7. Noah
CHAPTER 7
NOAH
The arena is quiet, save for the occasional scrape of skates against ice and the soft thud of a puck hitting the boards. The overhead lights cast a bright and even glow across the rink, making the ice shimmer with a frosty sheen. The surface, once pristine at the start of today’s practice, is now marked with the telltale signs of our day: grooves and divots where we’ve skated, shot, and battled during the hours we’d been here. Pucks are scattered haphazardly across the ice, remnants of drills and shots taken.
In my corner of the rink, I push off and move with practiced ease, my breath visible in the cold air. There was an article in the local paper about me a day ago, the local reporter saying that my focus is unwavering: “Noah Beaumont is earning his place in ice hockey history as the Comeback King. It’s the story of a fallen hero who drags himself back to the top that we all seem to be in love with. It’s the bright light that we didn’t know we needed.”
It’s a word salad, but it’s also a compliment I take to heart as I weave through a series of cones, the sound of my skates slicing through the ice and echoing in the empty arena. My jersey clings to my body, damp with sweat, but I know my movements are both fluid and powerful .
Tapping my stick against the biscuit, or puck, my periphery catches the haunting emptiness of the space around me. Benches line the sides of the rink with sticks, helmets, and other gear strewn about, evidence of the earlier presence of my teammates. The smell of the ice—crisp and clean—mingles with the faint scent of sweat and rubber from the equipment. Above, the stands sit vacant, rows upon rows of seats waiting for the next game day.
As I come to the opposite end of the rink, I finish a drill and pause, leaning on my stick and catching my breath. I let my eyes scan the arena, my personal domain at this moment. I love sneaking in my time to practice without the others as it seems almost sacred in its stillness, a place where I can push my limits and refine my skills in solitude.
Movement in the stands catches my attention, pulling my gaze over. The tiny leap in my heart is telling. Ever since my dinner with Willa, I’ve been waiting for her to call to arrange our first meeting for the pictures. Or, surprise of all surprises, I’ve also found myself hoping I’d run into her again randomly as I had at dinner the other night.
When I see the familiar face of the arena’s janitor, Murray, I chuckle to myself as I wave hello. Not that I don’t like Murray, in fact, I enjoy chatting with him usually. We’re both from the East Coast and he shared with me he’s been sober for twenty years. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to look up and find Willa in the stands taking photos or finding a way to talk to me again.
I mean, she’s been here, in the arena, that’s the kicker. She was here yesterday taking some photos of Dan, and I saw her get a few shots of Ted, too. I get it. Dan’s the local hero and Ted’s got an ease about him that seems to attract anyone and everyone, even if he is a beast on the ice. Am I a little jealous of the ease with which she seems to chat with everyone else around here except me?
Totally .
Sighing, I make my way across the ice back to the bench. My body needs time to cool down, and I need to do some stretching before I hit the shower. Glancing at the time, I do some quick math, hoping to get out of here in time to take an end-of-day run through the park. Because I want to be in tip-top shape? Yes, but in reality it’s also because I saw Willa posting on her social media some pictures of otters at the park yesterday.
The post had caught my eye, and when I flicked back over some of her more recent posts, it looked as if she’s in the park daily and sharing images. She could be posting photos she just has on her phone for all I know, but the town’s small enough that I don’t mind trying to force an accidental run-in. What do they call it in the movies, a meet-cute?
“Beaumont!” A gruff voice pulls me from my reverie on the bench. I look up from unlacing the skates to find Coach Strickland meandering my way.
“Hey, Coach. Thought you’d be out of here and home by now?”
Coach Strickland shrugs. “No rest for the wicked,” he says, inclining his head my way. “I see you go by the same rule of thumb.”
“No better time to do drills and hone skills than after a full day of practice.” Apparently I’m also Dr. Seuss now, too.
“That’s why the Comeback King is so important to this team.” He winks at me, trying to hide the grin that creeps across his features, but he can’t. Like some of my teammates, even the coach can’t help but poke a little fun.
“Yeah, I guess that’s going to be my legacy, huh?”
“Better that than the millions of other names they can call you,” he teases, shoving his hands in his pockets. “How are you feeling after today?”
Practice was intense today, a lot of physicality, but it was good. “I could feel the depth of our crew today, like it felt as if we were one unit when we were on the ice, you know?”
Coach Strickland bobs his head in agreement. “One hundred percent. It’s taken a heartbeat to get you boys on the same page, but it feels like we’re headed in the right direction.”
I let my gaze wander slowly around the rink. I can still feel the rush of the drills, the intensity of each moment lingering in my muscles.
“Yeah, it’s like we’re starting to anticipate each other’s moves. The chemistry’s there,” I say, my voice echoing in the empty arena.
Coach Strickland claps a hand on my shoulder. “That’s what makes a championship team. Skill is one thing, but trust and synergy are what take you to the next level.”
Absorbing the coach’s words, I nod. The silence of the rink feels almost sacred, a moment to reflect on the progress we’ve made.
“It’s a good feeling, knowing we’re finally clicking.”
Coach Strickland smiles, a rare moment of unguarded pride on his face. “We need to keep building on this. Keep pushing each other, keep communicating. What we did out there today was just a glimpse of what we’re capable of. Tomorrow, we go even harder.”
