26. I totally feel like a grown-up as we’re about to bobby-pin our way into Mr Davis’s office
26
"I totally feel like a grown-up as we’re about to bobby-pin our way into Mr Davis’s office"
Aaron Miles
Our time on the road was a hit, with three wins out of three, but there’s no place like home. I missed Marissa so much it kept me up at night. Every single night. Why didn’t I kiss her when I had the chance? It was right there, the opportunity I’ve been dreaming of most of my life, and I didn’t act on it because I was scared. Again. At least if I’d actually gone for the kiss, I would know where she stands. “But things would have changed between you,” the annoying voice in my head says. That’s true, but what if that change was for the better? That look in her eyes. I’d never seen it before. Maybe it meant something? But now I’ll never know. Instead, I’m back to being the puppy best friend, who’s now accompanying the woman I secretly love to a high school reunion when every muscle in my body is begging for a nap.
“Welcome!” a tall woman with long cinnamon hair says as Marissa and I walk into our old high school gym. The sight of it snaps me right back to the present. I haven’t set foot in Eagle Lake High’s gymnasium in a decade, and despite the festive decorations, this school hasn’t changed one bit. Still the same dark-blue lockers lining the same worn-out corridors. A large reception table is set up in the hall below a massive eagle poster.
We grab name tags to pin to our clothes before wandering over to the buffet. The one part of this reunion my body is actually excited about.
“It’s weird being here, isn’t it?” Marissa mumbles, tugging on the sleeve of her blazer. She’s wearing a black pantsuit that makes her look like an absolute goddess, and I had a hard time finding the right words when she stepped out of her room. She brought her hair back into a bun, leaving just a strand of hair on the left side of her face.
“It is weird. I feel too big, ” I joke, glancing around. I’ve definitely gained a lot of muscle since the last time I walked across this gym.
“You are,” she teases. “Probably twice the size you were back then.”
“We had some great memories here, though,” I say as we grab a soda from the buffet. Her gaze meets mine, and there it is again, that flicker of light. That intensity. Something I’d definitely never seen in her eyes before.
She bites her lip. “We did. Remember when you beat up Jerry Anderson in PE because he smacked a basketball on my head?” she says, chuckling. “It was right here.”
I look at the corner of the room, and I can practically see the scene unfolding before my eyes again. “He deserved it.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “It was an accident, but you almost sent him to the hospital.”
“Doesn’t matter. He hurt you, so I hurt him.”
She lifts her eyes to mine again. “Life isn’t a hockey rink, Hotshot. You can’t go around beating people up.”
I shrug. I don’t see what the big problem is. “At least it worked. No one dared to mess with you for four years.”
She laughs again, twirling the straw in her drink. “Because everyone was scared of you. I barely had any friends.”
“You had me.”
We lock eyes again, and my chest constricts. I wonder if she’s remembering the same thing I am. How I said no when she asked me to prom in Senior year, just outside these very doors. I’ve never regretted refusing her more than today. I consoled myself all these years by telling myself it was the right thing to do, but I’m starting to reconsider.
“Aaron Miles and Marissa Martin,” a high-pitched voice calls out, and we both turn around.
“Valerie Hutchinson,” Marissa replies with a forced smile. They were never the best of friends. Valerie was kind of a brat.
“So good to see you,” she says, her eyes roaming between the two of us. “I knew you’d end up together. I always had great intuition, and I sensed it right from the start.”
“Oh no,” Marissa says, her cheeks coating red.
“We’re not together.” The words burn my throat as they come out. It’s not the first time we’ve had to clear that up, and it never gets easier. If anything, it gets a little harder every time.
Valerie furrows her thinly plucked eyebrows. “Really? That’s surprising. So, you’re still friends?”
“We are.” Marissa nods before glancing at me, pride in her eyes. Not a lot of our fellow classmates can say they kept in touch with their high school friends, let alone held on to their friendship ten years later.
“Wow. That’s cool. I keep in touch with Lara Helstin, but other than that, I pretty much have a whole new life in Seattle now.”
“That’s great,” Marissa says, grabbing a gressino from the buffet. “What do you do?”
“I run my own business. I developed a cleaning solution for luxury cars, and we just opened a second branch in Asia.”
“Impressive,” I say. “Congrats.”
“Well, not as impressive as you,” she says, poking my chest. “Mr. NHL. Who knew? Every time I see you on TV or hear your name, I’m like, ‘I went to high school with that guy.’”
I chuckle.
“I knew,” Marissa replies, and we both turn to her. She blushes. “I always knew he’d make it to the NHL.”
My heart warms, the heat spreading through my chest. Marissa has been there for me ever since I started playing, cheering me on, helping me up when I was drowning in self-doubt. I don’t think she knows how much I appreciate that. Another reason why I turned her down that night was because I knew I was going to go pro, and I’d seen what those schedules looked like. Always on the move, eighty-two games a year, with half o n the road. The NHL is one of the most intense leagues in the world, and I didn’t want to put her through that. But she stuck with me anyway.
