Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Noah
Second Halftime
“We’re heading to Slapshots for dinner. You in?” Tanner asks me while we’re getting dressed.
“Hollywood’s treat,” Donovan adds with a wink, probably because Owen tried to pick up the tab last time we all went out.
We didn’t let him, but I don’t think he was doing it to show off.
My roommate has money, obviously, considering his dad bought the house we’re living in and isn’t charging anyone rent, but Owen isn’t flashy about it.
He just makes sure the fridge and pantry are always full, and chooses pizza or Asian when he’s having takeout, so he can order way too much and share.
Which makes me think Owen offered to pay for everyone so he wouldn’t have to try to awkwardly pay for Michael, but I’m not going to bring it up.
“Can’t, I have my sister.”
“Izzie was watching?” Joey asks. “Your mom bring her?”
He thinks he’s being funny, because the one time my mom came to campus, they all decided she was hot, but a weight presses on my chest. My mom hasn’t come to a game since my dad died.
“Please tell me Spring is Callahan’s new stepdaddy,” Ephraim exclaims. Some of the rookies snicker, and a few of the older guys I haven’t gotten as close to, which is something I want to fix now that I’m captain, but there’s also a silence that settles.
It’s one thing to make jokes about Joey’s mom, who divorced his dad three marriages ago and widens the age gap with each one, but we’d never joke about replacing his father figure if his dad was dead instead of happily married to someone our age in Arizona.
“If you want to handle Iz, be my guest.”
“Dude, that’s cold. Don’t act like my girl isn’t awesome to hang with,” Joey warns.
He’s met her maybe a handful of times, but this convo is making me wonder if I should try to bring her to the next open morning skate. Sometimes, Coach brings Liv, and we have a lot more fun than when he’s punishing us for being hungover. I’ve been meaning to introduce Izzie to her.
I hurry, and luckily most of my teammates do too, so there are only a few guys left in the locker room when I leave. There’s nothing that says the captain has to leave last, I just thought it was cool when ours did that last year, making sure everyone was good before he peaced out.
I look past the bunnies, about to push through, but my eyes land on Savannah and she smiles shyly, like she isn’t sure she’s supposed to be there.
For some reason, I assumed she would wait in the stands again, but my chest grows tight, and I realize that I like having her waiting here for me.
Having someone, I correct myself. There are always bunnies and random students, but I don’t have many friends outside of the team, definitely none who would come to see me over another player. But Savannah is a friend. I think?
“Noah!” Izzie yells, but I have to wait until I’m past a few more people to see her. “Two goals and an assist definitely beat mine,” she adds once I have her in my arms.
“I don’t know, assists are awesome. You still score, but I’m sure Billy enjoyed scoring this morning more than I did tonight.”
Izzie often sets others up instead of taking the shot, which I used to be worried was some selfless or lack of confidence crap, but then I found out it’s because that’s what I do at her practices, and she feels like it’s showing off for the coach’s sister to score, but it’s captain behavior to set a shot up for others.
“Munchkin!” Darren exclaims, so my sister is stolen by my teammates, and I’m left with Savannah.
“I’m sorry I came here. Your coach’s wife said this is where we should wait for you. Liv was very insistent.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t back down.” I hope my smile conveys that it’s okay, because I don’t trust myself to say I’m glad she’s here without it sounding like a much bigger deal than it is.
“I should head out, but congrats on the win, and tell Izzie I’ll see her around…or maybe just goodbye,” she adds quickly, as if realizing she’d implied we would do this again.
It hits me that unless I do something, Izzie won’t see Savannah again, and neither will I. “Do you mind waiting to tell her yourself? I think she might hate me if she comes back and you’re gone. Unless you have somewhere to be…”
“No, we had Sunday brunch instead,” she says, then waves it off. “I can wait for her.” She smiles, and that’s when I decide.
“We were going to get some dinner before I take her home. It’ll probably end with ice cream or an equally sugar-filled dessert. Would you want to come with?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Please? As a thank you for today.”
“Noah, can Sav come tonight? We tried to get food at the ‘second halftime’, but the lines were too long.” My sister rejoins us with perfect timing.
“You definitely have to come if you haven’t eaten.”
