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bleachers. Emily was sitting on a bench near the top, slightly apart from everyone else.
    And by herself.
    "Up there. Don't bother joining me." JP ignored Mat's muttered curse and made his way to the other side of the rink, carefully climbing over the bleacher seats so the coffee wouldn't spill. He knew the instant Emily saw him. Her entire body stiffened and her shoulders hunched forward, like she was preparing to make an escape. He ignored the body language and made his way over to her, holding out one cup as a peace offering.
    Wariness filled her eyes as she stared at him. For one awful moment, JP thought she'd refuse, that she'd actually get up and walk away. But she finally reached out and took the cup, carefully holding it between her gloved hands. He sat down next to her, probably too close for her comfort. She didn't move away, which he took as a good sign.
    "It's a latte. I remember you used to drink them." He didn't look over at her, almost afraid to. Emily didn't say anything, just removed the stopper from the lid and took a sip. Her body seemed to relax and JP breathed a small sigh of relief.
    He watched the game for a few minutes, surprised at how good some of the players were. It was slower than what he was used to, some of the plays filled with mistakes. Of course, this was youth hockey, not the professional leagues—the expectations were supposed to be different.
    "Why are you here?"
    JP glanced over at Emily. Her eyes were focused in front of her, her attention on the game. He shifted on the cold bench and took a swallow of his own coffee, ignoring her question. "Which one is Taylor?"
    "Number 44. That's her, there." Emily motioned with her head as the players lined up for face-off.
    "She's a forward, eh?"
    "What?"
    "She plays forward."
    "Oh. Yeah." Emily took another sip of coffee and shifted, just the tiniest bit. The move placed a few more inches between them. JP didn't hesitate in the least, just slid over as well, quickly closing the distance Emily had placed between them. She tried to move again and he reached out, clasping a hand lightly on her knee.
    "We can do this all morning until there's no bench left."
    Emily sighed, a sound that almost resembled a growl, and brushed his hand from her leg. She didn't look at him when she repeated her first question. "Why are you here?"
    "I thought you might want some coffee."
    She didn't reply, which caught JP off-guard. He had expected a caustic remark, a biting comment. Something. But Emily just sat there, her eyes facing forward, her hands wrapped around the cup.
    JP turned back to the game, watching the kids as they skated back and forth, sometimes tripping or stumbling. Someone passed the puck to Taylor and he watched, impressed, as the girl skated down the ice. He slid to the edge of the bench, watching as she neared the net and stopped to shoot. A kid from the other team, a boy at least a head taller, skated up behind her and crosschecked her, sending her stumbling and ruining the shot. The ref blew a whistle, the shrillness splitting the air.
    JP jumped from his seat. "That's a cheap shot! Pick on someone your own size, merde de poulet ."
    Coffee splashed over his hand as something tugged on his arm. He looked down, surprised to see Emily pulling on the sleeve of his leather jacket, a look of embarrassment and something else—amusement, maybe—crossing her face.
    "Sit down."
    "But that was a dirty hit. And picking on a girl! He should—"
    "Sit. Down." Emily pulled on his arm again, harder this time until he reluctantly lowered himself back to the cold metal bench. "You're going to get thrown out."
    "What? Nonsense." He wiped his hand along his leg, back and forth until the spilled coffee was gone.
    "Not nonsense. There's a zero tolerance policy in this league." Emily looked at him, actually looked at him, her blue eyes so clear and deep he thought about willingly drowning himself in their depths. Then her brows lowered in a frown. She shook her head