Chapter 14 – Kirby
fourteen
Kirby
The last fifteen minutes of practice is always a scrimmage game.
First team to score gets off the ice first. After a two-hour on-ice practice, plus the three hours off ice we did before, I’m ready to take a shower, collapse on my couch, and not move for the rest of the fucking day.
The sweat pools at the top of my helmet as I skate around in a small circle at the blue line, looking over at Jaxon, who has his stick on the ice, both arms folded and leaning on the stick as he waits for the forwards to get into position.
“Knox,” Jaxon calls his name, “if we lose this because you’re skating like your grandmother, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“I’m getting better.” He moves his skates forward and back as he waits for Coach to drop the puck so we can start.
“I want to trade Knox for Lane!” I shout and Knox just side-eyes me. “You better fucking skate; we lost the last game because you thought you were having a heart attack.”
“My chest was hurting!” he yells back, defending himself.
“It’s all that fucking pasta and meat,” Jaxon declares. “Chicken, steak, fish. Broiled, no carbs.”
“You’re one to talk. You got here yesterday morning and you looked like you were six months pregnant,” Knox fights back.
“That’s Lexi’s fault; she made chicken parm.
Don’t worry about the back of the house, worry about the front of the house.
” The minute he says her name, my body feels like it’s being jolted.
I hide my mouth with my gloves as I try and breathe normally.
Did I sit in bed last night for a full two hours and pull up her name to text her?
Why, yes, yes, I did. Did I write something and then delete it over a thousand times?
Also, yes. Did I ever send anything? The answer is, fuck no.
I ended up reading and rereading our text thread, even though there was nothing personal there.
The whole conversation was dry and just about the fundraiser, but I couldn’t help but recall all the conversations we had face-to-face, when I saw her slowly coming out of her shell.
But then the only thing I could see in my head, replaying on repeat, was her face the night of the auction.
The tears in her eyes as she held on to my arm, begging me to stop.
I tossed my phone to the side, telling myself if she wanted to get in touch with me, she would have.
The whistle blowing has me grabbing my stick in both hands and then placing it on my upper thigh as the coach drops the puck and the battle at center ice begins.
I watch Knox turn his body, blocking Lane from getting the puck, as he wins the face-off, passing the puck back to Jaxon, who receives it the middle of his blade.
I start to skate up the ice with him, Knox, Patrick, and Mike, the rookie, and wait for him to skate into the zone to cross over the blue line.
Jaxon looks straight ahead like he’s about to dump it in and lets them chase it, but with the flick of his wrist, he sends it across the ice to me.
It shocks the other team, who doesn’t stop me at the blue line from skating in.
Knox hustles to the front of the net and I raise my stick, about to slap shot it in, but instead I pass it over to Jaxon, who lifts his stick midair, and then with the perfect hand-eye coordination slaps it over the goalie’s shoulder and to the back of the net.
The whistle blows and Jaxon comes over to me, holding up his glove. “And that’s how it’s done.” He winks at Knox, who just stalks over to the bench huffing.
Taking off my gloves, I unsnap the chin strap and push the helmet back to sit on the top of my head as I walk down the tunnel and toward the locker room.
I place my stick against the wall with all the other sticks before walking into the locker room.
I toss one of my gloves into one of the big gray bins in the middle of the room.
I then sit down on the bench, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade before I untie my skates, taking one off and then tucking it under my bench, followed by the other one.
I slip my feet in my plastic slides and, when I’m undressed, head to the shower.
If it wasn’t a two-hour practice and I hadn’t been off ice before, I would probably attempt to go home and shower, but not wanting to kill anyone I come in contact with with my stench, I decide to shower at the rink.
I’m dressed in basketball shorts, a white T-shirt, and my baseball hat turned backward when I grab my phone and my keys.
“See you tomorrow, boys,” I say before I walk out of the locker room and toward my SUV.
Clive is there at the valet stand as he spots me and tosses me my keys.
“I moved it.” He motions with his chin toward the front of the row. “You’re welcome.”