Savannah sighs before agreeing.
“Do you have your car?”
“I walked.”
“Which dorm?”
“Radcliffe,” she shares.
“That’s where Lacey lives,” I tell her, then go to explain who that is, but Savannah is nodding.
“The goalie’s girlfriend.”
“We’ve been friends since high school,” I agree, very curious as to what Lacey might have told her…and vice versa. “I was in Edwards until this year.”
I open the door for Izzie, who sits in the back, then do the same for Savannah, trying not to let it affect my ego that she looks like she’d rather trade places with my sister, climbing in without my help.
“So, second halftime?” I ask once I’m out of the parking lot. Izzie is grinning like it’s hilarious.
“I know that’s not what they’re called, I just didn’t have a better term,” Savannah defends herself, but her cheeks are rosy, and she looks adorable.
I think she might be wearing more makeup today, or at least something on her lashes, because her hazel eyes are intense, almost all I can see as she looks at me before shifting away.
“It’s my bad for not realizing that’s part of the basics. We play three periods of twenty minutes each, with two intermissions in-between.”
“Like a play.”
“Call me Shakespeare,” I tease, feeling like an idiot because he’s the playwright, not the actor, but Savannah smiles instead of calling me on it, like she doesn’t want to but can’t help it, and I sort of want to make her smile like that again.
“Not Mama Joy’s?” Izzie asks when I pull into a diner near campus. I’ve only come for brunch with the guys after morning skate, but everything was good, and Tanner said his brother is here all the time. He’s a fancy chef in the city, so praising a hole in the wall must mean something.
“That’s a bit far for Savannah.If it sucks, we can stop there on the way home,” I promise her, but Savannah’s smile drops, like I made her feel guilty for that.
“That’s okay, I’d rather have Savannah than Mama Joy’s.
” I could kiss my sister for that save. “But the food there is really good, especially the ice cream, so you should come with us another time,” she invites Savannah.
“The waitress has a crush on Noah, so she always slips me extra whipped cream or syrup or French fries…whatever I’m having. ”
“She does not,” I argue. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. Britney’s crush doesn’t normally bother me, because she’s a kid, and her mom thinks it’s cute, but I am suddenly very self-conscious about it. I don’t want Savannah to get the wrong idea. “She’s maybe seventeen, and—”
“He flirts more with Mama Joy than with Britney,” Izzie assures her, giving me a wink like she’s got my back, even though she was the one who initially attacked it. “Mama Joy is old. Like way older than Mom.”
“You like them old?” Savannah asks me, eyebrow raised, before she loses control of her serious face.
“I don’t discriminate,” I’m teasing back, but if I was flirting, I’d say I like them her age. But I don’t do girlfriends, and I can’t blur the lines with Savannah. Not when she’s sweet and shy…and likely to fall for it.
Or do I just want her to?
It’s busier than I expect, but the service is fast, and everything is delicious.
Savannah doesn’t like pickles, so I take hers off her plate, and she steals some of my sweet potato fries in return.
I pretend to be offended, but I didn’t ask about the pickle, and honestly, it feels…
nice. Comfortable. Like I could do this every Sunday.
But then again, maybe we don’t have awkward silences because Izzie hasn’t stopped talking.
They have a pinball machine in another room, which Izzie absolutely must play, so I hand her all my change, then Savannah and I hang back while someone teaches Izzie how.
“Are you going to come to more games?” I ask Savannah once we’re alone. “For research,” I add quickly.
“I’m not sure. It was exciting though. You guys are so fast. My heart was pounding half the time.”
“What was your favorite part?”
She considers it, biting her bottom lip for so long that I would have kissed her to free it if I didn’t hear Izzie’s constant whoops of joy.
“I can’t decide, but my least favorite was when you got slammed into the side of the rink.”
“We call them the boards,” I tell her, trying to control my smile. “Worried about me?”
“The windows shook, and I don’t know if you heard how loud it was, but it was like the air was knocked out of—you,” she finishes with a swallow.
“It was,” I agree. “But that’s all a part of the show. Pretty tame as far as games go.”
“Seriously?” I nod. “And you still play?”
