Chapter 26
HUDSON
Every team has its rotten puck, er, apple and I have a weird feeling that Grimaldi is that guy on the Knights—the guy I sent Leah on a date with—yes, I’m that dumb. I’m meeting with Beau to review some hockey footage, which probably means we’ll watch, I’ll talk, and he’ll grunt.
The guy is just built that way.
I swipe my Ice Palace pass and am reminded of sneaking in here with Leah when she made me learn spins.
When the nausea and dizziness set in, I thought she was trying to torture me, then she taught me how to work my way out of it and how to avoid it altogether.
Now, uneasiness slithers through me and it’s not because I’m meeting with one of the grumpiest guys in hockey who is also our other goalie.
As Beau flicks on the television and we settle into some comfortable home theater-style chairs, I can’t shake the feeling … or thoughts of Leah.
“You got it?” he asks.
“Yeah. No. Were you saying something?”
Beau rewinds the tape and starts it again, but all I see is the woman who’s out with a guy of questionable moral standards.
“Are you asking yourself why you set Leah up on a date with Grimaldi?”
Snapping to, I say, “Yeah.”
Beau wipes his forehead. “Focus. Here. Now. Then we can tackle that.”
“Are you saying I might have to fight him?” I will.
“Possibly.” The guy bears no expression indicating he’s serious or joking so I take him at his word.
“Does Badaszek have rules about inter-team fights?”
“It’ll probably slide.”
“Why does he keep Grimaldi?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but Badaszek is a hockey genius so we don’t question his choices.” Beau looks around and leans in even though we’re alone. “Between you and me, he’s likely going to trade him for Fletch.”
I start laughing. “For the Reno team, that would be like trading in your BMW for a bicycle.”
Beau shrugs. “Mark my words. It’ll happen before Christmas.”
“A mid-season trade with Grimaldi for Fletch Turley?”
Beau flips the game film back on.
But I cannot focus as my thoughts bonk around the bumpers like in a pinball machine. Hunter always wanted one of those when we were kids. Then he just moved into a video game hole and didn’t come out except to play his guitar, lead Leah on, or torment me.
“You’re not paying attention, are you?” Beau asks a minute later.
“Fletch? Really?” I stammer.
“The real question is Grimaldi, really?” Beau counters.
I quickly realize he refers to my setting him up on a date with Leah when the guy is a renowned sleazeball. “Grimaldi overheard me telling Jack and Chuck about the homecoming event. Grimaldi said he wanted to take a swing.”
Beau’s eyebrows nearly lift to his hairline. “And you were okay with that?”
“I’m not Leah’s keeper.”
“But you’re getting married.”
“I’d say, I do. She’d say, No way.”
“What if you manned up, big boy?”
“What?” I ask, shocked.
“Tell her how you feel.”
“Have you met Leah? She’d knock me out cold.”
Beau shrugs. “Possibly. But did you ever think that maybe the reason she’s so prickly is that she’s keeping you at an emotional distance?
Could be that she’s been rejected repeatedly.
Idiots if you ask me. She seems like a special girl.
Or maybe she’s never been pursued. A guy has never told her she’s beautiful. ”
“She is.”
“Or that she’s special.”
“That too.”
“That they want to spend time with her and cheesy stuff like that,” Beau says as if the conversation is crossing his comfort threshold.
Come to think of it, I don’t know of Leah ever dating. Not that I’ve been keeping track.
“How’d you get so insightful?” I ask.
“It helps to listen.” He points to the television, frozen with the puck slicing toward the goal. “And watch … carefully.”
“Got it.” But there’s no way I can pay attention right now.
Beau asks, “Is the thing keeping you from focusing on this game tape, a gut feeling or jealousy?”
I cock my head, tapping into my thoughts, but the stirring in my chest gives me the answer to his question.
“Are you having an intuitive feeling that things aren’t going well on their date or do you want her for yourself?” Beau clarifies.
“Both.”
He wags his head toward the door. “Go. Call me if you need backup.”
Without second-guessing myself, I dart for the hallway and holler, “Thanks! I owe you.”
Although Leah protested about the “blind date” with a Knight because it was obvious she wasn’t clicking with the guys from my former teams, I’m glad I set it up for them to meet at the Cobbiton Harvest Carnival—at least she’s in public with Grimaldi. The guy is a leech.
