Chapter 12 He Always Had That Vibe, the Kind You Could Get Lost in, and I Guess I Did
He Always Had That Vibe, the Kind You Could Get Lost in, and I Guess I Did
Aria
My best friend’s jaw drops. As long as I’ve known her, that’s happened a total of maybe five times. Maybe. And I’ve known her all my life.
Harper’s hands are still wrapped in the white linen she was about to put on the bed before I dropped the bomb. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
I grin but turn so she doesn’t see it and wipe the duster across the top of the desk by the window instead. “For real, Harp. You should have been there. Somehow…there was magic in the air.”
“He was dressed as a lobster, A.”
The dust tickles my nose. I rub the back of my hand against it but end up sneezing anyway.
“I know. But both of us know that there was a guy underneath.”
“Did he reveal himself?”
“No. And don’t shake the bed linen beforehand; it causes wrinkles.”
My best friend leans back against the desk and rolls her eyes. “What if he’s not your type whatsoever?”
“That’s hard for me to imagine. And even if he wasn’t, I mean, there was just such a perfect vibe between us; if anything, the way he looks is secondary.”
Harper raises her eyebrows appreciatively. “That must’ve been one tasty lobster.”
Laughing, I throw a pillow at her. “Stop. But, well, yeah. It was weird. After Wyatt, I didn’t think I’d ever be interested in anyone ever again. Inside I was simply empty, you know?”
My best friend sits down on the freshly made bed and whistles. “What’s his name?”
I hand her the squeegee for the window I’m spraying with glass cleaner.
“Paxton. He says he was born and raised in Aspen. But that could only mean…”
“Paxton Hilcon.”
I lean against the wall and watch Harper clean the window. “Didn’t he live outside of town? He always came to school on the bus.”
“Yeah, but at some point he moved to his dad and stepmom’s. They live close to Buttermilk Mountain, right before Silver Lake.” She catches the excess water with a rag before it can drip onto the windowsill. “You know the one. The red house he was always throwing parties in back in tenth grade.”
I nod. “The one with the huge, blow-up snowman at Christmas.”
She makes a face as we step out of the last room and put the cleaning things back onto the cart. “He’s in the NHL now. For the Aspen Snowdogs.”
“What?”
A guest comes out of the room across the hall and shoots me a frown. I quickly offer him a polite smile and wish him a lovely Sunday in Aspen.
Once he’s made his way past us and disappeared down the stairs, I spin around to Harper and grab her arm. “No way. That’s just too much of a coincidence. Show me a picture.”
“Ow. Get your nails out of my flesh, you monster.”
“Sorry. I can’t see it as I don’t have any battery. You?”
“Yeah, one sec. Let’s go downstairs. Everyone can hear us here.”
I reluctantly follow her. My fingers are tingling, but two little words are enough to cool my excitement.
Hockey player.
Didn’t I want to be through with all that? Maybe Paxton is different, even if I consider the chances low. Hockey players have a certain reputation…and it sure applied to Wyatt.
“Harper,” I whisper as she makes her way past the fireplace and through the stone arch. Four guests are sitting at their tables enjoying a late Sunday brunch. When they see me, I smile, but it collapses as soon as they turn back to their plates. “What are you doing?”
Harper takes a cup and puts it under the coffee maker. “I need caffeine. Do you have any idea how tired I am? Training at iSkate is harder than ever since my folks got me this new trainer, and…”
“Show me a picture!”
“Chill, A.” She casually pours sweetener into her cup, takes a spoon out of the cutlery tray, and stirs her foam. “Patience is a virtue, you know, and you…”
“Goddamn, Harp!” Her spoon flips out of the cup as I reach past her and grab her phone out of her back pocket.
The spoon clatters onto the wood floor. Spots of frothy milk decorate the rustic wood.
Only vaguely do I register Harper giving the guests an apologetic glance and raising her hands disarmingly.
I quickly type “Paxton Hilcon” into the search field and immediately get a thousand results. Sports articles, blog entries, videos, pics…
“Click on the picture,” Harper says, so I do and land on the Aspen Snowdogs’ home page. All I get is a single image of the whole team, each of them in their jerseys with their helmets under their arms.
“Here, look.” Her perfectly manicured nail points at the display. “The blond guy with the gray eyes. Just like in high school, but without zits.”
The first thing that comes to my mind is, True, and he doesn’t look like Wyatt. Followed by a feeling of relief.
The second thing that comes to my mind is, True, and he doesn’t look like Wyatt. Followed by a feeling of disappointment.
The third thing that comes to my mind is, The dude two people over from Paxton sure looks a hell of a lot like Wyatt.
