Desperate for a change of subjects, I switched gears to talking about hockey. It was a reflex around Barnett, really, but it was a comfortable subject with him. After all these years, we both still seemed to love the sport, even if it was only from the sidelines.
“You were such a great coach,” I gushed, “probably the best I ever had.”
I might have had one too many glasses of wine by that point.
“You were a great student,” Barnett countered, “and an excellent player. I really could have seen you going to the Olympics, if you had just returned to the ice after your injury.”
I tucked a strand of stray hair behind my ear. There was no way I was going to mention the kiss I had stolen from him in the lounge that had led up to that injury. Not when it had happened so long ago.
“Things hap