However, when I finally get a parking spot after circling the streets surrounding Aracorn Field because all of the yards and paid parking areas are full, locating them is going to be like trying to find a corn kernel in a box of pebbles.
Flashing lights crisscross overhead, competing with the autumn leaves. The air smells like cotton candy, wood smoke, and mechanical grease from the carnival rides.
Artisans set up stalls with crafts. The Junior Scouts—which I always longed to be part of—has a display highlighting the badges they’re working on.
People on horseback walk on the main drag along with moms and dads pushing strollers.
Kids race around, and teen couples meander, awkwardly far apart on their first date, or cozying up away from the prying eyes of their parents.
A pop song battles with gleeful screams from the rides to the faint strains of a live country band in the background.
As I do a second lap, passing the jack-o’-lantern carving contest display again, I see a familiar bright blond head of hair disappear into the Fun House. When I reach the entrance, a pimply teenager holds out his hand.
“What?” I ask.
He points to the ticket hut. “It’s three tickets for admission.”
There’s no time to stand in line if I don’t want to lose sight of Leah.
I slap a fifty into his palm and then rush up the rickety metal steps.
The gleeful shouts from the swinging Viking ship, beeping sounds from the games, the chorus of the song played by the live band, and the din of chatter fade as I walk up the rusty steps.
A familiar, greasy voice slithers toward me. “I’ll tell you if you come back to my place.”
“But I never asked to know your first name,” Leah’s smoky tone says from behind a neon panel of cut-out geometrical shapes that glow.
I could Kool-Aid Man my way through the wall, but this place doesn’t seem like it passed the construction code and I’d hate for it to collapse on us.
The air is stuffy in here and smells like dirty laundry.
My concern about Leah’s safety ratchets up when I stumble over a trap door on the floor. This place is a death trap.
I squeeze past a group of teenage girls in the spinning barrel with swinging disks hanging at the other end, coming dangerously close to my head, and enter the house of mirrors section. I see four Leahs. No Five. I’ll take all ten.
Leah number three backs up. The others warp. It’s dim and with the strobe light, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s a reflection.
“You’re coming home with me. No arguing. I’ll make it worth your while,” Grimaldi says.
“I’m not interested. This was a mistake.” That’s distinctly her, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
“Come on. It’s good luck to kiss in here. We’ll just get things started so you know what you have to look forward to,” gross, greasy Grimaldi says.
She replies, “No. Get away from me. I’m leaving.”
I can’t say for sure whether it’s jealousy, intuition, or primal protection, but as adrenaline rushes through me, I’m beside Leah in several strides. “Touch her and die.”
Eyes wide, Grimaldi looks up at me. Only it’s his reflection. I turn around and can’t figure out where he is. The sound of his chortle comes from nearby.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asks.
I whip around, but the room is meant to be disorienting and it’s working.
Leah’s footsteps pound on the grating of the floor and her reflection disappears. I storm forward, searching for Grimaldi and snatching at the air.
I hear him say, “See you on the ice, sucker.”
Hurrying outside, I find Leah nearby, ordering a massive s’mores on a stick.
“Are you okay?” I call, catching my breath.
She looks me up and down. “‘Touch her and die.’ Really, Hudson?”
“Dramatic times call for dramatic measures … or something,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like rushing in like a gallant knight isn’t appreciated.
“I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or be fuming.”
I capture her eyes and ask, “Did you want to kiss him?”
“Ew. No. He was handsy, too. So clammy.” She shivers. “Why would you—?” Her jaw lowers while she waits for her order. “Did you set me up with Grimaldi so you could save the day?”
“What? No.” He wanted to “Take a swing” and I don’t mean with his fist, though that might be a different case now.
Leah turns sharply toward me, eyes floating over me as if realizing something. Her eyes brighten. “Seriously, you did that for me? That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Every inch of me except for one, the size of a corn kernel, wants to say, Yes, of course!
But I cannot lie to Leah even if I risk disappointing her.
While her marshmallow is toasting inside the little food truck, I tell the truth about how I was with Beau and couldn’t stop thinking about her.
That I didn’t want her to be with Grimaldi either.
