Chapter 11
That night, it wasn’t a question of whether or not I was sleeping in Ali’s room. After dancing the night away together, she pulled my hand toward her room, and we crashed in her bed together.
Our limbs tangled together, my knee between her legs, her arm curled around my ribs. I tucked her short hair back and traced the little rose behind her ear.
“I love this,” I told her, smoothing my thumb over the tiny tattoo. It reminded me of simpler times back at Herb’s.
She smiled and snuggled further into me.
But as I stared at her rose, a weird tension started forming in my chest. Because I really did love this.
Holding her, kissing her, spending the day with her.
I loved it more than hockey, more than anything else in this world.
And now that I remembered what it felt like to be fully connected to another person, I didn’t want to miss it.
As I fell asleep, I drifted back to a time when I missed her with such fierceness that it physically hurt…
_________
2011
Each day Ali wasn’t at the rink, tension squeezed harder in my chest. I struggled to make myself eat and sleep because I was sick with worry.
It’d been sixteen days since she busted her arm, which marked the longest period she’d ever been away from the rink—also the longest period she’d been away from me.
Ali unfortunately had sustained dozens of skating injuries in the past, but she usually turned up by now.
She’d usually be in the weight room, doing modified workouts with the rink physical therapist, or in the stands, waiting for her parents to finish up coaching. So sixteen days felt…off.
I continually tried to catch Anastasia in the hallway to ask about Ali, but I always missed her.
But finally, after twenty-one days, I walked into the lobby and saw her standing by the boards in the West rink.
She was almost unrecognizable out of her skating clothes.
This was the first time in about a year that I'd seen her long, dirty-blond hair flowing freely down to her mid-back instead of up in a tight low bun.
Gone were her usual leggings and tight zip-up.
Instead, she wore sweatpants, a simple t-shirt, and Adidas slides.
My limbs went jittery with the need to run to her and pull her into a hug, but I fought against it and slowed my pace, giving myself some time to scan the rink for any signs of Rossi.
I dropped my hockey bag right in front of Hans’ office, making him look up. I stared at him for a second, wondering how I could wordlessly ask who was working today.
He eyed me over his reading glasses. “I’m the only one here for the next hour,” he said in a low voice, somehow reading my mind. He wagged a finger at me. “But you better not tell Richard.”
Immense relief had a laugh popping out of me. Kappy would definitely take advantage and set up about a million different pranks for the old man if he had that knowledge. “You have my word. Thanks Hans,” I said, before rushing into the rink to give Ali a hug.
But when Ali turned, giving me a full view of her body, I came to a halt. Tension flew right back into my chest. She had large puffy bags under her eyes, and her right arm was covered in a cast from her fingers to her upper arm and held tightly against her body in a sling.
“Damn.” I grimaced, raking a hand over my hair.
“Yeah.” She sighed.
“What’s the damage?”
“Broken, of course, and I needed surgery.”
“Jeez.” I rubbed my jaw. “Does it still hurt?”
“A little.” Her tired face scrunched. “Kinda wanna take a hammer to this cast because the throbbing is so annoying. Kept me up all night.”
“Shit, Ali, I’m sorry.”
Biting her bottom lip, she turned her attention back to the ice. “It’s fine, I don't need my arm for figure skating anyway.”
My forehead creased. “But you need your arm for other stuff.”
She snorted. “Like what?” Her eyes followed one of her competitors as she launched into a jump.
I saddled up to the boards next to her. “This isn’t everything, Ali. Life goes on outside of this place, ya know?”
She wasn’t listening, she was glued to the ice. I wanted to take hold of her arms and say it again, make her hear it, but I wasn’t sure if she’d even be receptive to it.
“You need some more hobbies,” I muttered, shaking my head.
She laughed then and the sound loosened some of the tension in my chest. “Don’t I know it.
” She let out a sigh. “Wow, that’s the first time I laughed in a while.
Thank you.” She leaned into me for a side hug, her good arm looping around my lower back.
I immediately turned to give her a full, proper hug, and her small body melted into mine.
I’d grown in the last year while she hadn’t, and now she only came up to my mid-chest. A frog felt lodged in my throat as I rubbed her back.
I waited way too long for this hug, way too long to know if she was okay or not.
For the past couple weeks, every time I closed my eyes, I saw her mangled arm and tear-streaked face.
