“Oh my gosh,” I exclaim. “That’s incredible.”
“And they’re going to keep the freeze in place until this Friday.”
“So you’ll have a team ready to play by Friday?”
Baden’s smile is bittersweet. “We’ll have a team. Whether we’ll be ready to play is anyone’s guess, but we’ll be out on the ice.”
I can’t even imagine what that’s going to look like. Baden told me last night while we chatted over chili that most of the players were being pulled from the minors with a few out of retirement. Of course, I knew our team’s best player, Coen Highsmith, wasn’t on the plane, so we have one good ringer at least. But you can’t make an entire team successful on one player. It’s a cohesive unit where every cog in the wheel has to operate fluidly.
Baden goes on to tell me about the players who will be returning. The tentative roster was released today, and there might be a few late additions, like Drake McGinn.
“Will he have to go through a tryout process?” I ask.
He snorts and shakes his head in amusement. “We’re the ones going through a tryout. He doesn’t have much interest in coming back into the league, so I have to do some convincing.”
The waitress returns with bread, but we still haven’t looked at the menu. Baden points out he has limited time, so we quickly open them and peruse, making off-the-cuff choices.
A Cobb salad for me and buffalo chicken salad for him. When the waitress leaves to put in our order, I realize it didn’t bother me that she approached, and I don’t have any residual panic. I feel completely at ease with Baden, knowing he’s just on the other side of the table and nothing in this restaurant is going to hurt me.
More importantly, nothing will hurt him.
Reaching for the bread basket, I ask, “Why will you have to convince Drake McGinn to come back?”
For the next forty-five minutes, we talk nonstop. He tells me about Drake’s ex-wife accusing him of illegal betting and being drummed out of the league. He tells me about his parents in Montreal, and how they took turns staying with him in Phoenix during the weeks after his initial surgeries. Like me, he’s an only child, so we compared notes on the pros and cons of being such. I told him about my family’s furniture business and while I’m incredibly proud of my parents and their hard work, how it provided a good life for us, I have no interest in being a part of it. This was to my parents’ disappointment, but they also want me to be happy.
I tell him about Frankie and how hers is the one other place I’m willing to travel to. I explain she’s the one who pushes me hard while my father admittedly coddles me.
“Did you have someone like that in your recovery?” I ask.
Baden’s expression crumbles slightly as he nods. “My best friend was Wes Hollyfield.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe out in sympathy. Wes was a Titan, killed in the crash.
“He visited me a few times, but almost constant calls and texts. He was the one pushing me hard while my parents were a lot more passive. So I understand what you mean in the differences between Frankie and your parents. I think both are important, though.”
“I’m so sorry, Baden. I didn’t know about your relationship with Wes. You’ve suffered so much.”
“I have,” he agrees. “But I’m processing. I grieve when I need to, and I try to focus on the future. Wes would want that for me.”
“Is there any part of him being on this team that led you take the position?” I ask.
“Yeah. I had him in mind when I made the decision.”
“Then he was still being your friend, even from Heaven.”
Baden’s smile is soft. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I think you’re right.”
Baden takes his last bite of salad, and as he’s chewing gives a quick peek at his watch. He swallows, wipes his mouth, and looks at me apologetically. “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to head out.”
He has to meet Drake over at the arena and work on convincing him to join the team.
Baden leans to the side and fishes his wallet out of his jeans, then lifts his hand and signals the waitress. When she arrives, he asks for the bill.
“Thank you for lunch.” I push my salad plate away and cross my forearms on the table. “And thank you for making me come out. I needed that push.”
“I’ll keep pushing,” he replies with a smile. “But you’ll need some help along the way. I got your back.”
I stare, amazed at this man who has lost so much because of what he did for me, and still, he wants to do more. It’s confusing, but I can’t help but feel this is supposed to be happening. As if fate has put us on a path together.
“I wish I could have your back in some way,” I admit as we wait for the check.
“How about you help me look for a place to live when I get some free time?” He’s throwing me a bit of a bone. I know he doesn’t need me to do this, but I’m more than glad to help.
“Tell you what,” I drawl, struck by inspiration. “Give me some parameters of what you’re looking for, how far you want to be from the arena or airport, and I’ll start pulling together listings you might like.”
“Really?” he asks, genuinely pleased. It’s a lot of work that I’m taking off him.
“Of course,” I assure with a wave of my hand.
“That would be awesome. I can’t wait to get out of this hotel. It’s nice and all, but I live in hotels enough as it is when we travel, and I can’t stand it. It makes me feel unsettled.”
And then inspiration strikes me that perhaps I have more to offer. “Listen… this may be weird, but if you don’t want to stay here, I have a spare bedroom with an incredibly comfortable bed. Sure, the stairs squeak, but it’s otherwise peaceful, and I’m a good cook. You won’t have to suffer fast food or room service, and you won’t feel so rushed to find a place. And before you try to decline because you think you’d be an imposition, I’d really like to help in some way. It would mean a lot if you let me help you while you look for a permanent place.”
The waitress arrives with the bill, and Baden doesn’t bother looking at it, merely handing her his credit card.
Tapping a finger to his chin, he appears to be pondering. “You’ll cook, huh?”
“You’ll be well fed.”
“Do you do laundry?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Most certainly not.”
“But you’ll still help me find a place to live?”
“I’m all over it.” It’s what I plan on doing the rest of the afternoon.
Baden’s honeyed eyes seem to glow, his smile evidence that he’s touched by my offer now that all teasing is aside. “That’s a really sweet offer, and I’m not a stupid man. I accept.”
I beam, from the inside out, holding my hand across the table. “Roomies?”
His hand grips mine, assuredly strong yet gentle. “Roomies.”
I’m glad I can do something for Baden, and I think it’s going to be a testament to our friendship. But I can’t deny that when our hands touched, a thrill of something unidentifiable shot through me.