“I got your son’s opening-day tickets,” I tell him, seeing him smirk. “You’re welcome.”
I pull the Land Rover’s door open and get in before starting the engine.
I hold up my hand toward Clive, who gives me a chin up before I pull up and the garage door opens.
I pull out of the parking lot, looking at the radio.
I see it’s just after two in the afternoon.
Knowing Kylie is going to be at the office until about four, I decide to head over to the small coffee shop I like.
I have to circle the shop twice before I can park five doors down.
I lock the doors and head toward the coffee shop, walking past a flower shop, Pilates studio, and a doggy daycare, most of the dogs sniffing the front window, right next to the coffee shop.
Talk about torturing animals, I think to myself as I pull open the pink door.
The bell on the top of the door rings. I look around, seeing the five tables they have are mostly open, only one is taken.
I head toward the pink counter that matches the door and look in the display case, seeing homemade apple, carrot, blueberry, and chocolate chip muffins on one shelf and then the good stuff under it.
There are fresh giant cinnamon rolls right next to a pile of danishes and then under those are the croissants: chocolate, almond, and regular.
The woman walks out of the back, wiping her hand on her apron at the same time someone comes out from the side.
I see the dark hair first as she looks forward and then turns to look at me and our eyes meet.
“Lexi.” I’m the first one to speak. She stands there, mid-step, her mouth open as she stares at me.
I step away from the counter and go to her.
“Kirby,” she says, shocked. Shocked and nervous from the looks of how her chest is rising and falling. “This is…” She shakes her head, no doubt trying to find the same words I’m trying to find.
“Holy shit.” I chuckle. “It’s you. You’re here.”
“I’m here.” She finally snaps out of her daze and laughs.
“I was next door doing Pilates,” she says and I finally take in her outfit.
She’s wearing tight yoga pants in like a dark blue, almost black, and a cream-colored long-sleeve zip jacket.
The sleeves are pulled up to her elbows while the zip is halfway, showing me she’s wearing the same-colored tight top under it.
My eyes immediately go to her left hand to see if she’s wearing her wedding ring, but it’s hanging by her side and I can’t see it.
I’m almost tempted to grab her hand and look at it, but then I think about how crazy that would make me seem.
“This is…” I shake my head. “It’s very unexpected to see you here.” My heart speeds up. “Do you want to sit down and have a coffee with me?” I blurt before I can think too much about it, turning to face the empty tables. I have never been this nervous in my whole fucking life.
She inhales and shakes her head. “No.” My heart plummets to my stomach and I’m sure, after I ruined her night, she’s never going to talk to me again.
“Okay.” I try not to sound as devastated as I feel.
“Fair enough.” I smile at her, trying not to turn and storm out just to get away from doing more damage to whatever this is by kissing the ever-loving shit out of her.
“It was good to see you.” I stare into her eyes.
I nod and turn to walk out of the shop without even getting anything.
I’m two steps away from her when I hear her voice. “That’s it?” I turn back to look at her.
“Well, you said no.” I put my hands on my hips. “So yeah, that’s it.”
“Wow,” she says, moving to the front of the counter and to the girl who has been waiting for my order and watching this awkward exchange. “I was waiting for you to dare me.”
My pulse picks up again and I move back to stand beside her at the counter. “Fine,” I concede, trying not to smile too big. “I dare you to have coffee with me.”
She puts her hands on the counter right in front of her.
“Ugh, if you put it like that, then I guess I’ll have coffee with you.
” She shakes her head and finally lets out a little laugh.
“Hi.” She looks at the barista, who now is trying to hide her smile.
“I’m going to have an iced coffee with whole milk.
” She looks over to the display case, eyeing the cinnamon rolls.
“And she’ll have one of the cinnamon rolls.” I order for her and she looks up at me smiling.
“I really shouldn’t,” she says and I laugh.
“You should eat whatever you want,” I tell her and the girl behind the register smiles at us.
“Do you want that warmed up?” the girl asks her and her eyes light up. I swear I’m going to buy her cinnamon rolls every single day, just to see that smile on her face.
