“Anywhere else?”

“I’m sore in general.”

“Okay.” I peel away the sheet, revealing his back. After pouring oil in my palm, I rub my hands together and smooth them across his shoulders.

A deep sound rumbles through Lance.

I lift my palms right away. “I’m sorry. Do you need me to stop?”

“No. Don’t.” He lifts his head and grabs my wrist, awkwardly trying to put my hand back where it was.

“Okay. I remember you said you don’t like being touched last time, so I wanted to make sure.”

He settles his face back in the cradle. “It’s okay when you touch me.”

I go back to rubbing slow circles on his back, warming up his muscles. His shoulders are tight, especially the right one. Every once in a while I get a low groan out of him that almost sounds like a purr and a growl intertwined. But when I reach his lower back, the contented groans turn into the kind I associate with discomfort.

“How can someone as small as you be so strong?” he asks.

“It’s just using different parts of my body to achieve the right amount of pressure. I couldn’t do this with just my hands.”

He hums and stays silent for a minute before he asks, “Have you always lived in Chicago?”

“Mm-hmm. This is actually the house I grew up in. My parents live outside of Chicago now.”

“Wow. I can’t even imagine that.”

“I guess being a professional hockey player means you move around a lot.”

“Yeah. My contract with Chicago has another two years on it, but you never know if they’re gonna trade you early or keep you on, ya know?”

“That can’t be easy.”

“It’s part of the job. Mostly I don’t mind the travel.”

“So if there was a place you’d call home, where would it be?”

He’s silent for a few seconds. “Here, I guess.”

“In Chicago? Why here?” I shouldn’t ask leading questions. It’s going to get me into trouble.

“I moved from Scotland to Chicago when I was thirteen. I lived with my aunt until I was drafted, and then I started moving around a lot, depending on what team wanted me. So other than Scotland, this place has the most roots for me.”

“Scotland is beautiful. Do you miss it?”

“You’ve been there?”

“I have a lot of family there.”

“I guess with a last name like O’Connor that makes sense.”

“We went on a family vacation there when I was young. I’d really love to go back one day. So how does a Romero end up as a ginger in Scotland?”

“My dad’s family was from Northern Italy. My grandfather married a Scottish woman, and they had my dad. My mum went to Italy for an exchange program in college and met my dad. He followed her back to Scotland. My mum’s not a redhead, but there must’ve been some ginger on her side, too, because this is what I got.” He gestures to his hair.

“So what brought you to the US?”

He’s silent for a few seconds. When he speaks again he has to clear the rasp from his throat. “My mum has sisters who moved here when she was young, so she has a lot of family in the States. She, uh, wanted to be here. My dad came with us at first, but after a while they split.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

My parents have always been a strong, stable unit. Even when my sister was causing trouble and making life generally difficult when we were teens, they were a united force. I can’t imagine them not together. Their relationship has always been the bar for mine. After thirty years, they’re still madly in love. I want that kind of forever for myself.

“My dad worked a lot, and that included traveling. My parents weren’t very happy for a long time, so it wasn’t as much of a surprise as it should’ve been, I guess. We stayed in Chicago for the hockey opportunities.”

“So you could play professional hockey?”

“Crazy, right? My cousins came to visit one summer while we were still in Scotland, and all we did was play road hockey. It was all I wanted to do after they left. That winter I came to visit them here and learned how to skate. I was a natural, I guess, and the coaches at the rink said there was potential. Back in Scotland, I took skating lessons where I could, but hockey’s not a big thing in the UK like it is here.”

“Does your mom still live in the city?”

“She moved to Connecticut when I was fifteen.” There’s a bite in his tone.

“Oh.”

I don’t press, because my questions seem to make him tense. What kind of mother moves her child across the ocean and then leaves him with his aunt? There has to be more to that story.

I work in silence for a while until I’ve done all I can for his back. It’s much better than it was when I started. I still have twenty minutes left, so there are several other areas I can work on. I glance down at his sheet-covered butt. As nice as it is to look at, it’s a lot different putting my hands on it in the privacy of my own home than in the clinic where everything is sterile and professional. Still, I have to ask. “Would you like me to work on your glutes again?”

“Uh, no. I think we’re good there.”

I’m almost relieved. “If you turn over, I could work on your neck and shoulders. There seems to be a lot of tension through there.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. I think that’d be okay.”