Breakaway by Kelly Jamieson

“I’m tough. But if you want to kiss it and make it
better, that would probably help.”
    She didn’t move. “I was going to call you,” she said, voice
a bit choppy. “To see if you were okay.”
    “Well, then it’s good I came over to show you I’m fine.” He
still stood there in his coat. “But I can go…”
    She rubbed her forehead, her distress diminishing as she
took in that he was okay. “No. It’s fine. Here. Let me take your coat.”
    He smiled as he shrugged out of it, ignoring the twinge in
his shoulder from the hard check he’d taken from Sanders in the third. Probably
not good if she knew about that additional minor injury. She disappeared to
hang his coat up, then came back, rubbing her palms over her jeans. “Would you
like a drink? Beer?”
    “Um. Sure, a beer would be nice.” He followed her to the
kitchen. “Some of the guys were going out after, but I…didn’t feel like it.”
    “Because you lost?”
    “Well. Yeah.” He was bummed about that for sure. “We haven’t
done as well as we should have this season and playoffs are almost here. If we
don’t win our next few games, we might not make the playoffs.”
    Drowning his sorrows at a rocking club like Rouge again
would probably have been a better way to take his mind off the shitty game he’d
just played than sitting here in Remi’s house. But this was the place he wanted
to be.
    “Oh.” She handed him a beer and kept one for herself. “I
guess that’s bad.”
    “Hell, yeah.” He sighed as they walked back to the living
room and took a seat, side by side. She curled one leg under her. Damn, she
looked good in jeans. He wished he could have seen her at the game. “That’s
bad. That’s what it’s all about. Making the playoffs. The Stanley Cup.”
    She nodded, eyes soft and warm. “Want to talk about it?”
    He did. So he talked. And she listened. She was a great
listener and seemed to get his drive, that dark need inside him to fight to the
end for the win. Not literally fight. Well, sometimes he did, but it was more a
powerful need to battle through and come out on top. Some of her questions
amused him, but it felt good to talk about how crappy he felt, how he was
letting the team down, how the team was letting down the coach and the owners
and the fans—especially the fans.
    “So if you win your next three games, you’re in?”
    “Only if New York loses.” He grimaced. “That’s how close it
is. Dammit. We should have been way ahead at this stage of the season. Ah,
well.”
    “You put a lot of pressure on yourself, don’t you.”
    He considered that. “Yeah. I guess.”
    “But you aren’t responsible for the whole team.”
    “I’m a part of the team. We’re all responsible for how the
team does.”
    “And you hate it when you don’t play well.”
    “Of course I hate it!” He shook his head, the image of his
high school English teacher Mrs. Wong flashing into his head, the damning
message she’d beaten into him through that junior year. “I have to be good.”
    She nodded and he wanted to tell her more, but the stuff
backing up in his brain was some kind of stinging shit and talking about it
wasn’t easy. Which was why he didn’t. Ever.
    “When’s your next game?”
    “Tuesday night.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’ll still be there Wednesday for the reading program,” he
said. “Don’t worry.”
    She nodded.
    “Then we go to Boston next weekend.” He paused, then the
craziest thing came out of his mouth. “You should come with me.”
    Her eyes popped open. “To Boston?”
    “Yeah. The game’s Saturday night. We could make a weekend of
it.”
    “I can’t do that!”
    “Why not?”
    “I…I…just can’t. That’s crazy.”
    He shrugged and picked up a strand of her golden hair,
rubbing it between thumb and fingers. “It’s not crazy. It’d be fun.”
    She shook her head. “I am so out my league with you. I don’t
have money for stuff like that, Jason, and I…”
    “I’ll pay for