Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Raya
This is insane.
But somehow it still makes sense.
It helps that my sisters are cheering me on.
They even come with me back to my place to help me pack, and I tell them the entire truth about Finn, starting with the first time we met and ending with that knee-buckling kiss in my kitchen.
I don’t even mind when they squeal, because if I were a demonstrative person, I’d be squealing too.
Instead, I stand there, embarrassed, trying to be okay with the rush of emotion.
They make me promise to stop keeping things from them, even though Eloise seems a little too pleased to hear I’d been fired from that job. Considering how many times she’s been fired, I should’ve known she would understand.
And yet, for some stupid reason, probably my pride, I couldn’t let on that I didn’t have everything figured out all the time.
I’ve been so stupid.
The whole way to the airport, they coach me on what I should say, and by the time I get out of the car at O’Hare, I have a whole script memorized.
“Finn, you were right,” I recite. “I didn’t want to admit that there’s something between us because I’m stubborn and pigheaded and—”
“Proud,” Eloise fills in.
“And proud,” I roll my eyes at her. “Can’t forget ‘proud.’”
“I think you should chuck the speech and just kiss him,” Eloise says as Poppy pulls up next to the sidewalk in front of my airline’s departure terminal.
“That would work too,” Poppy says, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.
At the mention of kissing Finn, my face gets hot and my fingers go cold. The image of his disappointed face flickers through my mind. Disappointment I caused because I was scared. I hate that my fear hurt him even for a second.
I shove the thoughts out of my brain and focus on a plane landing overhead.
It’s dark, and the airport lights spill out onto the sidewalk. I stare at the door, clutching my bag, still fueled by pure adrenaline. It’s surreal that I’m even here.
Eloise jumps out and opens the door, then grabs my arm and pulls me out onto the sidewalk.
Poppy joins us, leaving her car door open.
A traffic cop blows a whistle. “Hey! No parking!”
Poppy waves and smiles at her. “We’ll just be a minute!”
“Back in your vehicle, ma’am!” The cop starts moving toward us.
“Shoot. We’re in trouble,” Poppy says. “We have to go, but you’re going to be fine. Just be honest. Speak from the heart.”
Eloise does a little dance. “Pull him into a closet and grab onto him and—”
The whistle is so loud we all jump, then laugh, then they pull me into a tight hug.
“Okay, I’m going,” I say, then I look at them with wide eyes. “I’m doing it.” Oh my gosh, I’m doing a grand gesture. Who even am I?
“Sleep on the plane,” Poppy says.
“Yeah, you’re gonna need your energy for Finn.” Eloise wags her eyebrows, and I roll my eyes, hugging them both once more before I race off into O’Hare.
Later, after a stereotypically predictable delay, I’m finally looking out the window of a plane headed to Montana.
The drone of the white noise and the darkness of the sky make me drift off, the image of Finn’s face filling my mind. And when I wake up to the bump of the landing gear hitting the ground at Billings-Logan International Airport, my nerves ramp right back up.
Time to make a fool of myself for a boy.
Finn
I’m home.
When I wake up on Christmas Eve morning, it takes me a minute to remember where I am. Copper Ridge Ranch. Silverwood. I showed up yesterday to touch base with the board of the community center here.
I knew from emails with Jane, who pretty much runs everything, that the center had grown. By quite a bit. It’s now extending beyond families in need to families who want to be part of what’s happening.
It’s one thing to hear about it over an email—it’s a whole other thing to see it in action.
I’m told the way this place has brought our little community together has been an unexpected by-product of the decision to open in the first place.
We have a fundraising team, along with volunteers who work directly with the kids, from after-school programs to tutoring to serving food. There are always ideas for making an impact, and while I can’t be here regularly, it’s nice to know almost my entire family is involved in some way.
Last month, Rowe brought a group of kids out to the ranch to teach them about horses—which is hilarious because growing up, she was the one who never paid attention.
My mom makes all the after-school meals, and I’m pretty sure even my brothers helped with the center’s first annual Christmas party.
