Chapter 22 #2
Then two large arms come around me from behind.
The arms are cautious, floating above my body.
I inhale his scent before I look down at familiar forearms. I know the height of this man.
I know what his arms look like because I’ve stared at them while he does his math homework.
I don’t process what he’s doing exactly until my back is flush against his firm chest. I blink, holding back the tears that threaten to spill now.
His arms were the exhale I didn’t know I needed.
“Lucy,” he whispers.
“Did you––” I begin to say, but the last word comes out throaty. I turn in his arms and tremble into his chest. He hugs me tightly, and I make myself smaller in his arms.
He doesn’t say anything as I let it all out.
The years of dealing with my mom making me feel less than, like what I contribute doesn’t matter.
There’s going to be a day when I’m no longer in her life, and I hope she feels the heartCamdenk I have because not having her for the entirety of my life has been so hard.
And that’s when I stop crying. I can’t continue this one-sided relationship with her.
It’s not healthy. I keep giving, and she just takes.
I wipe my eyes and pull back from Benson. When I look up at his face, new emotions rush to the surface. It’s impulsive, but I lean in, pulling his neck down to mine.
“Lucy,” he whispers against my lips.
“Do you want to kiss me, Benson? I want you to kiss me.”
“Of course, I do,” he says, grabbing the back of my neck. “I would love nothing more, but you’re crying.”
He pulls my face back to look at me. His eyes scan my cheeks.
With his other hand, he wipes my tears. He presses a very light peck against my cheek, and I close my eyes.
He kisses my other cheek. Then my nose, my forehead, my chin.
I keep my eyes closed, liking the way his lips feel against my skin.
Then he kisses my right eyelid, then my left.
I open my eyes and accidentally cry again.
“Thank you,” I mumble through a sob, and I’m so embarrassed that I hide my face against his chest.
He holds me.
After a good moment, I feel safe enough to show him my face again, so I take a step back. I wipe my cheeks with both hands.
“Sorry,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be, Lucy.”
I nod. “I needed that.”
He’s watching me. I wonder, briefly, what he thinks of me.
He says, “Let’s skip the library today.”
“And go where?”
“That first date I promised you when I was on one knee.”
I laugh, embarrassed. “Benson, you were so drunk that night. You don’t have to follow through with anything you said when—”
He drops to one knee, and my heart is in my throat. Tears prick my eyes as I look down at him. I start laughing, but I’m already crying.
“Will you skip tutoring and go on a date with me?”
I cover my face and lean down. “Will you please get up?” I say through my hands.
“Only if you answer me.” His eyes are bright as he looks at me. He’s being serious.
People are stopping to watch. A girl with a backpack gawks. A pair of girls in matching Camden U sweatshirts have turned around and are now walking backward to keep us in their line of sight. A guy smiles when he looks down at Benson Reeve on one knee. My face is hot. Really hot.
“Benson. Get up.”
He says, “Give me an answer.”
I reach down and grab his face in both hands.
His skin is warm under my palms. His jaw was recently shaved, so his skin is buttery smooth.
Tears are still falling from my eyes because I cannot believe this man.
Now I’m crying because I am going to say yes.
And I might lose my best friend over this, and somewhere in the next eight months, I am going to mourn a version of my life I didn’t get to live.
“Just say yes, baby. We’ll figure out the rest.”
Baby? I wince. We’re not even drunk right now, and he’s still giving me the same treatment from that night. I drop to my knees on the sidewalk in front of him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hide my face in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. His arms come around me again.
“Do I feel you nodding?”
I nod.
“Do I feel you nodding again?”
I nod again.
He stands, picking me up with him. I’m light against his chest for a half second and then my feet find the ground.
His arms are still around me, and I am laughing now in a different way.
He reaches down for my tote and slings it over his shoulder.
He wipes the tear track from under my left eye with the side of his thumb and then grabs my hand.
“Come on.”
He takes me to a diner three blocks from campus that does Camdenkfast all day and that has the kind of red vinyl booths that creak when you sit.
I think the place is called Big D’s. The bell over the door jingles when we walk in.
The waitress is a tired woman in her fifties with an apron and a name tag that says Donna.