“Yes, Coach,” I say, giving him a salute as I turn my attention back to my skates. “I’m gonna cool down, then hit the showers and head out myself.”
“Good. Get some rest, don’t need you burning out before the first game.” Then with a nod of his head, Coach spins on his heel, waving a hand over his shoulder as he goes.
Making my way through the team tunnel, down the corridor of the arena’s underbelly to the changing rooms, I’m not the least bit surprised when Willa pops up in the forefront of my thoughts again. This woman is officially on repeat in my mind, like hearing a song you can’t get out of your head. Only this time, I’m wondering if I should invite her to meet me at this Maple Fest—maybe we can have some more time to talk. I liked talking to her that night, we seemed to get along once we spoke about the past. We had banter. We flirted … isn’t that something? Flanter?
“Stop it, Noah,” I scold myself out loud. Instantly, I look around to see if anyone’s heard me, only to catch Murray smiling as he walks past, possibly pretending he didn’t hear me. That man seems to be everywhere.
What I didn’t tell Willa was the part that I do remember from that fateful photo shoot years ago was that the moment I saw her, I was smitten. The moment her emerald-green eyes had locked with mine I was a goner. Of course, that crush was long forgotten in the ensuing events that took place. But am I wrong in thinking that I’m feeling something for her, even now?
Throwing open my locker door, I start stripping out of my gear, reaching for my sweats and T-shirt so I can do some cool-down stretching before I shower. I’m about to pull my sweatpants up when the sound of a bird chirping pulls my attention. Grabbing my phone off the top shelf, my heart does triple time. When I tap on the message to see who it is, I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack when I see it’s Willa.
WILLA: Hey Noah, sorry for the delay. Looking at the week, I was wondering if you’d be available to take some photos at Maple Fest this weekend?
Would I? I want to type back OF COURSE, but instead, I’m going to play this cool. One thing I learned from that dinner is that Willa was coming into this thing hot and not happy to be stuck with me. After hearing about her side of things, I can’t blame her, but I also can’t assume she’s going to be as receptive to me as I am to her.
Holding the phone in my hand, I pull up my pants and sit down on the bench slowly, considering what to text next. After a few false starts, I finally settle on the simple.
NOAH: Sur e
I wait for a moment to see if she’s going to reply, willing those dots to pop up that show you when someone is writing a text. They do, then they stop. Then they start wiggling again … then they stop. When they start again, I decide I’m overthinking things and put my phone down.
“It’s been like a week, Noah, since you ran into each other and she wasn’t a fan of yours,” I start scolding myself yet again. “Just because you’re okay with things and want to move on doesn’t mean she is.”
The sound of someone coughing sends a bolt of surprise through me. Turning around, of course I find Murray holding a bag of trash.
“Not trying to eavesdrop, but,” he says with a shrug, “here I am. Hearing you talk to yourself.”
I can feel heat hitting my cheeks. “I have an insane habit of doing that, and apparently today is the day I get busted.”
“We all have our things. I like playing bingo down at the fire hall on Thursday afternoons. Mostly women there, but they play for money, and they can be vicious.” His eyes light up as he stops to think. “But I like it. That Mary-Ellen, she may be known as the town gossip, but she sure is a looker.”
Nodding, I hold back a laugh. “Okay then, Mary-Ellen is off-limits for more than one reason.”
“I’ve had a thing for Mary-Ellen for a while, but I’m taking my time. My time, my pace. If the timing is right, I’ll say something to her when I’m supposed to.” Murray grins at me. “I’m just trying to say, without knowing fully what’s going on with you and why you’re mumbling to yourself, that if you’re trying to impress someone, keep showing up. You never know what will happen.”
With that, Murray turns around and disappears from sight as quickly as he snuck up on me. My phone whistles and alerts me to the arrival of another text. Flicking it open, the triple beat of my heart is back.
WILLA: Great. I’d like to take some pictures of you without your uniform on, so please come prepared.
Now that leaves a lot to the imagination. I can’t resist.
NOAH: So, nude shots?
The pause goes on for at least a minute before the text bubbles are back, showing me she’s typing away.
WILLA: Noah. Get a grip. Bring a selection of clothes I can look at, be good to have three options to use that day.
NOAH: Are you going to have a dressing room for me to use?
WILLA: No. Plan accordingly.
NOAH: So no pants?
This is way too much fun.
WILLA: Bring pants. Bring tops. Be DRESSED. If we need to find somewhere for you to change, we will.
Part of me wants to continue the torture, but the other part knows better. Toning it down, I send her a final text.
NOAH: Sounds good. I have to do a meet and greet at the Ice Breakers stall that day but I’ll request my time to be as early as possible. After it’s over, I’m all yours.
Willa responds to my text with a thumbs-up emoji. As much as I’d rather her have responded with a heart, I know that’s not reasonable … yet.
I’ve got some work to do here if I want the woman I have a crush on to pay attention to me. Considering I have the past not in my favor, I’ve got some time to make up for.
But, first, I need to plan out some outfits for the day and do some of my own due diligence on Willa. Luckily, I’ve got the perfect sweater to wear. It matches my eyes. I only know this because the salesman told me so.
If I have my way, Maple Fest is the day where I begin to make things up to her. I know I didn’t do them, per se, but the people I chose to have around me did and I will never be able to take it back.
All going well, Maple Fest is going to be a day that she’ll never want to forget.