As in, nonexistent.
But all he understood was that he didn’t care how she seemed to know something about him, because the fact that she did made his heart leap and he wanted to share all the things, even knowing it was too much. Too fast. Too—
Insane.
He was being insane.
Yet, he found himself stopping on the mat, staying in place, asking, “How’d you know I play hockey?”
Still.
She could go so freaking still. A beautiful marble statue gilded gold from the overhead lights, a calm expression hiding so much underneath, all the strokes it took to create her, the chipping away of rock, the polishing of the rough spots. But even knowing it was all beneath the surface, he could only see the beauty on the outside.
“Ms. Caldwell,” he prompted.
She startled, let the door slide shut and bent to pick up his shoes, shoving them into his chest. “You need to go.”
He grabbed the sneakers by instinct, decided to take a different route with the questioning. Or maybe it was less conscious and more urge to bounce around subjects, wanting to know everything about her. “I thought I was coming for private lessons.”
A roll of her eyes. “That’s not happening.”
“How’d you know I play for the Gold?”
“Brayden—”
He shook his head. He’d already run back through that conversation, knew Bray hadn’t said anything about him being a hockey player. “No, that’s not it,” he murmured, taking a step toward her.
Her eyes narrowed and she huffed out a sigh. “I saw you play,” she said. “Against St. Louis.”
He didn’t hide his wince, knowing that game had been one of his worst in recent years.
“What?” she asked. “I thought you played well. You’re still getting your legs with being new to the team, learning the different system of play, of course, but you definitely have the potential to fit in and be a good asset.”
Exactly what he’d heard . . . four times over.
Just give it time.
You’ll slide into place.
It’ll be fine. Just relax. Play your game.
And that was the moment everything became too much. He needed to get out of here. Because no matter how fascinating this woman was, he couldn’t do this. Not again. Couldn’t make ties, have hopes, desires, longing to find the spot where he belonged . . . because right around the corner, he might lose that again.
Liam knew he couldn’t do it again.
He spun, strode for the end of the mat, dropping his shoes to the floor and sitting down in a chair to quickly put them on.
“What are you doing?”
Another sharp question and heaven help him, but he liked it too much. “Thanks again,” he said, tying the laces on one tennis shoe then the other. He stood. “I—”
“My name is Mia.”
Mia.
Her voice had come from right in front of him again, silent feet closing the distance between them.
His heart skipped a beat, and he looked from those midnight blue toes up into those dark chocolate eyes and knew that it was the perfect name. Mia.
Mine.
Mine.
“Mia,” he whispered.
She was quiet for a few seconds then nodded. “Yes.” A beat. “Why do you care that I saw you play?”
He let his gaze slide from hers, knew he was too weak to tell her the truth.
That he wasn’t good, that he’d lost something along the way and his game hadn’t recovered, and he was unsure if it ever would. Instead, he slid toward the door.
She made a sound, a disappointed sound, and he knew he’d failed some kind of test.
Hell, that was a familiar feeling.
But fuck, he hated the notion of failing this woman.
“I didn’t take you for a coward,” she said on a sigh, and this time, if he listened very carefully, he heard her feet shift, felt her start to move away.
Leaving him.
Fuck, he hated that, too.
Which was the moment he stopped thinking.
He reached out a hand, snagged her arm. “About those private less—ah!”
One second, he was on his feet, fingers wrapped around Mia’s arm, reveling in how small it felt beneath his giant bear paws. The next, her elbow connected with his jaw and . . .
He was on his ass again. Well, sprawled out on his back, his lungs frozen for several heartbeats as the air was squeezed from them, the organs stunned into submission until finally, finally, he was able to suck in some oxygen.
She yanked his fingers from her arm, straightened, hands lifting to tidy her gi then said, “Consider that your first and only private lesson. Don’t lay hands on women who don’t give you permission.”
Noted.
Fuck, but that was noted.
His already sore back and ass, from the impact earlier, were practically screaming in pain, and he knew his jaw would be sporting a giant bruise. But it wasn’t so much the physical pain as . . . Liam was ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
“Seems you’re good at saying that,” she muttered, reaching into a tiny office next to the cubbies where she kept her clipboard and files and retrieving a small bag. “But what you’re not good at, clearly, is pairing actions with words.”
A truer statement about his life had never been spoken.
So much promise.
So little to show for it.
“My contract isn’t going to be renewed,” he blurted, not knowing why he was telling her this, why he was admitting this to a woman he’d only just met. “My career is likely over at the end of this season.”
Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open for a couple of seconds. Then she shrugged. “Look, I’m sorry. That sucks, but also . . . I’m not really sure what that has to do with me. With you putting your hands on me. I’m—” She sighed, shook her head. “Just go, Liam.”
Then she turned and disappeared into the bathroom, closing—and locking, the click of the mechanism loud in the quiet studio—the door behind her.
When she didn’t come out for long moments, he left.
He’d overstepped. He’d put his hands on her.
He’d been a weird guy hijacking her place of business.
And . . . she’d laid him flat.
In more ways than one.
Sighing, he made his way across the crosswalk without almost getting mowed over this time, started to get into his car, but paused when he saw the parking ticket on the windshield.
“Cool, universe, thanks for that,” he grumbled, grabbing it and dropping himself into the driver’s seat.
But instead of driving off, he waited.
Waited until the lights flicked off inside the karate studio. Waited until Mia came out. Waited until she locked the door behind her. Waited—
Until she unerringly met his gaze across the street, through the window of his car. She held his stare for a long moment then nodded, striding confidently down the sidewalk in a loose sweatshirt and leggings.
It was dark. She shouldn’t be able to see him.
But she had.
And maybe that was the truest statement he’d ever thought about his life.
Four
Mia
Guilt wasn’t a nice feeling.
But Mia didn’t do nice.
Ever.
So maybe guilt fit right in. She certainly had shouldered her fair share of it over the years.