The Good Luck Charm(49)
“I’m glad you’re doing what you love,” he says finally.
“Me, too. How was practice today?”
“It’s been good.” He cringes. “I almost hate to say that out loud. I don’t want to jinx myself this close to the beginning of the season.”
“Still so superstitious.”
Ethan has always had crazy routines when it comes to his games, from what he wears to how he prepares. I figured it would change over the years, but based on the preseason practice and exhibition game rituals I’ve witnessed so far, it hasn’t. Personally, I think it’s a little ridiculous, but I know Ethan takes it seriously, so I try to not make light of it too much.
He gives me a lopsided smile. “It’s tough not to be, sometimes. The first year I played was probably my best, but then I started to slide. Now things seem to be going a lot better again.”
“Why do you think that is?” I ask.
“I dunno. That first year I pushed hard, maybe to prove I’d made the right decision. Then I had that chance to play for Minnesota, but I was already too late to come back for you. After that everything started going to shit. I kept getting further and further from where I wanted to be, and it felt like I’d given up all the things that made me who I was, apart from hockey, and it had all been for nothing. Maybe it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Anyway, preseason is going well. I might even get ice time right away. We’ll see how it goes.” I falter when we approach a fallen tree covering the path, and Ethan nearly collides with me. “I don’t remember this being here.”
“Me, neither.” Although, it’s been years since I’ve gone for a walk down here, and this tree looks like it’s been here for a while.
Merk goes under, pulling me against the fallen tree. It’s too tight for me to follow him so I have to awkwardly grab for the leash while I hoist myself over. I overestimate my agility and the slipperiness of the moss and land on my knee. My palm skids across the rough ground and I roll to my hip with an oomph. Merk barks his surprise while I shout mine.
“Shit! You okay?” Ethan plants a palm on the moss-covered tree and hops over it effortlessly. “I should’ve gone first so I could help you.”
I sit up and brush my palms off on my yoga pants with a hiss. I’m definitely going to need a shower after this. I’m covered in dirt and pine needles.
Ethan crouches beside me. “Let me have a look.” He takes my palm between his hands, inspecting the damage while Merk tries to fit himself between us so he can help, too. He barks when Ethan nudges him out of the way.
“I’m fine. It’s just a few scratches.”
“What about your knee?” He rolls my pant leg gently over my knee. It’s in worse condition than my palm, but it’s by no means terrible.
“It’s not life-threatening. I’ll survive.”
He shrugs the backpack off and unzips the front compartment, pulling out a small first-aid kit. His brow furrows in concentration as he carefully cleans the wound. As embarrassed as I am, I can definitely appreciate the care he’s taking in fixing me up. I also find it rather ironic that the hockey player is taking care of the nurse.
I glance over at Merk when he barks, probably at another squirrel. He rubs himself on a tree next to the fallen one. I squint a little, sure it can’t be … but it is.
“Oh my God. Look.” Ethan finishes bandaging my knee and follows my finger. “I thought you were so romantic for doing that. I didn’t even consider the poor tree.” Inside a knot on the side of the tree, ds + ek is carved for all eternity.
“We were such environmental heathens.” Ethan shifts to run his fingers over the carved letters. “I hoped we would find this today. I kissed you for the first time right here.” He smiles, and then frowns at the downed tree resting against the side of the one with our initials carved in it. “This one almost took our tree down when it fell.”
Ethan’s superstitions are mostly related to hockey. But he was a big believer in fate and things not just being coincidental. In high school he always wore the same type of boxers to practice. Home games had a different pair, away games yet another. If they made it into playoffs, he had a pair of socks he refused to wash until they lost. It was vile at the best of times, deadly at the worst.
“Even if it had, it wouldn’t have been an omen,” I say softly.
A small grin appears and he moves in close again, running a gentle finger from the bridge of my nose to the tip. “Stop reading my mind.”
He’s always been sentimental, holding on to ideas and grounding them in something tangible, like initials carved into a tree.
“I know how that mind of yours works, Ethan Kase.” I slip a hand behind his neck. “This would be a good time to kiss me, since I’m pretty sure that was the whole point of bringing me all the way out here.”
His smile is soft, warm. “Mind reading again, huh?”
I laugh a little, but then his lips are on mine, a whisper of touch. The rush of heat is instantaneous. Every part of our relationship has always been steeped in inescapable intensity. He sucks my bottom lip, then dips inside my mouth, tongue stroking velvet smooth against my own. His groan is low and needy, fingers twining in my hair as he angles my head to the side so he can go deeper.
I part my legs as his knee comes between mine, and I have to use a hand for balance as he leans over me, tilting my head back so he can take control of the kiss. As teenagers, there were many occasions when we’d used the forest as our bedroom, but I’m not so sure I’m inclined to re-create those particular memories.