Benson lets me slide into the booth first. He sits across from me with his back to the rest of the room. Donna brings us two waters and two menus. We order coffee. After she walks away, I wrap both hands around the water glass.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I’m really embarrassed.”
He searches my face. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
I don’t take his word for it. “How much did you hear?”
He looks down. “Almost the whole thing.”
I’m burning on the inside that I hadn’t noticed him.
“I’m sorry that I eavesdropped.”
I take a sip of water. “Tell me something,” I beg of him. Anything.
Donna comes back with the coffee and a small ramekin of jam. She slides them across the table without commentary. We order — he gets pancakes and bacon, I get a grilled cheese and tomato soup. She takes the menus and walks off. I hold my coffee with both hands.
“I’m excited about the home opener.”
“Oh,” I say, not knowing exactly what that means, but I know it’s for hockey. “When is that?”
“Friday,” he replies, watching me.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“I think so. The team is ready. Coach is ready. My parents are driving up on Friday afternoon.”
I nod. “Right, I remember.”
He sets his coffee down and looks at me. I think he’s about to say something serious, but instead, he says, “You remember Blue, right? One of the guys I live with.”
I nod.
“At practice yesterday,” he chuckles, shaking his head.
“Okay, so we have this drill we run every Monday. It’s a forecheck drill.
Three guys against two — three of us coming in hard, two of theirs trying to Camdenk it out the other way.
The whole thing is timing. F1 — the first guy in — has to take a specific angle so he forces the puck to F2, who’s the second guy, who’s me.
And then F3 reads what I do. It’s a chain. Everybody has a job.”
“Okay.”
“Blue is F1.”
“Got it.”
“Blue, since the first day Coach drew this up two weeks ago, has been taking the wrong angle. Every time.” He rolls his eyes. “Every. Single. Time, Lucy.”
He says my name, and I’m all ears. “How wrong?”
“Like significantly wrong. He’s supposed to come in shoulder-first on the right side of the defenseman and force the puck back to me on the boards. He instead comes in straight at the guy’s chest like he’s going to ask him to dance.”
I laugh.
“Which means I’m standing where I’m supposed to be standing, on the boards, for a puck that is now going the wrong direction down the ice. We’ve been working on it for two weeks.”
“Wow,” I observe his face, loving that he’s lighting up.
“We ran this drill maybe twenty-five times. He has gotten it right twice.” He puts his fingers up.
“What does Coach do?”
“Coach has been losing his mind. He yells, he pulls out the whiteboard. He even played the pass with us to show Blue how to do it. He’s pulled tape from the Toronto game and showed Blue an actual NHL guy doing the real thing. None of it is working.”
“Oh no.” I frown at him.
“Okay, so yesterday, Coach had us run it. Blue takes the wrong angle. It’s nothing new.
Coach blows the whistle. He’s standing at center ice and he’s just looking at Blue.
Like he’s grieving. The whole rink goes silent.
We’re all just standing there waiting to see what’s going to happen.
Then Stanley skates over from his line. Right past Coach.
Coach sees him coming and just — gives up.
Coach skates to the bench. Sits down. Folds his arms. Stanley takes Coach’s whistle off Coach’s neck on the way past. Takes it. ”
“He didn’t.” That’s so gross.
“He took the whistle. He skates out to the blue line. He blows it like he’s Coach. He says, and I quote, Boys, I am going to teach Bluey how to be a hockey player today. Reset.”
I smile.
“Stanley’s now running the drill. He puts Blue at F1.
He puts a traffic cone where the defenseman is supposed to be.
He skates over to the cone and says, Golding, this cone is a man.
This cone has a body. This cone has shoulders.
” Benson is using his best Stanley voice.
“Golding, do you see how I am touching the cone’s shoulder.
The right shoulder. Not the chest. The shoulder. ”
I chuckle at his voice.
“He runs Blue through it. Blue goes. Blue takes the right angle. The first time in fourteen days. The puck goes where it’s supposed to go. Stanley loses his mind. He’s skating circles around the blue line going I AM COACH. I AM COACH NOW.”
“Hockey practice sounds like a lot of fun.”
He smiles widely. “It can be.”
I ask, “What did Coach do?”
“He lets Stanley run two more reps. Blue gets it right both times. Coach blows his backup whistle. He says, Ermington. Get off my ice. Stanley skates back to his line. Coach takes practice back over like nothing happened.”
