It didn't stay one.

"You've been taking care of us all day. Let me take care of you tonight."

I took his hand and led him down the hallway.

In the bedroom, I closed the door and turned to face him. He was watching me, waiting. I put my hands on the zipper of his hoodie and pulled it down.

"Janine—"

"Let me."

He went still. I slid the hoodie off his shoulders and let it drop. His T-shirt came next. I pulled it over his head and he lifted his arms for me. The lamplight caught the lines of his chest, the muscles he'd built carrying sixty pounds of gear up staircases. Tonight I was going to take my time with it.

I kissed his collarbone. His breath changed. I kissed lower, across his chest, down the ridge of his stomach. I reached for his belt and worked the buckle open, then the button, then the zipper. I pushed his pants down his hips and he stepped out of them.

I put my hand flat on his chest and pushed him back onto the bed.

He sat on the edge, looking up at me. I pulled my shirt over my head. Reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. Let it fall. His eyes followed every movement, and I could see what it was costing him to sit there and let me lead.