Chapter Seven Noah
Chapter Seven
Noah
I was going to kiss Odette.
My lips were a mere inch away from hers. All I had to do was lean in just a bit closer, and they would have collided. I would have finally learned if all that sass she gives off makes her taste sweet or salty.
My money is still on sweet, but I’ll never get the chance to find out because my sister ruined the moment.
I’m as pissed as I am relieved, especially since I shouldn’t want to kiss her at all.
Yet . . . I do.
I wish I could say running into a door and messing up my face because of her turned me off, but that’d be a lie. If anything, it’s gotten worse. She’s been on my mind more often than not these last two days, and not just because every time my face aches, I think of her.
It’s more than that, but I can’t seem to place my finger on what that more is.
Still, I won’t be crossing our carefully placed lines, no matter how enticing they are.
“Pass me that plate, will you?”
My dad’s words knock me out of my stupor, and I reach for the serving dish and hand it to him.
“Thanks, kid,” he says as if I’m not a grown-ass man. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, Pops. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Those silly damn sunglasses covering what I know is most definitely not a work accident, for one.”
“Just don’t want to worry Mom, you know?”
He nods. I’m sure he understands. She might be a little desensitized thanks to all the horror stories from his years as a doctor, but I’m her son. It’s different.
“Probably smart. Just make sure your sister gets those shades back. I don’t feel like hearing about how you stole them for the next . . . oh, gosh, how long has it been since you took her Taylor Swift CD? We still haven’t heard the end of that.”
“Because I did not take it.”
All right. Fine. I took it. But it was for the team. We were on a hot streak, and for some reason—I still don’t know why—“22” became our locker-room anthem. And because I had a superstition about needing to listen to my Walkman before puck drop, I stole Izzy’s CD so I could get pumped for games.
I’d do it all over again too. We won the Cup that year, and it was—and still is—worth her bitching.
“Whatever you say, kid,” Dad says with a knowing smirk.
I look away because if I don’t, I’ll laugh, and then he’ll really know I’m guilty. My attention goes straight to Odette, just as it has all night.
She doesn’t know, though. She’s too busy regaling my mother, hers, and Izzy with a tale about how she got into the movies free with a no-cost upgrade on her popcorn two weeks ago by flirting with the ticket attendant.
I want to tell her I saw him give Ms. Barlowe—who is about fifteen years older than me—free tickets, popcorn, and a drink, but I don’t bother. I let her have her moment.
Besides, she needs all the wins she can get lately, with how her business is nose-diving.
As much as I dislike weddings and all things lovey-dovey, I feel bad for Odette. She doesn’t deserve it, and I know I shouldn’t have ignored her these last two days.
I couldn’t help it, though. It was easier to keep her away from the farm than to have her around, even if it was nice to have a helping hand.
She was a distraction, and I don’t just mean because of her panties.
No, it was in the little things, like the soft grunts she made when she was lifting, the extra mayo she put on my sandwich because she knows that’s how I like it, and how—even though it ended in disaster—I was the one she called for help.
It’s silly that it delighted me as much as it did, but it’s been a long time since I was anyone’s hero.
Chelsea used to ask me to do all kinds of little things for her, like kill spiders or open jars. Then, one day, she stopped. Instead of asking me, she asked everyone else, then blamed me for always being gone.
She was right. I was gone a lot. But she knew that when she agreed to marry me. And instead of rolling with the punches and hectic life of a hockey player, she tried to change me and get me to quit the game I loved so much.
Worse? When I finally did retire—not for her, but for me—it still wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough.
No wonder we were divorced less than six months later.
So, yeah, even though I was the only option to help get rid of the spider, I was still an option, and I hate how much that meant to me.
“All right,” my dad announces, holding up the tray of burgers and brats. “Dinner is served, ladies!”
They all clap, and he eats up the attention.
We move to the long table already set for dinner and pass around the food, filling our plates to the brim. Meat, potato salad, grilled corn on the cob, and green bean casserole go around and around.
We fall into easy conversation, which isn’t surprising since we’ve been doing this for years. I missed many dinners when I was playing, but when I came back to Washington, it felt like I was never gone at all.
“I think you should do fairy lights all over the barn. Think of how pretty that will be at night.”
Of course the conversation has turned to the wedding. That’s how every dinner has gone since Izzy got engaged.
“Oh yes! I think it would be incredible. So romantic looking. What do you think, Odette?”
