Chapter 16
Nate
MY ONLY WISH (THIS YEAR)
I wrap one arm around her waist, picking her up off her feet as she wraps her legs around my waist. As the other arm moves up her back to grab the back of her head, as I try to take over the kiss.
She pushes herself deeper into me as her hand that’s on my jaw moves to the back of my head.
We hold each other the same way as I kiss her or she kisses me.
Either way, I kiss her like it’s either the last kiss I’ll ever have or it’s the last kiss I’ll ever give her.
I’m about to press her deeper into the door when I feel someone pushing on it. “Hello.” I hear Jack’s voice. “I think one killed the other and pushed them against the door.”
I let her go but I don’t move back from the door until it’s being pushed again. “Are you okay in there?”
“No,” Elizabeth throws over her shoulder, “we are not okay.”
“Unwrap your legs from my waist,” I whisper, even though I don’t want her to. I feel her uncling herself from me.
“Ugh,” she gulps as she stands on her feet and then lifts her hand to wipe my lips. “Do you want to lie on the floor and play dead, or do you want me to do it?”
“Why is anyone playing dead?” I ask her and she points over her shoulder toward the door with her thumb.
“What other excuse are we going to use?” She barely gets the words out before she’s pushed forward and Jack squeezes in.
“What the fuck is going on here?” he asks me, and I get so nervous that my mouth is moving before I even know what I’m saying.
“She’s blocking me in and refusing to let me leave.” She gasps out.
“I was not.” She looks over at Jack, who stands in between us, looking at her, then at me.
“She wouldn’t move until I admit that I ruined her house on purpose,” I fabricate, and she just shakes her head side to side, her mouth literally hanging open. “She blocked me from leaving and threatened to kick me if I got closer to her.”
“Oh, I’m going to kick something all right,” she threatens me, coming to charge at me but Jack catches her and pulls her away from me. “Let me go.”
“Calm down,” he snaps. “Now the two of you are going to go out there and be civil.” He lets her go and she shrugs away his hand. “Or else the next time, I’m going to let Mom have a go at both of you, and you do not want that.”
“Make sure he stays far away from me.” She side-eyes me and I want to tell her she’s fucking dreaming if she thinks I’m going to stay away from her after that kiss we just shared.
I plan on kissing her a lot more, but before that, we really need to clear the fucking air and she’s going to tell me why she left me that morning.
She storms away from me, pulling open the door, and I think she growls as she walks out.
“Listen,” Jack starts, “I’m not saying she was right.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.” I put my hands on my hips. “It literally slipped out of my hands.”
“Well, we all know Elizabeth can be a bit—”
“Of a hothead,” I fill in for him and he grins.
“I was going to say competitive.”
“She’s that too,” I mumble. “I’ll stay clear of her,” I tell him and he smirks.
“I’d also sleep with one eye open if I was you.
” He looks down and laughs. “Remember what she did to me when she found out I was the one cutting her dolls’ hair when I tried to convince her we had ghosts in the house.
” I can’t help but laugh at the memory. “It took forever for my hair to grow back.” He turns and walks out of the bathroom.
“How did she even put the wax strips on your legs without you waking up?” I ask him as we walk back toward the hall and the noise.
“She’s like one of those cat burglars that you don’t hear or see until it happens. I went to bed and thought I felt something, but I was too dead asleep to open my eyes, and when I did in the morning, she had taken my mother’s wax strips and placed six of them on my legs. Six.”
“Oh, I remember,” I tell him, “I was the one who had to pry them off of you, don’t forget.”
“You and fucking Joshua did it with huge smiles on your faces.” He pushes my shoulder, and when I walk into the room, my eyes roam the room looking for her.
She’s next to Evie as the two of them are working on Evie’s house.
The mess that was my house and then her house is now cleaned up.
“You can help with mine,” Jack offers, “that way if I lose, I can just blame you.” He slaps my shoulder and walks around me as I watch Elizabeth’s face full of concentration as she does the roof.