“Yeah, she’s been my greatest supporter,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You always believed in me, and I’m grateful for you, Martin,” I say, looking deep into her eyes.
Her cheeks redden further.
“And this one has some bragging rights too,” I add. “She owns a super successful coffee shop in Brooklyn and has received a couple of awards for it. Starbucks better watch out.”
“That’s wonderful. Congrats,” Valerie says, her eyes still flitting between the two of us. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I’m going to say hi to more people, but maybe I’ll give you a ring next time I’m in New York for a meeting.”
She waves and spins on her heel.
“She was kind of nice,” Marissa says, sounding surprised. “I didn’t think I’d ever have a civilized conversation with her. Ever.”
“I always thought she had a crush on me,” I say, chuckling.
“Oh, she did.” Her eyes widen as she picks some finger food from the buffet. “Big time. And that’s why she hated me. She thought we had a th ing.” She laughs, shaking her head as if it’s the wildest idea she’s ever heard, and I suck in a breath. Because as wild as it may be, it also sounds kind of freaking perfect.
Marissa and I have been on the dance floor for the past hour. I’m happy to say I still have some great moves in me. In a way, it feels right to be here with her, dancing our hearts out in our high school gym. Almost like we’re repairing what should have been.
“We should do this more often,” she pants, out of breath as we hurry over to the buffet to grab some water. Tonight has been a blast. We dined, danced, and chatted with our former classmates and teachers, reminiscing about the great memories we have of this place.
“Done,” I say. “I’m installing a dance floor in the living room first thing when we get back.”
She winces. “About that. I’m actually thinking about moving in with Alice above the bookstore.”
Her words hit me harder than a body check against the boards. “What? Why?”
She sways on her feet. “Emma has already moved out, and Hayley’s next. Alice will be all by herself, and rent is expensive, so she’s looking for so meone. I offered, since I’m kind of just crashing at your place.”
I swallow, trying to find the right words without coming off as an overprotective “friend.” “You’re not crashing, Martin. I love having you there. You know that.”
A shudder passes through her, and I instinctively place my hands on her arms to warm her up. “Do you need your coat?”
She presses her lips together, then shakes her head. “No, I’m good. But I think moving in with Alice makes sense. And you can’t beat the commute.” Her quiet laughter stirs a mix of tingling sparks and painful crunching in my stomach.
“Right.” I run a hand over my jaw. “When are you moving out?”
“We haven’t talked details yet, but I think it’ll be soon. I wanted to talk to you about it first, although I figured you wouldn’t be against having your place back to yourself. Not to mention you’ll no longer be obliged to cook for me,” she jokes.
I force myself to chuckle, even if I can’t even imagine my apartment without her perfume lingering in the air. Without her stomach gurgling as I make her breakfast or her soft hair sliding under my fingers as we watch a movie together.
“Oh, look,” she exclaims, sta rtling me. She’s pointing to a gray-haired man at the end of the gym. “Mr. Davis.”
That makes me smile. “Oh, yeah! You did not mess with him,” I say, remembering the tough attitude of our janitor.
She laughs, taking a sip of her drink. “Do you remember when the two of us decided to create a time capsule and we went to his office to find—” Her eyes light up. “Oh my gosh. The time capsule! Do you think it’s still buried out there?”
Heat creeps up to my neck. As if I could forget about that time capsule, or what I wrote inside. “Probably not,” I say with a forced grin. “Do you want to get back out there? I love this song,” I say, swaying to the music and hoping she’ll follow my lead.
Marissa’s eyes are shining brighter than ever. “No, seriously. What if it’s still there? Aaron, we have to go look for it.”
My arms fall to my sides. “Come on, Martin. We’re not going to go dig up a time capsule in the middle of the night.”
“Why not?” She frowns. “That’s exactly why we make time capsules in the first place. What’s the point if not to dig it up?”
“Ten years isn’t long enough,” I say, scratching my head. “We should wait another ten.”
“No, I remember we wrote our te n-year wishes in there. It’s the perfect time. We have to go. Come on.”
There’s no stopping her as she drags me across the gym.
“We have to find a shovel,” she whispers once we reach a semi-empty corridor.
“Are you listening to yourself?” I say, choking out a laugh. “It’s insane.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Hotshot? Come on.”
She hurries down the hall until we reach Mr. Davis’s office.
I shake my head, my blood pumping hard in my temples. “He will have our skin.”
“He can’t call the principal on us anymore.” She winks, grabbing a bobby pin from her hair. “We’re grown up now.”
“Oh, yeah. I totally feel like a grown-up as we’re about to bobby-pin our way into Mr Davis’s office ,” I whisper-yell.
“Shh.” She swings around to scold me. “You’re going to draw attention.”
I want to retort that a beautiful strawberry blonde and a burly hockey player who’s sausaged into a suit, huddled together in front of the janitor’s office, is not exactly discreet, but I follow her advice and try to keep my voice down. Even more embarrassing than breaking into your former school janitor’s office? Getting caught doing it.
She keeps working the pin and jig gles the handle until it gives.
