It never crossed my mind that she was an exception, that her situation wasn’t the norm.
“Don’t you have…friends?” I ask finally.
She lifts one shoulder and looks away. “I do but not the kind I would impose on regularly. I save up that kind of babysitting for real emergencies. If I’m sick, car trouble—” Her lips quirk up in a smile. “Well, you know, when said car trouble isn’t during a winter storm.”
“But who’s your person?” I ask quietly.
“My person?” She looks and sounds confused.
“You know, the person you can rely on for anything and everything. A best friend, sister, mentor… lover?”
Her brows knit together and she seems to be thinking much harder than my question should warrant. “I guess…I don’t have a…person. I mean, my friend Holly used to be that for me, but she’s engaged now and her fiancé doesn’t like me. Or, I guess, he doesn’t think I’m good enough for them. He’s a high-powered Atlanta attorney and my twenty-year-old car and worn jeans don’t fit into his narrative.”
I grimace. “Why the fuck is your best friend marrying someone like that?”
“I don’t know exactly.” She leans back against the pillows. “It probably has to do with growing up rich. Her family puts a lot of pressure on her to marry right, whatever that means. When she met Nathan, it was like she finally found the guy who would make her parents happy.”
“What about her happiness?”
“I guess only she can answer that. I don’t see her much these days. She took me to high tea in Atlanta for my birthday. It was beautiful. Fun. It almost felt like old times. Until Nathan showed up and told her time was up, they had an event to get to. And just likethat, he paid the bill and whisked her away. I didn’t even get to hug her goodbye.”
“That sounds…awful,” I admit softly.
“So, to answer your question, I don’t have a…person. I have a small group of friends that are reliable instead. A really great boss who understands when Joey’s sick and I’m relatively secure I won’t get fired if I have to call out. Wonderful landlords, Rudy and Gemma, who make sure our apartment is safe and warm. My friend Lacy lives in New York now—we worked together on Dusty—and I know in a true emergency I can borrow money from her. And of course, my family in south Georgia. They’re not here to babysit or rescue me when my car breaks down, but I know in the worst possible scenario, I have somewhere to go.”
A prickle of shame winds its way through me, reminding me of where I came from.
I rarely think about the days before my mom met my stepdad, when we had almost nothing. When my shoes were a size too big or my socks had holes in them. We’ve come a long way since then and I live a life of privilege. I’ve been so busy feeling sorry for myself because of my broken heart, it seems like I’ve lost sight of some of the more important things in life.
“And now you have me,” I say, the words tumbling out before I’m even aware of what I’m saying. “If you’re ever in a bind, you have someone you can call.”
The expression in her eyes is inscrutable, as if she doesn’t quite believe me.
“We’re riding out a storm together,” she says lightly. “Tomorrow you’re going back to your life and I’m staying in mine. You don’t owe me anything, West.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. And we have more in common than you might think. My mother was a single mom until I was eight. My dad died when I was six months old, an accident at the factory where he worked. No life insurance, no nothing. Mom worked at a diner to get by. We bought secondhand clothes and she drove a car even older than yours. It wasn’t until she met my stepdad that things turned around, but I have distinct memories of what our life was like before that.
“My life is pretty busy with hockey but that doesn’t mean I can’t find a way to lend a hand, so you don’t have to feel alone.”
She stares at me, gray eyes hooded, almost wary, as she watchesme. Then something shifts and she smiles—fuck, she’s pretty when she smiles. She pulls her knees close to her chest and rests her chin on them.
“I don’t even know what it means to have a person,” she whispers. “Like, what would I need you for?”
I shrug. “Anything. Maybe not weekly babysitting so you can go out on dates, but if your car breaks down, or there’s an emergency and you need me to grab Joey from daycare or something. I don’t know exactly what it means either. I just know I have people I can count on. Always. And everyone should have at least one person they know for sure will pick up the phone if something happens.”
“What if you’re on the ice?” she asks, a smile on her lips.
“The longest it’ll be is about three hours. A little more if we go to overtime. But once we’re off the ice, there’s a few minutes of regrouping in the locker room—every night is a little different—before I head to the showers. Once I’m done, I go into the dressing room and get my phone. So, I’d see a message relatively quickly.”
“No phones during a game?”
I shake my head. “Some guys do but we try not to. If a guy has a pregnant wife or something, he might give his phone to one of the trainers, so there’s someone to hear it ring. Stuff like that. Otherwise, we try to focus.”
“Why are you single?” she asks abruptly.
I chuckle. “Got my heart stomped on and decided I didn’t like it.”
“By a single mom?”