Chapter 22 Talbot
TALBOT
“Ithought you would have been better at this since you’re hanging around all those pro hockey players.”
“It’s not like they’re playing hockey in the house,” I argue, passing my youngest brother the puck then quickly turning.
“Wait, wait, wait, I thought Ryan West had a hockey rink in his basement?” Jake spouts.
“He does not.”
“Damn. I really needed that to exist in the world.”
I take a slap shot at Elsa, who blocks it easily.
“Terrible.” Jake shakes his head.
“Is it just me?” Elsa calls, “or did he get worse?”
“It’s because we’re playing on an outdoor rink,” I complain.
“The man eats three fancy meals in a mansion, and suddenly he can’t play pond hockey,” Anderson chirps.
“He definitely got worse.” Hudson skates past me, maneuvering a puck around my feet.
I lunge at him, and he shoves me.
“You are spending too much time drinking hot chocolate shots with that old lady,” Lawrence yaps.
“Granny Keagan?”
“He knows all their names!” Lawrence and Anderson tic-tac-toe a shot around Jake. I rush in to steal the puck before they can take a shot on Elsa.
I’m still faster than the rest of my brothers. Like any teenage boy in Maplewood Falls, I used to dream of playing hockey for the NHL. Dating Misty is the closest I’ll ever get to the NHL.
Fake dating.
But real kissing.
I drift off, remembering how she melted against me. Yeah, then ignored you the rest of the night like a scared kitten.
“Whoo!” Lawrence whoops as he knocks me off the puck, quickly whipping his stick around.
“Hey, boys!” A woman whose face is obscured by a helmet waves to us over the boards. “We have this half of the ice, okay?”
Hudson nods to her then goes back to fighting with Jake for the puck.
I keep staring at the woman.
She’s wearing skintight yoga pants and a longish sweater that looks like it’s handmade. She’s not wearing full gear, just shin guards and oversized hockey gloves.
“I thought you had a fake girlfriend. She not putting out?” Anderson jokes.
“Talbot’s supposed to be on a job. Don’t encourage him.” Hudson narrowly misses, crashing into Lawrence as he goes for the puck.
I skate a step toward her.
“Talbot, what the f—”
I punch my younger brother. “She has little kids with her. Watch your mouth.”
The kids surrounding the familiar woman gape at us in our hockey gear. For a second, I’m transported back in time to when I was first learning to skate.
I shake my head.
The young woman steps out onto the ice, followed by the gaggle of little kids slipping and sliding on the surface.
“Keep your ankles stiff!” she instructs.
Shit, that’s definitely Misty.
“We need to go,” I hiss at my brothers.
“We just got here,” they complain.
“That’s a client.”
“So?” Lawrence rests his chin on the handle of his stick. “Hudson hangs out with Grayson Richmond all the time.”
“That’s for networking, and Mr. Richmond is a repeat client,” Hudson barks.
“Oh shit, that’s the girl who wants to off her ex-boyfriend.” Jake laughs, balancing the puck on his stick.
“No, that’s the girl who paid to fuck Talbot for some reason.” Elsa skates over in her oversized goalie pads. “Little did she know, he’s a slut. He’d give it away for free.”
“We booked the rink for this time,” Anderson reminds Hudson.
“The job takes precedent,” I counter.
“Then you leave, Talbot,” Anderson snaps.
“Talbot?” Dammit, Misty is staring right at us. She gives a tentative wave.
Begrudgingly, I skate over.
While I try to decide if I should kiss her or not, a puck slides toward us. Before I can get it, Misty backhands it into the melee of little kids.
“It’s a little bit chaotic here,” she says apologetically.
One of the little girls latches onto my pants leg to haul herself upright. “This is hard!”
“Yeah, that’s why your mom signed you up for extra lessons.” Misty smiles at the girl. It makes her eyes crinkle a little.
“Is it snack time yet?” One little boy complains, flopping down on the ice in front of Misty.
Two kids collide right in front of me.
I wince, but Misty just separates them with her stick, all while coaxing another little girl to “just try to hit the puck, Celia, it won’t bite you.”
“They’re like little penguins.” A laugh escapes me.
“The novelty wears off once they throw a stick at your face.” Her eyes literally sparkle in the sunlight that reflects off the ice.
“Drag me!” one boy demands, skidding and flopping at my feet.
“Line up. Ollie, I said line up,” Misty orders in a no-nonsense voice.