“We come in peace,” Jack announces, holding up his hands, “and so does he.”
“You”—Evie points to me—“keep your mitts on that side of the table.”
“It was an accident,” I again try to defend myself.
“I’ll show you an accident,” Elizabeth mumbles, her eyes never looking up from what she is doing.
The end of the hour comes very quickly, and when I step away, I look over at Elizabeth and Evie’s and then at our house. “Dude.” I lean in to Jack.
“Yeah, we’re not winning this,” he agrees with me.
* * *
“That judge needs to get his eyes checked,” Elizabeth hisses out as we walk out of the venue and head toward my truck. “How the fuck did we come in second place?”
I look over at her. “She was an eight-year-old little girl.”
She rolls her eyes. “Exactly, her gingerbread house was shit and everyone knew it.” She looks over at me. “Her house looked like it was covered in blobs of icing.”
“I believe she called it a snowball fight,” I correct her.
“Whatever.” She opens her side of the truck. “She probably paid off the judge.”
“He was the cook for the caterer,” I point out to her.
“Wow,” she deadpans, “it’s like you didn’t even want to win.”
I chuckle as I get into the cab of the truck and start it. “If it’s any consolation”—I look over at her—“yours was way better than that eight-year-old’s.”
“I know,” she replies.
“I also think you handled it with grace and dignity. The parents were not at all offended when you mumbled out that it was rigged.”
“I think it was rigged. Did you see the way she smirked at me?” She turns her back to the truck door. “She knew exactly what she was doing.” She reaches for the seat belt. “I think she even made her lower lip quiver.”
I make my way over the arena, pulling into the parking lot and then grabbing my bag out of the back seat. “I didn’t bring my skates,” she says as I toss my bag over my shoulder.
“Pretty sure your dad has everything you need,” I assure as we walk in, and she looks around to see all the changes they made over the years. The walls are now covered with pictures from everyone in the family who has practiced here and has made their way into the NHL.
The first one on the side is of Cooper Stone, who came here one year to rehab and fell head over heels in love with the owner, Parker.
Matthew was fifteen and Allison was five.
Needless to say, the minute Cooper came into their lives, their father started retreating, and coming around for visits.
He even stopped taking Allison when it was his week to get her.
Matthew had long since given up on him, but Allison was ten years younger than him.
You would never know if you saw them together that they weren’t his kids.
Especially Matthew who, from what everyone says, is a caveman when it comes to his wife.
He apparently learned it all from Cooper.
“Dad,” she says once she sees Zack walking out of one of the dressing rooms. Jack, Joshua, and I have spent more time here than we did at home when we were growing up.
Jack had what it took to make it to the NHL, but when it came down to it, he wanted to follow in Denise’s footsteps and help people, instead of becoming a doctor, he focused on medical research.
Joshua had a taste of it, but now he’s working behind the scenes as a sports analyst. “Where are my things?”
“In the locker room where they always are.” She nods at him and I follow her and get into my skates beside her. She heads out to the ice before me, grabbing her helmet and gloves.
She spent her younger years playing hockey, stopping when she turned thirteen and decided she hated it.
But Zack still made her come to the rink every single Saturday and Sunday and help the younger kids learn how to skate.
She grabs a hockey stick off the side of the wall, making sure she likes it, turning it to the side, and then skates out onto the ice.
She goes in a circle before skating to the puck and moving her stick side to side.
People start to trickle on the ice as I grab my own stick and skate onto the ice. I’m gliding on when the puck hits my skate. “Oops.” I look over to see her.
“What is your problem?” I ask her and she shrugs and looks at me.
“Me?” She points to herself as she skates around me and then backward. “I don’t have a problem. What’s your problem?”
“My problem,” I start, skating away from her, also backward, “she’s about this high”—I motion with my hand to her exact height—“has blondish hair and green eyes.” She tries not to smile.
She stops skating and I stop in front of her. “My eyes are blue green.”
