Chapter 39
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
CHANCE
After the fall, April loses interest in skating, so I take her to the local bookstore for some hot chocolate.
She’s already blasted through the book I gave her on our date, so I offer to buy a book for her.. At the promise of more mechanic books, a smile finally returns to her face.
One hour and a surge of selfies with unexpected fans later, we walk out of the bookstore carrying an untouched cup of not-so-hot chocolate for me and a history book on the development of the car manufacturing press for April.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, glancing over. I’m driving April’s truck. I wasn’t letting her drive after watching her hit the ice earlier.
“Mmhm. While you were taking pictures with everyone, I read a couple pages. Did you know that the first car manufacturing company started in France in the 1900s?” Her eyes dance with delight.
April’s eyes should be studied. They’re a shade of green so deep that a man could drown in them.
“Wow,” I say with as much exuberance as I can. “The 1900’s? That’s… that’s really interesting.”
April bursts out laughing.
I rub the back of my neck sheepishly.
“Please continue to be a terrible liar, Chance. It’s a very trustworthy trait.”
My lips tug up in response. I love when April laughs. It’s the equivalent of a hundred tiny, fairy wings beating all at once. Or maybe that sound is just the beating of my grateful heart.
Reaching over, I take her hand. “I should have been holding on to you when I invited you to the ball.”
Her smile dims. “Yeah, meeting the parents is a big deal.”
“I already met your dad,” I point out.
“That’s different. Dad is a hockey fan, so you had an unfair advantage.”
“You have an advantage too.” I rub my thumb over the back of her knuckles. “Me. I’m crazy about you.”
She groans. “That’s not enough to convince your parents.”
“My dad loves cars, so you two will hit it off right away. And mom… uh… will respect my choice someday.”
April narrows her eyes. “Is your mom that scary?”
“She’s,” I search for the right term, “opinionated, but you have nothing to worry about.”
April flops against the headrest. “What do I even wear to a ball? I’m not Cinderella. I don’t have a fairy godmother crouching in the bushes, waiting to transform my jumper into a dress.”
“Just wear your overalls if that’s what you’re comfortable in.” I shrug.
“I am not wearing overalls to a gala. I’m a female mechanic; I’m not socially unaware.”
I chuckle. “I don’t care what you wear, as long as I get to pay for it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I insist.”
“Me too.” She tilts her chin up. Today, she’s not wearing any makeup and her generous freckles spread out across her fair skin like her face was brushed by the stars.
I want to grab her cheeks and kiss the daylight, moonlight—heck, all the lights—out of her.
Instead, I grip the steering wheel and drive up the gravel path that leads to her home.
“We’ll continue this conversation later,” I promise.
She shakes her head in exasperation.
I stop her as she leaves the car. “Oh, before I forget, the gala is this Saturday.”
“ This Saturday? And you’re just telling me?” Wedging the book beneath her elbow and waist, April hops out of the truck and taps on her cell phone. “I need to call Rebel. I have no idea how we’ll fit dress shopping in between all the repair work at the garage, but if anyone can make it work, she can.”
“Here.” I pull the keys out of the ignition and jog to her. “Take these inside with you.”
“It’s okay. Drive it back to your hotel. I’ll ask Rebel to pick me up tomorrow.”
“That’s too inconvenient. I already planned to call a cab.”
She wraps her hands around mine and pushes the keys toward me. “Chance, you played the Mutteneers last night, hosted a press conference early this morning, and flew straight back to town which means you got little sleep. I don’t want you standing on the side of the road waiting for a taxi, which you won’t get because none work all the way out here.”
I move closer to her. “If you’re so worried about me, you can invite me inside and watch me sleep.”
Her face flushes in embarrassment. Despite that, she raises her fist valiantly. “Have I told you how good I am with a wrench?”
I laugh and step back a safe distance away. “Thanks for letting me drive the truck. I have training early tomorrow morning—Max’s way of punishing me for taking off early—but I’ll leave the keys at the front desk. They shouldn’t give you any problems.”