My mother would have never been out here skating with her kids. Misty seems like she’d be that type, though.
“I didn’t know you played hockey,” I tell her as one kid sighs and collapses at my feet.
“I wanna go home!”
Misty gives me a wry smile. “Greatest sport there is!”
I grab the kid by the ankles. He giggles as I drag him into line with the rest of the kids. “Where do you want him?”
“End of the line!”
“Me, me, me, do me next!” the kids clamor.
“You all have to do drills before playtime.” Misty claps her hands.
The kids whine and groan.
“Is that your boyfriend?” one girl asks, pointing at me.
“We’re playing hockey, not getting boyfriends,” Misty says.
“My sister says she only plays hockey so she can get a rich NHL boyfriend.”
“Not the greatest plan I’ve ever heard.” Misty raises her eyebrows.
“But yes, I am her boyfriend.” I drape an arm around Misty’s shoulder and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth while the kids all shriek, “Eww!”
The girl stares up at me, critical, judgmental.
I stare back at her.
“He’s cute, Ms. Evans, but is he rich?”
Misty presses her tongue to her teeth and gives a sharp whistle.
I clap my hands to my ears.
The kids assemble into somewhat of a line.
“We’re practicing deep-squat gliding,” Misty demonstrates, gliding toward the net while crouched down on the ice. “Pretend you’re a swan floating on the water.”
One kid bares his teeth and barks at me.
“Follow her.” I scoot him with my stick, wondering if I should offer to help.
A part of me wants to, wants to pretend for a few minutes that we are just two normal people on the ice.
And after practice, we’re going to go out for hot chocolate or pasta or something wholesome and laugh about the antics of the kids.
I’ll blow off Fitz and whatever’s on the docket for January, rent a small apartment, and skate with her every day.
No, I don’t want that. I love my job. I’ll call Fitz. Tomorrow.
“Ow!” A puck hits me. Jake is waving me over and motioning to his watch.
Pushing off my blades, I skate over.
I can’t concentrate on the game with my siblings. My attention is pulled to Misty with the kids.
She’s a natural with them. They follow her around the ice like little ducklings.
“I love my job,” I whisper to myself.
I force myself to focus on the scrimmage, switching edges as I spin around the back of the net, just managing to pass the puck to Jake.
“In your face, Elsa!” he screams as the puck goes in.
My sister throws her glove at him.
Jake jumps on me. “Talbot’s still got it!”
“Goal!” a little voice yelps.
Jake curses as we notice the tiny little boy watching, fascinated, helmet askew on his head.
“Fenton.” Misty skates over.
“She’s a fast skater, eh?” Anderson whispers as Misty skids to a stop in front of us, ice spraying beneath her skates. She scoops up the little boy and bounces him on her hip.
“I told you not to bother them,” she scolds him.
“Can you play with us?” he hollers at my brothers.
“We aren’t playing. We’re doing drills,” one of them says.
Misty spins him around while he shrieks with laughter.
I want that, some traitorous part of me whispers.
It’s the skating outdoors, that’s all. With the light snowfall and the snowy trees surrounding the rink, it makes me nostalgic.
“Sorry, I’m trying to get them to leave you alone, but they’re obsessed.” Misty smiles at me, her nose wrinkling slightly, before skating away.
I want to kiss her.
My oldest brother’s giving me a knowing look. “Go on.” He jerks his head. “You know you want to.”
“I—”
“You’re going to get hurt if you’re not paying attention.”
The kids all cheer when I skate over.
Misty’s demonstrating a crossover drill. Her motions are smooth, fluid, powerful. Her cheeks are pink, and she stops expertly in front of me, leaning on her stick, her chin resting on her gloves as she grins up at me.
“Thought you might need some help. The kids look a little wiggly.”
“Seems we have an esteemed guest. Say hi to Mr. Talbot.”
“Hi!” the kids chorus.
She concedes. “We can do play skate early, I suppose.”
I take off and grab one of the little boys, pushing him on the ice in front of me as he shrieks.
“I’m flying, I’m flying!”
“He’s faster than you, Ms. Evans,” one girl says, nose in the air.
Misty puts her hands on her hips. “Well, he hasn’t been chasing after you all afternoon.”
I rush at her.
She screams as I grab her waist, and we go flying down the ice while the kids all race after us. I want to kiss her, but the way I want to kiss is not suitable for this wholesome afternoon.
