The Good Luck Charm(28)

Carmen gives me a sly grin. “Oh, really? So the keep-your-lips-to-yourself-next-time comment pertained to a friendly kiss?”

“She was having a panic attack in the panic room.”

“So you laid one on her?” She arches a brow.

“It was a good distraction,” I mumble.

“Oh, I bet. Did she kiss you back?” Carmen is all over this.

I rub the back of my neck, uncomfortable with the kiss-and-tell and Carmen’s apparent enjoyment over it. “She might’ve.”

Carmen laughs. “No wonder she’s so pissed.”

“Well, that and I forced her to finally talk to me about what happened when I was drafted. So yeah, she feels set up.”

“Well, the whole point was to get you to talk, so mission accomplished.”

“I wanted to make it better, not worse, though.”

“Just let me talk to her, and it’ll be okay.”

“Will it? I don’t know, Carmen. It feels like every time I get a little closer, she’s off running again. It’s like she has this brick wall around her heart and I’m the reason it’s there.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Ethan. It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“I’m not so sure it is. She was always such an easy person to love when we were young, her heart open—at least for me. It makes me sad that she’s so untrusting now.”

“You have to earn it from her, and that’s going to take time. You’re not the only person who left her, Ethan.”

I don’t want to do that to her again. And I don’t know where I’ll be next year with a one-year contract and no certainty of renewal.



Once we leave the Hoffman estate, I drive to the local florist, but it’s late, so everything is closed downtown apart from the bars. I stand in front of the shop’s darkened window and consider my options. I’m not planning on pushing Lilah any more than I already have tonight. I want to leave something for her so tomorrow morning my apology is the first thing she gets when she walks out her door.

There’s a convenience store down the street, one we used to ride our bikes to when we were kids. With my allowance, I used to splurge on bags of bulk candies for me and DJ—something she couldn’t afford.

I’m pleased to see the store still has them available, although the boxes I remember, with their tiny plastic tongs, have been replaced by a bank of clear plastic bins with lids and little scoops. I grab a bag and browse the selection of gummies and candies. I layer it with all of Lilah’s favorites; Hot Lips seem rather appropriate, all things considered. I add Watermelon Slices, Fuzzy Peaches, a gummy snake, bears, Wine Gums, black licorice—she was the only kid I knew who ate it and liked it—jawbreakers, and top it off with more Hot Lips. It’s an apology rainbow of sugar.

A teen sits behind the cash register, tapping away on his phone, probably updating the world on his boredom. I drop the bag on the counter and slide my wallet out of my back pocket.

He glances up and his eyes go wide, his phone clattering to the floor. “Oh, man!” He fumbles in his chair, almost tipping it over as he tries to retrieve his phone and still keep his eyes on me. He pops back up, slapping the device on the counter. “You’re Ethan Kase!”

I can’t say the recognition or the excitement is bad for my ego these days. “That’s me.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Well, I live here, so it kind of makes sense, right?” I’m grinning. I’m not at the top of the league, so normally I go under the radar, unlike Alex Waters or Randy Ballistic back in Chicago. They couldn’t go to a bar without at least half a dozen selfie shots. Although, I think all the endorsements Waters has scored along the way—particularly the ones for prophylactics—have made him that much more recognizable outside of the hockey world.

But here, in a place like Forest Lake, I’m more likely to get this kind of reaction. It’s novel for now because it’s so new. But I don’t ever want to take it for granted.

“My dad was talking about you at dinner, saying you were a good trade for Minnesota. You used to go to my high school. Your pictures are in the gym hallway. You won the most valuable player award all four years. Man, the guys aren’t gonna believe this. Can I get a picture? Can I take a selfie? Will you sign something for me? I wish I had my Minnesota jersey.”

I laugh at his enthusiasm, and his face goes red. “Come on out and we can get a picture; then I’ll sign whatever you want.”

He’s so bouncy it’s hard to take a decent picture. When he does, he posts immediately to every social media platform he’s intravenously hooked into.

“Got what you need?” I ask, after I sign a Minnesota team flag the store sells.

“Yeah. For sure. Thanks so much.”

“No problem. You wanna ring me through?” I tap the bag of candy.

“Oh, right!” He drops it on the weigh scale. “You’re allowed to eat all this stuff when you’re training?”

I laugh. “Not a chance. It’s for a friend.”

“Right. Yeah. Exhibition games start soon, too. Me and my dad have tickets for when you play against Colorado.”

“That’ll be a good game.”