“Got it.” She waves sweetly. “Bye.”
I wave back, wishing I could ask her to stay with me a few seconds longer.
April doesn’t feel the same yearning because she skips up the stairs, opens her front door and disappears inside without looking back.
If that’s any barometer of her feelings, I am far more into her than she is into me. Surprisingly, that doesn’t bother me at all.
I trudge back to the truck, and a heavy sigh floats past my lips.
What is this strange feeling? I put a hand to my chest and my heart pangs with sadness.
I just saw April, but… I miss her already.
Whoa, I’m in deep.
I slam the door shut and turn the ignition when April’s front door bursts open and she blazes down the path in quick-booted strides. Urgently, she yanks the passenger side door open and swings into the passenger seat.
“Did you forget something?” I peer at the floor mat, ready to use my phone’s flashlight app and help her look around.
To my surprise, two soft hands land on either side of my face. My eyebrows shoot straight to the roof of the car as April leans in and plants her soft, pink lips on my cheek. The kiss is gentle enough to rival a butterfly’s wings.
Before I can react, she straightens, looks at me in harried silence, and then backpedals fast. I watch her scurry back to her house and slam the door shut like someone’s chasing her with a saw.
Slowly, I lift a hand to the cheek that she’d kissed.
I’m over six feet and almost two hundred pounds, but I feel light enough to float straight to space.
After a few minutes, I start the car and avoid looking at myself in the rearview mirror. I already know what I’ll find in my reflection—the sappiest smile known to man.
Oh-ho. You’re a goner, McLanely.
There’s no point arguing with the truth.
In the stillness, my phone rings and I check to find my mother’s name blazing across the screen.
The smile drifts off my face and I inhale a deep breath before answering. “Hey, mom.”
“I am really very tired of calling you first, dear.”
“I meant to call, mom. We’ve been traveling to games almost every day. I didn’t realize the minors were this busy.”
“Is that all you have to say to me?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You saw the conference?”
“I own a TV, cell phone and have working internet. I believe anyone within those categories in the United States of America and some parts of Canada saw your interview. It was everywhere.”
“Are you calling to congratulate me then?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she responds tartly.
A sigh erupts from my chest. Driving around with April, I hadn’t been tired in the least. In fact, I could have played a full game and gone to the gym for cardio training. But three seconds on the phone with my mother, and my entire body feels drained.
“Calling someone ‘family’ before the world is a serious claim, Chance. You practically swore you’d make that woman a McLanely one day.”
“I know what I said.”
“Marriage is no spectacle, son. You know how seriously we take our commitments in this family.”
“‘Until death do us part’. I’m aware of the terms.”
“A union such as marriage is not just about commitment. Of course, that’s a part of it, but there are more responsibilities. What of your trust fund? The company that you and your sister will inherit that feeds thousands of employees? The holdings? The land titles? It’s acceptable to ignore such things when dating, but these are all considerations you should have when moving to the next level.”
“Mom, I have never cared about inheriting the business, the holdings, the land titles, none of it. All I want is April and the health and strength to play hockey until I retire. That’s it.”
Her tone is even, but a scolding lingers just beneath the words. “If you’re grown enough to speak of marriage, then you should be grown enough to understand that would-be-husbands can’t always do as they want.”
I keep my tone as respectful as I can. “I know that I can’t always do what I want, mom. But big decisions like my career and my future wife are mine to make.”
“Fine.” She huffs. “I didn’t call to argue. I wanted to confirm that you are, indeed, bringing that woman to the ball.”
“Her name is April and yes I am.”
“I’ll let the planners know,” she says stiffly.
“April is a sweet girl, mom. I’m confident you’ll fall as hard for her as I did.”
“Perhaps,” she says dryly. “But remember, darling, marriages can fail and wives can return to their maiden names, but you will never stop being a McLanely. At the end of the day, that is what I am confident about.”
I hang up with my mother, feeling unsettled and wondering if I should bring April to the ball or keep her a safe, far distance from my mother.