I could stay skating with her and the kids forever.
But too soon, Misty is shooing the kids to the rink exit.
“Grab your snacks,” Misty calls as the kids all pile onto the snowy walkway around the rink and flop down to pull off their skates.
After pulling off my glove with my teeth, I unlace the tiniest skates I’ve ever seen.
“Thanks.” Misty laughs. “They can’t tie their skates tight enough yet, so I do it, then they can’t get them off.”
I sit back. “How do you even do this by yourself?”
“You just have to make sure everyone’s facing the same direction.” Gone is the tense, closed-off girl from a few days ago. Misty looks relaxed and happy. Softer.
She hands out the snack bags she’s made the kids, telling them what a good job they did as their parents collect them.
I think I want a kid and a wife. Or whatever gets me this.
My siblings are slowly skating over, arguing about the last goal.
“…can’t believe you just let him flake,” Anderson’s complaining to Hudson.
“You didn’t have to miss your hockey.” Suddenly, her nervous energy is back.
“I’m so sorry. Sorry, boys!” Misty calls to my brothers.
“Oh, and girl! Hello, fellow female hockey player! I brought snacks if you want. I made sandwiches for the Harbor Hawks practice. These are the rejects. They’re still tasty, just not that photogenic. ”
“Starving!” my brothers yelp, rushing to the food, throwing off their helmets, and plopping down on the frozen wood bleachers. Their black hair that matches my own is plastered to their heads with sweat.
“So freaking good,” Anderson mumbles.
“How is it still hot?” Lawrence fans his mouth.
I toss Cocoa a scrap of my sausage. The dog is swaddled in another handmade sweater and lots of blankets.
Misty narrows her eyes, looking between my siblings and me. Without the visors disguising their eyes, it’s obvious that we’re related.
Misty points to Elsa. “Is that the one with the foot fetish you gave your feet-porn pics to?”
I can feel Hudson freaking out, the What the fucks beaming from his brain to mine.
“You’re making foot porn now?” Jake laughs. “I thought you had a real job.”
“Shut up,” Hudson growls low in his throat.
We brace ourselves. Anderson has half a sandwich hanging out of his mouth.
I wait for Misty to go full Karen, demand her money back, threaten to call the police, and tell us she’s turning us over to the FBI or else.
“So, these are your siblings.” She’s rocking back and forth on her skates. “Enjoying some wholesome ice-skating family time?”
Hudson clocks what’s going on before I do.
“We never see Talbot enough,” he says almost sunnily. It’s creepy.
“Didn’t even realize he was in Maplewood Falls until we saw him on some crazy Instagram stories.” Now Jake’s picking up the line.
“Partying with NHLers,” Lawrence jokes. “He’s in the big leagues, not to mention dating the Ryan West’s daughter.”
“Stepdaughter,” Misty corrects.
“You skate like you’re his daughter!” Elsa chirps.
Misty ducks her head, embarrassed. “I wouldn’t say that at all.”
“Are you on a rec team?” Elsa asks. “My team always needs defenders.” My sister has cast the job to the wayside and is thinking only of her beer-league team.
Stop it, I mouth to Elsa then can’t help a smoldering smile when Misty turns to look at me.
Hudson grabs Elsa by the back of her goalie gear. “Thanks for the sandwiches. Talbot, see you later?”
After they leave, I let my arm settle on Misty’s waist, lean in to rest my rapidly cooling sweaty forehead against hers. Then I give in and kiss her until she’s panting and breathless.
“I’m not—” she stammers as my hands slide under her warm jersey.
“What?” I murmur against her mouth.
“Not in a cute outfit.”
“You’re a girl with tits playing hockey. You’re just my fucking type, Gumdrop.” And it’s scary true.
She looks concerned.
Shit.
“Your family doesn’t know what you do for a living?”
“No one knows,” I lie.
“Wow.” She looks at me with… pity, for a moment. “That must be so lonely.” She rests her glove lightly on my arm.
“Yeah, it… sometimes… but mostly, it’s fine. Travel is fun. Sometimes, I get to stay at nice hotels. I meet cute girls.”
I lean in to kiss her, wanting to do more, but we’re both hindered by the heavy hockey padding.
Before I can suggest going back to her place and doing more than kissing, my phone buzzes with a message from my brother.
Hudson: Don’t let it get that close again.
Hudson: Finish the job. This is getting too messy.
And it’s about to be even worse.