All eyes swing to her, and I can instantly tell she’s nervous to be put on the spot. Her shoulders go rigid, her lips parting like she’s lost her breath.
That’s new. She’s never been cagey about discussing weddings and details before. Part of me wonders if it’s just nerves because of how her last few weddings have gone and her needing to save her business, or if it’s because it’s Izzy’s wedding, and she wants it to be perfect.
I can’t tell which.
“We can do whatever you want, Iz.”
My sister claps excitedly, then deflates. “Ugh. I wish Craig were here so he could weigh in.”
“Yes, where is my future son-in-law again tonight?” my mother asks.
“Work,” Izzy answers. “He’s trying to get ahead on his projects so we can go on our honeymoon unbothered, but it’s really taking him away from the wedding planning. We’re already short on time, so it’s just stressful.”
“Good thing you have the best wedding planner around.” Elaine beams at her daughter, squeezing her arm.
Odette returns the smile, but there’s a frailty at the edge that I’m not sure her mother catches.
Or maybe anyone else, for that matter.
Can’t they see she’s freaking out? Can’t they see these bad reviews are crumbling her business? Don’t they notice how she’s barely holding on to her dream?
“Oh my god!” A loud gasp from my mother. “Your face!”
Izzy snorts a laugh. “He gets that reaction from all the ladies.”
I flip my sister off and push my glasses—which have apparently slipped down my nose—back up as my mother rises from her chair and rounds the table to me.
I hold my hands up in an attempt to ward her off, but it’s no use. She snatches the sunglasses off my face, her eyes widening as she lets out yet another gasp.
“Noah Brian Stevens! What on earth did you do to yourself? Got something in your eye, my ass.”
She glowers down at me, and I can’t help it—the young boy in me comes out instantly as I slink lower in my seat, my shoulders drooping with shame.
“Sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you, is all.”
“Now I’m extra worried. What did you have to lie about? What was so bad that I couldn’t handle it?”
I force myself not to look at Odette. I really don’t want to rehash this whole ordeal yet again. It was bad enough with Izzy earlier.
“Nothing was bad about it. I just . . . I got a little disoriented and ran into my bathroom door. That’s all.”
“Disoriented? Disoriented?! What’s wrong? Are you sick?” She presses the back of her hand against my forehead. “You don’t feel hot. Did you pass out? Were you dizzy?”
“Mom!” I yell, pulling away from her and pushing to my feet. Literally anything to get away. “Stop it. I’m fine. Totally fine. Not dizzy, not sick. Nothing. Maybe disoriented was the wrong word.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t you yell at your mother, Noah. You might be grown, but I’m still your parent.”
I sigh, running my palm over my face. I wince when I hit my nose, which prompts my mother to launch at me again, but I ward her off.
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just— Would you knock it off?” I say to Izzy, who has been cackling loudly this entire time.
She doesn’t bother listening. She just laughs louder.
I roll my eyes at her antics. Of course she finds this hilarious. I’m sure I would, too, if this were anyone else, but it’s not.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I tell her again. “But I’m okay. I promise. It’s just a bump and some bruises. Nothing is broken. I’ve sustained worse injuries playing hockey.”
She shakes her head, and I know I’ve successfully distracted her. “Tell me about it. I still can’t get the sound of you colliding with that guy from the Carolina Comets out of my head.”
I never told her this because I didn’t want to worry her, but it took me a long time to stop thinking about it too.
The hit came in my second-to-last year from Adrian Rhodes, a beast of a man and a player, and knocked the wind out of me so badly that I couldn’t finish the game.
It was clean, but it hurt like a son of a bitch.
I ran into him and his wife at a charity thing a few months later, and we all had a good laugh about it.
“See? So, this?” I point at my face. “It’s nothing. It’ll be gone in a few days, and we can all joke about how dumb I am for forgetting I have a bathroom door.”
She tips her head, considering me for a moment. Eventually, she nods. “All right. Fine. Just . . . don’t lie to me next time, all right? I can handle it, no matter how gruesome or ridiculous it might be.”
“I won’t. I promise.” I hold my hand out. “Can I have the sunglasses back? Elaine doesn’t want to look at this ugly mug while she enjoys her dinner. Do you, Elaine?”
“Oh, me? Please. My first husband was a boxer. I’ve seen it all, honey.”
Still, my mother hands me the sunglasses, but not without one last sad glance.