“I love it.” I shrug. I also don’t know what else I would do. I’m good with numbers, but hockey soothes my soul. It has been my therapy and only constant since my dad died and so much of my life went to hell.
“I think you’ve maybe had one too many TBIs.”
“That’s more of a football thing. Like halftimes,” I tease over her saying something about it being a hitting your head thing.
“It’s stupid to divide it into three. Can you really not go an extra ten minutes without a longer break? Isn’t everyone always switching out anyway?”
I chuckle. “It’s as much for us as it is for the Zamboni.”
“The thing that cleans the ice?” I nod. “They never mow the lawn mid-football game,” she says confidently, then reconsiders.
“That’s because grass doesn’t improve by rolling a tractor over it.”
“And ice is better when it’s all wet and gross?”
“Have you ever skated on fresh ice?”
“I’ve never skated, period,” she admits. “But I’d be worried about falling and getting wet.”
“Hold up, you’ve never been skating?” I ask instead of focusing on her getting wet…for a very different reason.
Her mouth opens to reply, but then she looks uncertain, and I hate that I’ve done that to her.
“I’m sure lots of people haven’t—”
“You’re writing a book with a hockey player.”
“Which is a new development,” she reminds me. “I get the idea. You glide on the ice, fly across the rink…” she assures me, but she doesn’t look any more convinced than I am.
“Nope, I need to fix this.”
“What?”
“My reputation as hockey consultant is at stake here. I won’t have you writing something completely off-base.”
“So you’ll what? Read all my hockey scenes for mistakes?”
“I could do that. Given your current knowledge, you’ll need someone to check things.” I realize it may come off as rude, but it’s an afterthought to my main plan. “I’m going to teach you how to skate.”
She laughs, but I’m serious. Eventually, she catches on, and her eyes go wide. Perhaps in fear.
“I’ve rollerbladed, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she assures me.
“I can fix what I see when I read it, but wouldn’t you rather know firsthand?”
“You’re not going to read it, and I can take classes if I need to learn how to skate.”
“Because you don’t want me to, or you don’t want to trouble me?” I focus on the first part, surprised that it hurts. “Or you think I won’t follow through?”
“I—the first ones. You’ve gone above and beyond, you definitely don’t need to read it, but also…I don’t usually show people what I write.”
“Nobody?”
“My mom reads everything once it’s not the worst thing ever, and I had a friend I used to trust with it, but other than my brothers stealing my notebooks when I was younger, people don’t usually read it.”
“That changes when you publish. You know that, right?”
“Once it’s good enough,” she agrees, but I’m not sure she’ll ever think it is, and I hate that.
“I think learning how to skate will help you. Unless he’s a robot, your hockey player will love the ice, and I can show you that. I’m an excellent teacher.”
“Why are you pushing so hard for this?” She looks almost skeptical. Like I have some evil ulterior motive, which would make sense if I was allowing myself to try to get into her pants, but she’s too close to friends and feelings territory.
“Because I’m invested in this, Savannah. I selfishly enjoy helping people discover their love of skating.”
“There’s nothing selfish about teaching your sister and her friends to play hockey.”
“Debatable,” I argue. “Is this a yes?”
“Would you take a no?”
“If you had a much better reason than not wanting to inconvenience me. Maybe.”
“I can take Izzie to more games. Or practices, whatever she wants.”
“That’s not—” why I’m doing this, I want to tell her, but why the hell am I insisting on spending more time with her? I’m just leading her on to what will likely hurt her in the end, yet I really don’t like the idea of not seeing her again.
She looks at me, really looks at me, in my eyes, like she can hear what I’m not saying, but also like she doesn’t believe it, and at first, I wonder what I did wrong, but then I want to know who hurt her, and made her think she wasn’t worth it unless they got something in return.
“I’ll probably need to do more research, and she’s good at filling in my blanks. If she wants.”
“I’ll ask her and let you know.”
“I have errands to run, so I’ll just walk home. But thank you for today. The game, this…it was nice.”
I say nothing as she goes to Izzie and I assume tells her she’s leaving, because she gets a big hug and then she’s gone. I watch her, wondering why I didn’t tell her I felt the same, and know I’m in trouble.