“You scared me,” I whispered. “You okay?”
Not breaking the hug, she nodded against me.
If only she could stay right here tucked under my arms, she wouldn’t get hurt anymore.
Woah, wait… What the fuck?
I was losing it
This girl was making me lose it
“It is everything though,” she murmured quietly, peeking above my arm to look at the ice.
“Huh?”
“Skating is.” Her brown eyes flicked to mine. “Nothing else makes me happy,” she admitted.
“Nothing?”
She shook her head. “And now I’m locked out.”
I sucked in my top lip, thinking of ways to make it better for her, but I couldn’t completely fix this.
With Ali, I had to be okay with knowing nothing would ever come before figure skating.
It would be her first priority until the day she retired.
And that was perfectly okay with me because hockey had to be number one for me too, at least for a little.
But maybe I could show her there was still life outside this place.
The rink wasn’t everything. Not by a long shot. “Come on.”
“Huh?” Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
“Let’s cheer you up.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have practice?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I can skip one.”
She looked up at me like I lost my ever-loving mind. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something? Take a rogue puck to the head?” She looked around. “Where’s Kappy? Did he do it?”
“No,” I laughed, “I’m fine. Let’s go, I’ll just tell them I’m sick.”
She continued staring at me strangely. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure,” I said with a grin.
It was the most sure I’d been about anything in a long time.
With Ali secure in the passenger seat of my truck, I fished out my favorite mixed CD and popped it into the player.
“Where are we going?” she asked, a little excitement bleeding into her face.
I shrugged. “Wherever we want.”
Her face broke into the most dazzling smile, and it made my day—no, it made my whole year.
The first few chords of “With or Without You” drifted through my truck’s speakers and I turned it up.
“Best song,” I said, nodding to the beat. “Nothing beats this build.”
Her face lit up with amusement. “This? Isn’t this old?”
“Hey, just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s not good,” I countered.
She gave me a skeptical look. “Okay, but I was hoping for Taylor Swift.”
I smirked. “She’s track number four, we’ll get to her.”
She let out a delighted little screech. “Jameson Patrick McQuaid, you listen to Taylor Swift? Since when?"
Since you told me she was your favorite, I wanted to say, but instead, I just gave her a grin as I took off out of the parking lot.
_________
A half hour later, I was pulling into the long gravel driveway that led up to my family’s tree farm and nursery.
“Is your dad Herb?” she asked, pointing to the sign that read ‘Herb’s Gardens and Construction.’
“Nah, Herb was my grandad,” I explained.
“We took this place over when he passed. I think we just keep up the tree farm and gardens because of the sentimental value. And my grandma would kill us if it went under. My dad’s usually busy with the construction side of the business next door.
You probably won’t see him.” I swallowed hard.
I hoped she wouldn't see him or else I’d have some explaining to do.
“Wait there.” Hopping out of my truck, I rounded it to open the door for her, then extended a hand to help her down.
“You don’t have to help me,” she said shyly. “I only broke my arm.”
I frowned. The fact that she wasn’t used to a guy getting her door for her sat weird with me. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” I said as her feet hit the gravel. “Even if you weren’t injured, I’d still be getting your door, Ali.”
Her lips twisted into a sweet upside-down smile. “Such a gentleman,” she joked as she walked ahead of me.
I smirked as she passed, but I still felt uneasy. I needed to find a way to talk to her about Rossi at some point.
As soon as we entered the nursery, Ali’s eyes bounced from the old wooden floorboards, to the rows of plants, to the ancient sign my grandma painted above the cash register. Ali hugged herself against the slight chill in the room while walking up to a row of potted marigolds.
“Sorry, we have to keep it cool for the plants. Wait here one sec,” I told her before dipping back to the small office in search of a hoodie.
Unfortunately, while I walked back out to the storefront, I heard my dad’s heavy footsteps enter the room. “And who might you be?”
Shit.
“Uh, hi, I’m Ali,” she squeaked out, her brown eyes darting to me nervously.
“Hi Ali, I’m Cliff.” My dad pulled off gardening gloves and reached a weathered hand toward her for a handshake. “Where did you come from?”
“The rink,” she said, biting her lip.
My dad, dressed in his usual heavy flannel shirt and stained work pants, turned his head to give me a skeptical look. “Well, you shouldn’t be here.”
Right then, the door chimed, notifying us of a customer.