40. Sara #3
“They could skate blindfolded.” Fitz laughs. “They’re fine. Sar, you want to get out there? I can get a picture.”
“No.” I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off the ice. “But good idea.” Phone in hand, I tap the screen and hit record. Not for the team. Not even for me. This is for Ethan. His face is so bright, and his cheeks are rosy from the cold. God, he’s never looked happier.
When Brooks brings him back to the bench, my throat is so tight I can’t speak.
“That was amazing!” my brother yells.
Once Ethan is on his feet on my side of the boards.
Brooks hovers so close his skates tap the barrier between us.
He grasps me by the neck and ducks low so our mouths are a breath apart.
“Enjoy the game, crazy girl. I love you.” Then he kisses me.
It’s quick and chaste. When he pulls back, he shoots me a wink and snags the gloves I still have tucked under my arm.
He’s skating awayand getting into position before I can process the significance of what he’s just done for me and for Ethan.Before the impact of those last few words he spoke can register.
It isn’t until he’s in place that the way he said I love you sinks in. The phrase left his lips like it was second nature. Like he’d easily say it every day for the rest of his life. Like he truly loves me.
In a daze, I clasp Ethan’s hand and guide him back to where my mother is standing at the glass, beaming just as brightly as my brother.
“That man is something special, Sara.”
I nod woodenly, still at a loss. He is special.
And so much more. He’s my best friend. The man who does whatever he can to make me smile. There’s no ask too big. No favor too much.
He finds out I was supposed to cut my hair for charity and can’t, so he cuts his and dares the league to join in. The challenge has gone viral. He did that for me.
My brother asks what it’s like to skate, and rather than just describe it, Brooks brings him out to experience it for himself.
He’s the best person I know. And he loves me.
For the past year he’s spent his nights beside me on the couch, watching every rom-com ever put out on VHS.
He’s humored me and let me cry on his shoulder during season after season of Dawson’s Creek .
He took me to a Lake Paige concert and snuck me backstage to meet her.
He makes dinner for me and laughs at my insanity.
I think maybe he’s always loved me.
And maybe I’ve always loved him.
Oh shit. I love him.
I love him.
My heart pounds out a rhythm in my chest. One that feels a lot like I told you so .
I have to tell him.
“Mom.” Emotions swirl through me as my chest tightens, the ache almost unbearable. My heart is about to beat out of my damn chest if I don’t say these words aloud. I grip her shirt and pull her back toward the ice.“I have to tell him.”
“Tell who what?” When all I do is gape in response, she points at the box where we left our things. “Honey, our seats are over this way.”
“You go.” I release her. “I’ll be right back.” Taking the stairs two at a time, I dodge fans locating their seats and run toward the ice. We’re seconds away from the puck drop, and the music is already playing. The guys are lining up, so I push myself faster.
I have to tell him.
Arms in the air, I wave them wildly as I dart for the glass. Brooks doesn’t see me. He’s in the zone, settling into his position, knees turned inward, head tucked, completely focused on the players at center ice.
“Brooks!” I shout, desperate to get his attention before play begins. “Brooks, wait!”
He doesn’t hear me. The music is loud and the fans are still milling about and getting settled in, but I don’t stop calling his name. My sole focus is getting these words off my chest.
I practically slam into the plexiglass, pounding my fists against it and screaming like a lunatic. “Brooks!”
At center ice, Tyler swivels, ignoring the ref moving to the center line, puck in hand.
Aiden straightens next, eyeing Tyler. When he spots me, I point to Brooks, tapping my finger harshly against the glass, desperate to communicate that I want his attention.
When McGreevey spots me, he taps his stick on the ice to get Brooks’s attention. Once he has it, he points his stick at me.
As if in slow motion, Brooks turns in my direction. The moment his eyes lock on me, I freeze.
Oh God. What do I do now?
The entire team is now staring at me. Their opponents too.
Brooks leaves the crease and skates toward me. I can’t make out his features beneath his mask, but his shoulders are high and his posture is rigid in concern.
“Thirteen, get back in position!” Seb yells.
The ref blows a whistle.
Fans scream in surround sound.
I’m not sure if they’re booing or cheering. The buzzing in my ears from the adrenaline rush makes it impossible to tell.
Brooks stops with his face inches from the glass and peers down at me, green eyes filled with worry as he catalogs every inch of me. Like he’s truly afraid something has happened to me in the few minutes since we parted. “You okay?”
“I love you.” The words hurtle out of my mouth.
Brooks blinks and holds his gloved hand up to his ear. “Come again?”
“I love you!” I scream it this time, hands splayed against the glass.
“I love you so much, Brooks Langfield. I’m in love with you.
And it is a high school kind of love. It is.
And I’m glad it is, because it’s the kind of love that’s usually only possible before you’ve had your heart broken. The kind you believe is forever.
“A Pacey and Joey love. Like with the painting on the wall. Before they broke up. But we won’t break up, because we know better and we don’t need all that drama. And I love you.”
I tip my chin up and laugh. The love I have for him makes me effervescent. Like I might just float up to the rafters. And it feels so damn good to finally tell him.
“It’s a good love too.” I clutch my hands to my chest, savoring the way my heart aches. “Innocent and pure and good. Because that’s what you are. You’re a good person, Brooks. The best. And I’m in love with you.”
He tears his gloves off and slaps his hands to the glass. I hold mine up to his.
“I heard you the first time, crazy girl. Just wanted to hear you say it again.”
I shake my head, smiling so wide my lips might crack. “I love you.”
He drops his helmeted head against the glass. “I love you too.” He lets out a long, almost relieved breath.
The whistles blow again, and he jumps. He whips his head around, then turns back to me. “I gotta game to play, but maybe we can talk about this later, yeah?”
Elation flows through me, but it’s instantly replaced by trepidation. Because suddenly I realize the entire arena is watching us. Our images are magnified on the Jumbotron. The refs are going ballistic. So is Seb, along with the coaches from the other team.
“Shit. Are you going in the sin bin?”
Brooks is smiling wide as he picks up his gloves. He shakes his head and skates backward toward the net. “Worth it,” he shouts.
Tyler is already headed toward the penalty box. McGreevey’s daughters never schooled me in the protocol for when a goalie delays the game, but I learn quickly that in place of Brooks, one of his teammates must sit for the penalty.
Tyler waves at the crowd as he takes one for the team, quite literally.
I mouth an “I’m sorry,” and in response, he points to me, then presses his gloved hand over his heart.
On my way to my seat, while my heart is still pounding and a thrill zips up my spine, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s a text from Lennox.
Lennox: Shocked emoji. Swooning emoji. Proud of you emoji.
I smile as I climb the concrete steps. Some of the fans I pass cheer, but most are Carolina fans who are sure to boo loudly. Even so, I hold my head high, feeling awfully proud of myself too.
And happy. So damn happy.