“I can’t believe you still know how to do that,” I breathe out as we file into the small room. Yeah, it’s not exactly our first rodeo. How do you think we managed to bury the capsule in the first place?
We grab a shovel, and I take my blazer off to hide the bulky tool the best I can.
“What are you doing?” she asks, frowning as we step back into the corridor.
“We can’t exactly walk across the hall carrying a shovel, now can we?”
“Oh.” She nods once. “Right. Go straight out, and wait for me outside. I’ll grab our coats.”
We put our plan into action, and ten minutes later, we’re both outside in our winter coats, walking toward the bleachers of the football field where our capsule is buried.
“Crossing the field in the middle of the night with a shovel,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure we’re not being followed. “Sounds way too familiar.”
“You shouldn’t read so many thrillers,” she says, catching my train of thought. “It’s not healthy for you. Nothing’s going to happen.”
I swallow hard. I’m not so sure about that. Actually, I know for a fact that things are going to change after tonight.
We argue for at least twenty minutes on where to dig, each of us remembering this differently. Unfortunately, Marissa has an excellent memory, and she’s sure of herself. I lose the battle and start to dig. Soon enough, a metallic sound resonates through the still air, and I know we’ve found it.
Marissa jumps to her feet, hands clasped together.
I reach for the gray lunch box, and we sit down in the first row of the bleachers.
“Are you ready to open it?” she asks, her eyes sparkling under the moonlight.
I rub the back of my neck and nod.
There’s a smattering of dirt inside, and even a worm, but other than that, everything is still intact. Lucky me. The contents include a photo of Marissa, Coach, and me on the first day of freshman year, our favorite objects at the time—a puck for me and a ballpoint pen for Marissa, a newspaper clipping from the day we buried the capsule, and even the wrappers of our favorite candies. But that’s not what I’m most stressed about. My eyes fall on the small blue paper, and I quickly snatch it.
“Oh, right,” Marissa says, gr abbing the pink one. “What we hoped for ourselves in ten years! I forgot about that.” She unfolds hers and reads, “I hope that I’ll be in love, successful, and happy. Well, almost there, kiddo,” she says with a chuckle. “I had high expectations for myself. What does yours say? NHL?”
“Yep!” I clutch the piece of paper tight. “Exactly. Well, I made it. That’s great.”
“I can’t say I’m not jealous,” she says. “But I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I say, relieved that I didn’t have to read what I wrote down. “Really. You’re still here, after all this time. You’ve always believed in me, even when I wasn’t sure I had what it takes. Having you in the arena cheering me on at home games or behind the TV, it means so much to me. Knowing you’re playing for someone else makes a big difference.”
“I meant what I said earlier. I always knew.” Her eyes shine with a smile, and my heart thunders in my chest.
“You had more faith in me than I did in myself,” I say, drawing a hand over my light stubble.
She shakes her head. “You did have some faith in yourself, though. The proof is on that piece of paper.”
My throat constricts. I’m such an idiot. “Right.”
“Let’s see what it says, exac tly. I’d love to hear eighteen-year-old Aaron Miles’s take on his NHL future.”
“It just says, ‘That I’ll play for the NHL.’ I was never too creative,” I joke, balling my fist around the paper.
“That’s not true. Come on.” She offers her hand, palm up, waiting for me to drop the piece of paper that I’ve pretty much mashed to a pulp in my fist.
“Not necessary.” I stand up. “Let’s go before someone catches us.”
“Now I really want to see. Give it here,” she says, trying to get it from me, but I raise my hand high above my head.
She slips her hands inside my open coat like she’s about to give me a hug, but she tickles me hard instead.
“Ah! No. Marissa, stop,” I grunt, but she’s relentless. When I drop my hand, she forces it open and grabs the piece of paper.
She sprints a few feet away, arms raised in victory. I could go after her and get it back, but there’s no point. I know that in the end, I’ll always give her what she wants. I sit down on the bench and brace for impact.
She catches her breath and unfolds the piece of paper.
My heart quickens, and all I can hear is the booming in my ears.
She clears her throat dramatically. “I wish,” she says, glancing at me with a bright smile, “that I’ll finally find the courage to tell Marissa I love her. ” Her voice falters, and I can barely hear the last words. I don’t need to. I already know them by heart.
Her arms fall to her sides, and her jaw drops. I stare down at my shoes as a silence fills the space between us.
“Wait, Aaron. What’s this?” she asks, after a while.
I raise my head. She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling at lightspeed, her beautiful blue eyes locked on me.
“Aaron, you loved me? I don’t understand,” she repeats again, taking a step toward me.
I suck in a breath. “ Love , Marissa,” I reply. “I love you. I fell in love with you the second I met you, and it never went away.”
She shakes her head, then starts pacing. “No. You can’t. That’s not— I don’t understand. You turned me down, Aaron,” she says, her voice rising an octave. “You turned me down right there. ” She points back at the school building. “You said no.”
I offer her a sad smile. “And I’ve regretted it ever since.”