“I was concerned about your comfort and safety—that Fun House ought to go to the carnival graveyard—but also I was jealous. Maybe I wanted to be here with you.”
“Then why didn’t you ask?” Her tone isn’t as sharp as I’d expect.
The food truck worker interrupts, “Miss, do you want Graham cracker crumbs and mini marshmallows?”
“Yes, please,” Leah responds.
This gives me a moment to think. Actually, I don’t need to at all.
“Leah, will you go to the Cobbiton Harvest Carnival with me?”
“We’re already here,” she says, taking the s’mores on a stick and then passing one to me.
“I know, but I’m officially asking.”
A private smile slowly lifts her lips. “Thanks for the rescue and yes.” She taps her treat against mine.
Forget the carnival lights surrounding us, something inside flares. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Cheers to that.”
I take a bite and the chocolate combined with marshmallow melt in my mouth. Then I say, “Wait. I thought you said you have a salty tooth.”
“It’s a seasonal thing,” she says breezily.
As I follow Leah to a picnic area where a band plays classic rock covers. I wonder if she only shows select people her soft side.
She’s wearing jeans and tall leather boots that hit below the knee, along with a cozy, cropped knit sweater. Her outfit is put together but fun. Not dressed in all black like she’s an extra at a funeral—like when she used to practically worship Hunter and dressed the same as he did.
Little did he know that hiding under all those oversized sweatshirts was a knockout figure.
Which I should not be admiring.
I recall what she looked like in her figure skating costumes. If she wore one at our lesson, I would’ve gotten another concussion from passing out on the ice.
Which I also should not be thinking about.
Or perhaps Beau was right. Could be that she’d like to be appreciated. Of course, it’s not just limited to her looks. In a world where the women I encounter are sickly sweet to me because they want to be the next picked puck bunny, I like that Leah is real, challenges me, and keeps me on my toes.
She bobs her head along to the music and then licks the gooey marshmallow on her s’mores stick.
I whisper, “You look beautiful tonight.”
She turns her head and our faces nearly collide. “What? I didn’t hear you.”
The band does an encore and I keep quiet until they wrap up their set. I finish off my s’mores on a stick as Leah continues to savor hers.
Watching her sends a live current through me. I should avoid standing water or perhaps douse myself in the dunk tank. At this rate, either way, I’m a goner.
I’m the Golden Retriever, but she’s my catnip.
Eventually, I say, “Could you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
I nudge my chin toward her s’mores on a stick.
Giving me a dirty look, she says, “You want me to stop eating the most delicious thing I’ve had in ages? I’ve been surviving on a steady diet of cheese balls and the cook’s entrée mistakes at the Fish Bowl.”
“Just don’t eat it that way.” I swallow thickly.
The corner of her lip twitches. “Then don’t watch me.”
“You have no idea what you do to me, Leah.”
As if she didn’t hear me again, she doesn’t respond, but I glimpse her cheeks and they’re bright red.
Whatever tension is between us ebbs and flows as we ride the tilt-a-whirl, smash into each other on the bumper cars, and take a spin on the massive swings.
When we get to the animal barn, Leah gets all cutesy and cuddly over the bunnies. She’s petting a white English Angora rabbit who’s wearing a bowtie.
“He’s so soft. A little tuxedo bunny.”
Ah, the bowtie makes slightly more sense.
I’ll admit, I like seeing the sweet side of Leah as well as the salty.
But it could be that she was giving me the prickles for another reason.
But why? Is it a teenage reflex leftover from back in the day?
I wouldn’t be surprised if Hunter was inexplicably jealous, so she made it her mission to be clear that she despised me.
Leah sees a sideshow exhibit that boasts of having a real mermaid and tells me about her lousy date with John Z at the zoo.
Honestly, I don’t want to hear about her dates with other guys, even though it’s my fault she went on them.
I’m glad they went sideways, not because it was unpleasant for her, but because now we’re here together and she didn’t fall madly in love with one of them.
As we wait in line for the Gravitron, I glimpse Leah’s silhouette, backlit by the colorful lights of the carnival. She’s smiling. Me too. I can’t escape these newfound feelings. Nor do I want to.
“We should just get married right here. Right now,” she says.
I do a double-take as the ticket taker tears ours in two and shuffles us onto the Gravitron before I can ask Leah what she means.