“And Blue.”
“Blue has gotten the drill right every rep since.”
“No way. Are you serious?”
“I am completely serious. Stanley fixed in seven minutes a thing Coach could not fix in two weeks, and Coach is never going to acknowledge it.”
I am laughing into my coffee. I have to set the cup down.
Benson shakes his head. “Stanley is the captain of nothing.”
“Sounds like he’d make a good captain,” I say.
“Hey,” he scowls playfully. “Watch it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mutter, confused.
He says, “I don’t need him taking my spot.”
“You’re captain?”
The food comes. Donna sets the plates down as Benson watches me.
“Thank you,” we say to Donna.
Benson looks at me and says, “I am.”
I have no idea what that entails, but I’m sure it must mean he’s a really good player and leader.
Benson’s pancakes smell amazing. I have a grilled cheese cut diagonally and a cup of tomato soup and four oyster crackers in a small paper packet on the saucer.
The grilled cheese is too hot when I pick it up, so I watch Benson cut his pancakes.
He’s so organized as he does so. The squares are even, and he pours the syrup in a perfect spiral.
“Do you come here often?” I ask.
He puts the syrup away and shakes his head. “Not as much anymore.”
“You love pancakes?” I ask.
He’s about to take a big bite, and then he puts his fork down. “Yeah, I do. Why?”
I look at his arms through his t-shirt. “Is that healthy?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I didn’t think you would judge me.” He leans back and groans.
I blush, watching him.
He rubs his stomach with his hand, lifting his shirt. I catch a glimpse of his lower abs, and panic shoots down my spine at the fluttering feeling in my lower belly. He pretends not to notice what he’s doing to me and grabs the fork again.
“Is this like the chocolate candy bars?” I ask. “Where I’m a bad influence on you.”
He looks up and smiles. “Maybe.”
“I don’t want to be a bad influence.”
He looks down at my plate and shakes his head. “You’re not. I’m the one with the pancakes.”
The grilled cheese is the right kind of crispy at the corners, and the soup is just right.
Benson is on his second square of pancake, his bacon half gone, and he continues talking about hockey.
His hands are moving in the air over the table when he describes the way Stanley scores most of his goals, which is, apparently, by being in places defensemen do not expect a person to be.
“Is he a good player?”
His brow furrows. “Oh, yeah. He’s annoying, but man, that kid can play hockey. He’s going first round.”
“First round?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, he’s projected to go first round. Earlier than me, probably.” He looks at me and realizes I have no idea what he’s saying. “He’s going pro.”
I gasp. “Oh my god.”
Benson smiles. “He is, somehow, the third-leading scorer in our conference.”
I smirk. “I have no idea what that means.”
He shakes his head. “It’s alright.”
He stares at me like I just enlightened him. It makes me blush.
We keep eating our food and talking.
I can tell that Benson loves hockey and he loves his life at the Hawthorne House.
He hasn’t admitted it, but I can just tell by the way he’s talking about them.
He’s letting me in on his world, and I’m so glad that we’re doing this instead of sitting in a library.
I didn’t know I’d be so interested in hockey, but after this, I really want to see him play.
At some point, Donna takes our plates. The booth has gotten warmer with the sun on it.
The diner is half full. Benson is full of stories.
He’s lived a lot of life, thanks to hockey.
I can’t help but stare at him as he talks.
He might be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
His eyes are hooded and glimmer whenever he looks at me.
His nose is large from the side, but from the front, it’s perfect.
He still has a boyish jawline, but it’s prominent when he chews.
I really want to run my fingers through his hair. And don’t get me started with his lips.
“You have something,” he says, reaching over. I freeze, staring at him. He wipes it off, staring into my eyes. “Got it.”
He leans back in the booth and says, “I did not shut up about hockey this entire time.”
I laugh. “I liked hearing about it.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you lying?”
I shake my head. “No.”
His eyes look down at my lips and then back up. “Then we might be in more trouble than I thought.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning forward.
He leans forward. “That I didn’t bore you to death.”
“As if,” I tease.
He takes a sip of his water, keeping his eyes on me.
The tingly feeling in my lower belly comes back again.