And then I think I’ve got to be hallucinating. Underneath the dude’s photo is his name. “Wyatt Lopez,” I croak.
The sound of his name on my tongue makes me break out in goose bumps. It’s like returning to a place you loved but haven’t visited in a long time and realizing that it’s just as beautiful as before.
I’ve always liked Wyatt’s last name. Back when we got to know each other, I’d lie awake at night and repeat Lopez, Lopez, Lopez until the name wasn’t a name anymore but simply the strange sound of two syllables.
Even at Brown I’d do that sometimes. I’d be there in my dorm room bed, under Mom’s patchwork quilt, moonlight illuminating the smiley face my predecessor had left on the white wall (what was up with that?), repeating Lopez, Lopez, Lopez.
I finally find my voice again. “That’s Wyatt, Harp.”
Wrinkling her forehead, she puts down her cup and looks at the phone, then over at me. “Yeah. He’s been in the NHL since the transfer period in July. The Snowdogs’ owner signed him. You didn’t know?”
“How would I? I was in Providence, and you all didn’t say anything to me.”
“Well, I mean…”
“What?”
“Well,” she takes a deep breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you weren’t exactly communicative out there, A. And whenever any one of us did manage to get you on the phone, we certainly wouldn’t have risked mentioning Wyatt. We were happy to speak to you at all.”
“That’s ridiculous. You could have told me. Really. I mean, I’m happy for him. Wyatt… He deserves it. He’s worked hard half his life to get there. We’re not together anymore, fine, but I can still be happy for him.”
For a moment Harper watches me over the rim of her cup, then she shrugs. “Enough about Wyatt; we’re talking about Paxton.” She puts her coffee to the side, puts her hands on my shoulders, and looks deep into my eyes. “So, you ready?”
“For what?”
“To go see him.”
“I don’t need to. Yesterday he said he didn’t really have much time at the moment. But I’m going to text him later on this evening, and then…”
“Get dressed, Moore. We’re going to go watch some hot hockey players.”
“What?”
She grabs my wrist, pulls me past the guests and up the stairs, through the connecting door to our living area, and only lets go of me when I’m in front of the ladder up to my room.
Once we’re there, a slightly enthusiastic smile appears on her lips, and her eyes begin to shine as she opens my wardrobe to dig through my clothes.
“Today’s the exhibition game at the rink; it’s open to the public, and we’re going. ”
My stomach drops another floor. “Oh, but Wy…”
“He won’t be there.” Harp grabs a pair of overalls and a flannel shirt, which makes my heart skip yet another beat as it used to be Wyatt’s, and tosses them onto the bed.
“Shortly after being signed, there was an accident in Breckenridge. I don’t really know the details, but ever since then, Wyatt’s been on the bench. ”
“Oh.” Hearing that Wyatt was in an accident makes me shudder. Is it normal for me to want to see him and ask whether he’s okay? I bite my lower lip and push the thought aside. Paxton. Today’s all about Paxton.
“You sure Wyatt won’t be there?”
Hmm. Guess I wasn’t all that successful.
“Not a hundred percent sure, no. But at most of the other warm-up matches, I saw him in town. I mean, he was never at the rink.”
I’m struggling, but the last thing I want is to continue to be influenced by Wyatt even in the future. If I don’t go to the rink today, that is exactly what will happen. My first step in a new direction shouldn’t be blocked by my ex. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Harper claps. “Perfect. Get changed, and then I’ll do your hair.”
“My hair? I like my bun.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to go out with a bun, but, fine, whatever. The better you feel, the more open you will be.”
“Harper.” My left pant leg catches on my ankle as I pull up the overalls. “You say that like I’m immediately going to be doing Paxton out on the ice.”
Shrugging, she drops onto my bed and casts a glance at the old elementary school picture of the two of us on my nightstand. How simple life was back then, and Wyatt was just a kid with a dalmatian bag and gap-toothed smile in the back row.
“I’m going to bet that over the last two years you haven’t exactly reached pleasure’s peaks, so to speak.”
“Ugh. Don’t put it that way. That sounds like a cheap porn.”
“Sooo…you ready to take Paxton’s spear in your backdoor?”
“HARPER!”
She laughs. “Okay, okay. Hurry up. Training’s starting soon.”
The drive takes fifteen minutes. Harper sings along with every song that comes on the radio while I drum my fingers on my thighs and try to get my nerves under control.
“Relax,” she says, turning into the parking lot and looking for a space. “God. I forgot how many peeps like hockey. Ah, here’s one. Nope, guess not. Fucking Smartcar.”
“But there’s one up there.”