Chapter 56
A LITTLE HUMMINGBIRD TOLD ME
REMY
“And that’s how you ride a Zamboni,” I say, as cheerful as ever, even as I try to subtly shoo the VIP guests from the literacy organization out of the rink. “So glad you enjoyed the tour.”
I motion for them to head to the tunnel when I catch the silhouette of a man entering it. Is it Lake? But he’s not even here today.
The figure steps out to the ice—it’s Daniel.
“Thanks, Remy,” he calls to me. “I’ll escort them back to the exit. If you can just wait for me behind the players’ bench, that’d be great.”
I blink. Why would he want me to do that? Is he going to can me? Give me a talking to? I don’t know that I want to face another hard thing today when I’m already planning on facing the hardest thing of all in, say, an hour when I head to Lake’s home.
Nerves tap dance across my skin, but I try to ignore them as I say, “Of course.”
Like I’ve been chastened, I return to the ice alone, walking carefully across it to the gate that leads to the stands. I climb up into the seats, picking a row behind the players’ bench.
And I wait.
I don’t dare look at my phone. I don’t want to be distracted when Daniel returns to talk to me. I just sit, the chill enveloping me. I fold my arms across my chest and look around the arena at the suites on the upper levels, the press box, the food concourse, the ice itself.
Wait. Is that Miller over by the home team’s tunnel?
He’s wearing his jersey and jeans. I lift a hand to wave, but he’s turned the other way, his back to me.
Okay, weird.
Is he going to be here for my chat with Daniel? I squint at the other tunnel. Riggs looms in it, his back to me as well.
My gaze swings around the arena, and I spot Ivan and Corbin guarding other entrances.
What is going on? My pulse speeds up, not with worry, but with questions. Why are they here?
The cut of blades through ice slices through the silence as someone flies onto the rink in jeans and a jersey. It’s Lake speeding onto the rink in skates, stick in one hand, a sack of some sort tossed over his shoulder.
My mouth falls open and my skin warms. He’s here.
“Lake!” I call out. Maybe I’ll tell him now. Maybe I’ll tell him here. No time like the present.
He’s quiet though. He stops at center ice, nods to me, then dips his hand into the sack. One by one, he takes out several stuffed foxes.
My breath catches.
I roll my lips together.
He lifts his stick, takes aim at the first one, and launches it right to me.
I’m not athletic, not at all. But I manage to grab it in the air, and study it. The fox is holding a card with one word written on it.
Go.
I clutch it tight to my chest, hope sparking inside of me.
He lines up for another shot. Swings his stick. Sends it to me.
On.
I smother a smile but then stop hiding it. I can be happy. I can let him see I’m giddy. I can encourage him.
“More!” I shout, hope spiraling high.
He seems to fight off a smile too, as he sends the next one my way.
A.
“Another,” I say, elated.
He hits one more, then the next one in quick succession. I rip open the cards.
Real.
Date.
“Yes,” I call out, even though there are several more foxes.
“I’m not done,” he says, the first words he’s uttered.
“The answer is still yes.”
His smile fills my whole entire soul. It’s rare to see, and usually it’s just for me. I cherish it like I cherish him.
He hits the rest of the foxes my way, and when he’s done, I’m over the moon as I read them all.
Go on a real date with your ex fake boyfriend who loves you.
The second I open the you card, I’m up and rushing to the ice, climbing over the row, racing to the bench. “I love you. For real. It’s all real. I want us to be together.”
He scoops me up in his arms and pulls me onto the ice, sets me down, and wraps his hands around my waist. “I love you so much, Remy. So much I don’t even know what to do with all these feelings. I hope it’s not too much for you. But god, I just want to love you. Let me. Please let me.”
He sounds so desperate, so hopeful, and it’s such a gift to receive all his love.
I cup his cheeks, and it’s been just a few days, but it’s been too long. I’ve missed his stubble, his scent, his mouth, him. “You’re all I want.”
I kiss him, soft and tender and real, showing him that everything is real for me.
When I break the kiss, he looks woozy, drunk on me. “I should have said something at the wedding. It’s been hell without you.”
“I should have too. I’m sorry I didn’t. I was so scared I’d misunderstood what was happening.”
“Fuck, I’ve missed you. I love you. I need you,” he says, then tucks his finger under my chin, like he did that first night.
“And just so it’s clear…” He stops talking and lifts up the hem of his jersey.
My hand flies to my mouth. On his stomach is a brand-new tattoo.
A pretty, delicate line work of a hummingbird. “For you.”
And I fall even more in love with my very real boyfriend.