I make a face. That doesn’t sound like him.
“Honestly, Rory, he was.” She sighs. “Your dad loves you. I hope you know that. He shows it the only way he knows how.”
My dad loves hockey. He loves being the best and anyone connected to him being the best, but I shove that all away.
“I should get back—” I start.
“Are you happy?”
The question stabs me in the heart, and I don’t know why. She waits, watching my face. “Yeah. I am. Hazel’s…” I trail off, looking to the living room, where we can hear everyone talking and laughing. “Hazel’s amazing.”
My mom’s worried expression melts into a smile full of affection. “She’s lovely. You seem perfect for each other.”
I just nod. I want to tell her how I’ve liked Hazel since high school and how we did this whole faking it thing to piss off her ex, and how I’m in love with her and have no idea what to do or when to tell her.
Instead, I stare at the water glass on the counter and nod again. “I hope so.”
It’s quiet again in the kitchen, and I take a step to go back to the living room.
“I have a gift for you,” she says quickly behind me.
My eyebrows go up as she hustles into the living room and returns holding a small gift box. “It’s not much, but—” She hands it to me, flustered. “Well, just open it.”
I pull the lid off and push the tissue paper aside. It’s a knit sweater, a navy blue with flecks of gray in the wool, just like Hartley’s eyes. When I hold it up, it looks like the right size.
“Did you make this?”
Like she’s embarrassed, she nods, and my chest strains. Why is she making sweaters if she left? Why is she inviting me over for Christmas parties with her friends and meeting my girlfriend and asking about my dad?
“I made it last year. I wanted to give it to you then, but I lost my nerve.”
I can feel the baffled expression on my face. “Last year?”
She winces. “I figured you already have everything you need and you wouldn’t want it—”
This sweet ache in my chest, I think it’s that worthy feeling Hazel talked about in yoga that one time. I set the box on the counter and hug my mom as hard as I can. Her warm, cinnamon scent wraps around us, and she hugs me back.
“Thank you,” I tell her in a strange, thick voice. “I love it.”
We pull apart, and she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I wanted you to be warm enough. You’re always traveling with the team to cold places.”
The corner of my mouth tips up. Such a mom thing to say.
Back in the living room, I take my seat beside Hazel and slip my hand into hers.
“Everything okay?” she whispers, and I nod. She leans harder against me. “I’m not going anywhere,” she adds, and I can breathe again.
CHAPTER 65
HAZEL
Late that evening, we lie on the couch in front of the fireplace, drinking hot cider again while snow falls outside and the Christmas tree glows. I’m wearing his hoodie, settled against him, covered with the warm blanket he bought for me, and his fingers toy absently with my hair.
“What did you decide about that studio space?” Rory asks.
Tension knots in my stomach. It’s been two days since Laura texted, and I still haven’t replied. I feel like a jerk for not answering her right away, but I’ve been talking myself in and out of it.
“I haven’t decided anything.”
Rory hums, still playing with my hair, and I know if I told him I didn’t want to do it, he’d respect that and drop it.
I’m scared. There’s so much at stake. If I fail, it’ll be embarrassing and a huge waste of money, but more than anything, if I fail, what does that mean about me?
I can’t stay in the same spot forever because I’m scared, though. And with the mentorship sessions Rory got me for Christmas, I’ll have someone to answer my questions. My lungs expand with a big breath and I steel my spine.
“I want to go look at the space.”
He lights up. “Yeah?”
I nod, smiling.
He tilts his chin to my phone on the coffee table. “Text her now.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” He nudges me. “So you don’t lose your nerve.”
He’s right. I drag in a deep breath, grab my phone, and tap out a quick text to Laura.
“The place is probably gone by now,” I mutter. “Which is fine.”
She responds a moment later. Great! Are you free the morning of New Year’s Eve? You can take a look at the space then.
Rory reads over my shoulder. We’re supposed to be driving up to Whistler that morning for the League Classic game.
“We can make it work,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.
I bite my lip.
“Come on, Hartley,” he murmurs, smiling.
Reluctance surges through me because doing something big like this is scary, but Rory went over to his mom’s place even though he was nervous.
Sounds great, I text Laura before letting out a whoosh of air.
“Good job,” Rory says against my temple, and I flush, tossing my phone aside.
His eyes go to the framed photo of us sitting on his bookshelf before he glances down at me and smiles.
“Is this what you expected when you made that bet that we’d get together?” I ask. “Lying on the couch like an old married couple.”
The piercing look he gives me makes my heart skip a beat. “It’s even better.”
I need to say something about how I’m feeling. I never expected any of this to happen, and I sure as hell never expected to feel emotions like possessive and proud and sparkling, pinwheeling happiness around Rory Miller. Anger knots in my stomach at my hesitation.
“Thank you for coming today,” he says.
“Of course.” This guy has no fucking clue what I’d do for him.
I think about Nicole and how happy she was to see him today. How she clearly threw the party together after she invited us because she wanted to see him so badly. When the downstairs washroom was occupied, she sent me upstairs, and I walked past her office.
“Your mom’s office was filled with your hockey stuff,” I tell him, and his brow creases.
“She hates hockey.”
“She had the newspaper clipping from the day you were drafted, all your jerseys, and a bunch of Storm merch in there.” An ache throbs in my chest for him and for her. “She misses you, Rory.”
“I miss her, too,” he says softly in my ear, and my throat tightens.
He’s so honest with me, even when it’s hard, so I push myself to give him more of myself.
“Connor said guys like him don’t end up with girls like me,” I rush out. I can’t tell him the truth about how I feel, but I can give him this. I can take this tiny step forward with him.
His eyes sharpen, going hard at Connor’s name. I cross my arms over my chest, frowning at the floor, and in my head, I’m back there, years ago at the party, feeling the burning shame of not being enough for someone.