We’re expecting a great turnout, and I knew I had to be here to help, even if it meant missing a game.
Yesterday, after a big, family meal at the ranch, I spent a good portion of the rest of the day in meetings discussing a possible expansion of the community center.
I never planned to start a nonprofit, but after getting involved in the tutoring club back in Chicago, it felt like something I could do for my hometown.
Maybe I was always meant to find Brady’s letter, addressed to “Dear Chicago Comets.” Reading it made me realize that while I can’t impact the whole world, I can help impact one person . . . and that might mean the whole world to them.
When I visited his tutoring club and met the kids and people running it, it hit me that I could do more than give money. I could give time. I could get to know these kids. Maybe even make a difference.
That whole experience inspired me to buy this building and start something similar in Silverwood. My parents helped get it up and running, but we realized pretty quickly we needed more help, which is when we hired Jane.
I imagine I’ll end up back here one day, maybe working with the community center, maybe working on the ranch. And even though I’m not ready to walk away from hockey just yet, I know that when the time comes, I’ve got a lot to look forward to.
I stare at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom, which looks a lot like it did before I went away to school. Medals and trophies line shelves and walls, along with newspaper clippings and photos from the good years of growing up here.
My feet still hang off the end of the bed. I’d gotten so used to it that I still scoot down sometimes to fall asleep.
A photo of all of us kids on a hike to Two Medicine Lake in Glacier National Park catches my eye. It’s pinned to a bulletin board over a too-small desk, and I wonder if I’ll ever look at it without the pang of sadness. The memories are good, but the loss is so great it’s hard to think about them.
The letters.
I didn’t leave them in the glove box—maybe I should’ve—but I didn’t. They’re now shoved in the side pocket of my laptop case. Why did I bring them with me? Why do I keep them at all?
As if it’s not hard enough to put it all out of my mind now that I’m back home.
Or maybe I want to show them to my parents, get their permission to toss them in the fire without ever reading them.
I get up, take a shower, get dressed, and walk out into the kitchen.
Momma told me last night she has some things to do in town, then said something about “having a chat when she got back,” which was odd since Momma doesn’t usually “have chats.” When she wants to say something, she just says it.
I didn’t press her, though, mostly because I was exhausted.
The coffee is made, and there are fresh cinnamon rolls on the stove with a note from Rowena:
Made these for you, Skip. Let me know what you think. —Rowe
I pick one up, take a giant bite, then close my eyes to savor the taste.
Man, that’s good.
Rowe inherited Momma’s love of baking, and over the summer my brother, West, built her a little “on your honor” farmstand that sits along the road near the Copper Ridge gate. Rowe got the idea from some girl on social media, and last I heard, she’s making some money.
Once I’ve inhaled two cinnamon rolls, I grab another one and pour myself a cup of coffee.
I shove my feet in my dad’s work boots, shrug on a coat, and step out onto the porch.
I pause because this is the view I live for, and I’ve missed it.
I love the energy of Chicago, but there is nothing like the big sky of home.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a couple of photos.
Like everything else, this makes me think of Raya. I should’ve told her I was leaving, and I feel bad about that now, but I said I’d back off. Give her space. I didn’t want to go back on that, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about her since that kiss.
For a flicker of a moment, I actually thought finally my patience had paid off. I let myself believe she realized that what I said was true—we’re great together.
I should’ve known she’d get cold feet. The woman is a beautiful, frustrating, amazing pain in the neck.
I wonder what she’s doing right now.
I blow out a breath and try to stop thinking about her. I can’t fix anything until I get back anyway.
Since everyone’s busy this morning, I decide to head over to the community center to see if there’s anything I can do to help before the party tonight.
When I was there yesterday, I was mostly in meetings, talking with the new volunteers, and touring some of the renovated rooms—now outfitted with more technology to keep up with today’s kids.
It’s important to me that I connect with the people who are making this all happen, and I know they’re going to be decorating and prepping most of the day.
I grab my laptop and keys, then hop in Pop’s work truck, and drive toward town, carefully balancing my open mug of coffee.