“Yes, please,” she replies, and the girl reaches for a pair of silver tongs before she places one of the rolls on the plate and then turns to put it in the oven.
She presses a couple of buttons before coming over to me. “What can I get you?”
“Can I have an iced shaken espresso?” I order. “No milk, no sweetener.” She nods her head and I hear noise coming from beside me and turn to look at Lexi.
“That sounds so gross.” I can’t help but laugh at the cute face she’s making. “Why didn’t you order something to eat?”
“Did you see how big that roll is? It’s the size of your head. I don’t think you are going to finish it.”
“I’m not sharing with you.” She gawks at me.
“You asked me to have coffee with you. You didn’t say let’s have coffee and share a cinnamon roll.
Besides”—she turns and leans her hip into the counter—“I’m going to take home the rest and have it in bed later tonight while I watch my reality television. ”
“You won’t share even a bite with me?” I ask her and she just shakes her head. “I’ll take my chances.” We stare at each other, the lightness of her eyes making them pop even more.
The girl comes over and places the tray down in front of us as she tells us the total.
“If you reach for your wallet,” I threaten, grabbing my own wallet from my pocket, “I’m definitely going to take a bite of your cinnamon roll.
I asked you to have coffee with me, I pay.
Next time you ask me to have coffee with you, you can pay.
” I hand the girl my card and she takes it, swiping it on her machine, and then handing me the white receipt.
“Why don’t you grab a table and I’ll bring the tray over. ”
“You think there’s going to be a next time AND I’m going to leave you alone with my cinnamon roll? You are crazy.” She shakes her head, trying not to laugh at the whole silly exchange. I can’t help but smile back at the light in her eyes that already looks so different from three months ago.
I grab the tray and then walk over to the table in the corner, facing the window outside.
I take off my baseball hat and toss it on the ledge of the window, in between the potted plants, before sitting down.
She sits in front of me and grabs the fork on the tray.
“Thank you for the sweet treat,” she says, right before she sinks the fork in the side of it.
“Lexi,” I say her name and she looks up at me.
The way I said her name was a bit harder than I wanted it to be, confusion fills her face.
“Before we talk about anything else”—I swallow—“I want to apologize for ruining your fundraiser,” I tell her as I rub my hands on the front of my shorts, the nerves making them sweat.
“I shouldn’t have let him get to me, and I know you worked so hard to make everything perfect, and I should have—”
She smiles at me and shakes her head to stop me from talking. “You didn’t ruin the night.” I take a deep inhale, grabbing my plastic cup with the black straw. “Other things that night ruined it, but you definitely didn’t.”
She takes a bite of the cinnamon roll and avoids looking at me. “How have you been?” I ask her softly as she chews and then takes a sip of her own coffee.
“Okay.” She moves her head side to side, still avoiding looking at me.
“Rough.” The only thing I can see is she looks even better than she did before.
Her eyes don’t have that haunted look. Her guard isn’t up at all, she’s still a little standoffish, but considering it all, that’s to be expected.
“You knew something was off.” She finally breaks the silence and then looks up at me.
“You knew I was going through something.”
“I did,” I admit to her. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“I know you didn’t.” She puts the fork down. “Because if you did, my family would have swooped in like a SWAT team sent in to extract me.” She tries to laugh, but I can see her lower lip tremble. “How?” she asks me softly. “How did you know?”
“It’s a long story,” I tell her. “But yeah, I had a feeling.” She doesn’t push it. “What was the breaking point?” I ask her.
“That night.” She exhales. “That night when I stepped out onto the balcony and heard him say those things.” I look up at the ceiling and she reaches over and puts her hand on mine; her hand is cold as ice, and I wonder how nervous she is about this conversation.
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t say them.
” I turn my hand over to have her palm in mine.
“He blamed me about the scene and then sent me home by myself.”
“What a piece of shit,” I hiss and turn to look out the window. “He’s such—”
“Your note,” she says and I turn my head back to look at her, “it was exactly what I needed at that moment.”