I look down at her. “I know exactly what color your eyes are, Elizabeth,” I assure, and it’s like it’s just the two of us on the ice and not the twenty or so who have now started skating around us.
“When you are really happy, they turn like a light green.” She doesn’t say a word.
“When you get angry, they are more blue than green. When you are mischievous, the bottom of your eyes are a light blue and the top of your eyes are almost a golden. When you are really fucking happy about something, they’re a darkish blue in the middle and then they get a greenish, almost gray around that.
But what I love the most, is the dark blue that is on the inside is also on the outside ring.
It’s fascinating and also the color I always try and make sure you have. ”
I can see her chest rising and falling, but before she can say anything, the sound of a whistle blows and the two of us look over to the side. “Okay, we’re going to do a couple of pickup games,” Zack says, skating onto the ice. “The teams are posted.”
We play hockey for two hours, and by the end of it, I need a shower so bad. “You stink,” Elizabeth declares from beside me.
“Why do you automatically assume it’s me?” I ask her as I untie my skate. “It could be you.” I pull off my skate and she doesn’t say another word to me as we get dressed and then get in the truck to head home.
They are having a pizza party at Zack and Denise’s house in two hours. When we pull up to the house, I get out and grab my bag before walking up the steps to her waiting at the door. “If you would give me the code, I could have been inside and put Whiskey out already.”
I put the code in, and she walks in after me. “I got the dog,” I tell her, dumping my bag and kicking off my boots before heading to the back of the house and letting Whiskey out.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she yells toward the kitchen, and five minutes after letting Whiskey back in, I’m also stepping into the shower.
I get out, grabbing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before going downstairs.
I don’t expect to find her sitting on one of the stools drinking a beer, her hair piled up on top of her head.
She’s wearing a black shirt that goes off her shoulder, and it looks like it goes down to her mid-thigh, her legs are bare and one is crossed over the other.
“I’m not going for pizza,” she declares and I walk over to the fridge and grab my own bottle of beer.
“I already called my mother and told her you were icing your pride because you lost the hockey game.”
“It’s a team sport, I didn’t lose the game, the team lost.”
“You know what I heard from that sentence?” she asks me, and puts down the beer. “You lost and I didn’t, that is the only thing I heard.”
I lean against the counter in front of her, twisting the cap open, tossing it on the counter beside me. “Why did you leave?” The second the words are out of my mouth, her eyes fly up to mine.
“What are you talking about?” she asks me, her hands wrapping around her beer.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Elizabeth.
Why did you fucking leave?” I knew we would be having this conversation, I just didn’t know it would be happening now.
Even though, after all the years I’ve had to think about how I would have this conversation, it never started out like it just did.
“I didn’t leave.”
“Okay, fine.” I take a pull of my beer. “I guess we can’t discuss this like two mature adults.”
“Why did you ignore me?” Her question shocks the shit out of me and all I can do is stare at her. “That day you came over to the house and you totally fucking ignored me. Didn’t even look at me.”
“You left my bed and didn’t even have the decency to fucking wake me up and say goodbye.” My voice rises. “Hey, last night was good. Even if you didn’t want to continue it”—I stare at her—“you could have at least told me instead of just leaving.”
“I didn’t fucking leave.” She slaps the counter.
“I woke up and you were gone.”
“You thought I left?” she says, shocked that I would come to this conclusion.
“I woke up and you were gone. If that doesn’t scream up and gone, I don’t know what will.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, “not to leave, dumbass. I wanted to make you breakfast in bed and you didn’t have anything in the fridge, so I went out to grab a couple of bagels from your favorite bagel store.
” My head rears back as if she hit me. “And then when I got back, you were gone. I thought you went out to work out or something. I stayed there until noon and then left.” Her voice goes soft.
“Then I saw you that night and you ignored me, wouldn’t even look my way.
I thought you regretted it but didn’t want to tell me. ”
“Are you crazy?” I shake my head, admitting to her what I’ve admitted to myself over the years. “It was, hands down, the single best night of my life.”