40. ALIA
ALIA
Hockey Boy:
Wanna go for a drive?
Me:
…hi?
Hockey Boy:
Hi, Tots. How are you, baby?
Wanna go for a drive?
Me:
Drive? *shifty eyes*
Hockey Boy:
I know I’m irresistible but get your mind out of the gutter
Me:
Last time you took me on a drive, you did naughty things to me.
Hockey Boy:
I promise to do them again if you sit your cute ass next to me while I drive us someplace. I haven’t seen you in ages…
Me:
We went to the gym together…
Yesterday.
Hockey Boy:
Still feels like it was too long ago
Come out with me
I’ll buy you food. And flowers.
Me:
You don’t have to bribe me to get me to spend time with you.
Just ask nicely.
Hockey Boy:
Refer to my first message.
Me:
Not nice enough.
Hockey Boy:
Alia, baby, the best Tater Tot in the whole universe, please give me the abject pleasure of your company as I venture into the night to battle my loneliness that will only be cured by your sterling presence within the safe confines of my reliable steed
Me:
A tad too Shakespearean, but it’ll do.
I’ll be ready in 15.
Hockey Boy:
I’m already downstairs
Me:
What?!
Hockey Boy:
Like I said… I missed you.
***
Wrapped in the arms of a tall woman with sandy blonde hair, her hug as warm as her smile when her son introduced us, I am struck by how similar they are.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Maeve Finnigan announces as she pulls away, beaming at me like I’m a long-lost friend. “Aren’t you just gorgeous?” she fawns, much to my amusement and Cal’s embarrassment. She glances beside us where her husband, Cameron, looks up from Irsia’s camera.
“Honey, you should see these photos. Irsia, these are incredible.”
Irsia smiles softly, comfortable around the Finnigan family since she’s met them before.
“Yes, Mom. Go see the pictures.” Cal gestures for her to hurry up, making his mother purse her lips. Her gaze shuffles between her son and me.
“It’s lovely to meet you, sweetheart,” she says with a pat to my shoulder. “I hope I get to see you again soon.”
“You too, Mrs. Finnigan,” I reply shyly.
She waves an impatient hand in the air. “Come now, none of that. Call me Maeve, and he’s Cam,” she says, gesturing to her husband, who’s watching us with an indulgent smile.
I’d been adjusting my skates when Cal had snuck up behind me. Before I could prepare myself, he’d pulled me upright and introduced me to his family, all of whom were so friendly and personable, it became immediately clear where Cal inherited his sunshine from. It was obviously a Finnigan trait.
“Maeve, you’re here!” Chitthi and Maeve rush toward each other, embracing with the enthusiasm of teen girls meeting their BFFs after a summer away.
A cluster of high-pitched squeals emanate from them as Uncle Ian greets Cal’s father, both seeming resigned to their wives’ reaction. Their tired acceptance makes me giggle.
I return my focus to the Finnigan brothers, who look like they belong in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. The force of their combined beauty feels too lethal to be legal.
Where Cal has the benefit of body-mass gained from years of playing a strenuous sport, his younger brother Rory is all lean muscles and cherubic smiles.
At twenty, he already has the same swagger I see is pervasive among hockey players, and a grin that’ll melt the pants off every woman in a fifteen-township radius.
If Cal is charming, Rory might have him beat by a mile.
“No wonder Cal isn’t traveling home more often when Monterey has you lovely ladies in it.
” He shoots a saucy wink at Irsia before turning to me, hazel eyes crinkling at the sides.
Built similarly to his brother, Rory has a mop of messy brown hair falling across his forehead which adds a slight boyishness to his face.
I already pity the women who’ll fall when yet another beautiful Finnigan joins the NHL.
I’m almost certain Rory leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes and no one faults him for it.
His smile is nearly as effective as Cal’s.
“Stop flirting with my friends,” Cal frowns, arms crossed across his wide chest in a way that makes him look even bigger.
“Stop flirting with my sisters,” Rohan adds as he joins the group, his nose twisted in disgust. He turns to Cal and jabs a thumb in Rory’s direction. “This one takes after you too much, Spuddy.”
“You mean he’s perfect?” Cal retorts, making Rohan roll his eyes.
Rory and Cal fist bump without looking at each other.
The camaraderie and matching looks of mischief are endearing.
I can only imagine how much trouble these two would have gotten in as children.
Their close relationship is so evident, showing me yet another side of Callum I’ve never seen before.
He’d mentioned being a proud big brother, but witnessing their tight bond is something special.
Family is important to Cal and this only makes him more attractive.
Rohan glances up at the ceiling, muttering something that sounds an awful lot like, “I can’t believe there’s two of them.”
“C’mon Ro, you know you love me. You promised me one-on-one,” Rory begs, instantly switching from fuckboy to fanboy. “Teach me how you made a goal against Florida with that backhanded deke.”
“You’re like an annoying pup,” Rohan sighs, his tone lacking heat. He gestures out to the ice with his chin and Rory jumps to it eagerly as Irsia follows, announcing that she’s going to practice taking action shots.
Before stepping away, Rohan turns back. “You gonna be okay, Aloo? I can stay and teach you to skate instead.”
“You don’t know how to skate?” Cal’s shocked voice makes us both look at him.
“I don’t,” I admit, adopting the blandest tone possible when I add, “I was too busy learning how to perfect my grip over a bat.”
One thick brow arches as my insinuation hits. With impressive control, Cal holds my gaze, nary a twitch in his jaw or a tremor in his voice that could give us away.
Turning to Rohan, he smiles. “I’ll keep her company until you come back.”
Rohan hesitates for a moment but, when Irsia hollers for him to hurry up, he heads off with a distracted wave.
“Woke up on the feisty side of the bed this morning, brat?” he murmurs under his breath, making me stifle a giggle as he helps me up.
My knees wobble as I struggle for balance.
I take my first tentative step on the ice, almost pitching backward.
Cal’s firm grip lands on either side of my hips as he helps me straighten, his body heating my back.
“Take it slow. Do the penguin waddle.”
“The penguin what?” I question, squeaking when his thumb strokes my waist. Dear god, I don’t need this distraction.
“Bend your knees, stay low, and shift your weight side to side.”
I hold the boards beside me gingerly and do as he says, bending forward to find my center. His throat clears uncomfortably, and when I glance over my shoulder, his gaze is fixed on my ass that’s close to grazing his front.
“Cal!” I hiss, heat creeping up my skin despite the chill in the rink.
He grins sheepishly at me, throwing his hands up and off in an expression of innocence. “Sorry, déjà vu.”
I shake my head, biting back my own grin.
I still can’t believe the things we did in a park a couple weeks ago.
Or in his car a few days prior. Or in the utility room of this very arena last month.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was developing a kink for doing naughty things in public places—one Cal has no issues with.
He stands beside me, patiently watching me take Bambi steps on the ice, and I feel safe.
He’s never once judged me for who I am, or the things I like, or do. Or want to do.
“The program director called me back,” I reveal. “He’s interested in my proposal to teach cricket for the U10-12 group.”
Cal’s answering gasp is a proud one.
“I have to study a little to get my coaching certification, but the club weighs my experience as a cricketer more than any formal education regarding training.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“It’s really exciting,” I admit breathlessly.
“I can study and work concurrently. I’ve struggled to find my purpose after the divorce.
It’s nice to finally have some direction.
I never considered coaching, but the bug’s been in my brain since my cricket coach reached out to me.
She’s even asked me for another meeting with an old teammate to discuss some of the tapes I reviewed for her.
For the first time since my accident, I’m not dreading facing someone from my past.”
A few months ago, no one would’ve been able to convince me to sit down and talk about cricket with women I was once close to.
Seeing them live the life I badly wanted would’ve drowned me in anguish and envy.
I would’ve avoided them, then hated myself for not being strong enough to face their happiness without thinking of my loss.
I’m so glad I’m seeing the end of that dark tunnel and I know Cal’s been—in no small part—the beacon that drew me into the light again.
“Al, that’s so great. I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah?” I glance past his shoulder at my aunt, who is clutching Maeve’s hand and gliding like she was born on skates. She crosses center ice and my eyes fall to Rohan, busy slapping pucks with Rory as Theo plays goalie. “I hope they feel the same.”
Cal’s gaze follows my line of vision before he turns back to tilt his chin, his question clear.
“Irsia knows I miss cricket. That I’m thinking about coaching kids. She’s been quite supportive, but I wonder how the rest of the family will react. It’s not exactly the career I envisioned I’d have.”