Chapter 43
ZARIAH
FOUR WORD SHIRT POCKET NOTE
We headed out to the rink. Denali was fluid on skates, honestly a work of art, while my skills had rusted beyond recognition. I almost slipped but Denali caught me.
“I skated for years,” I muttered. “What’s wrong with me?”
“It’s okay,” Denali murmured, his hand skimming up my back. “We can go slow.”
“You pervert, I bet you love this.”
He laughed, pulling me closer. “It has its benefits.”
I thought we’d be gliding across the ice together, but we had to stick close to the rink’s walls for me. The blush burned. “Thank you. For being patient.” I groaned. “God, this is embarrassing.”
“Riah? No secrets, right?”
“No secrets.”
“Why’d you stop playing hockey?”
I attempted my first glide and winced at the scratch on the ice. I grabbed for Denali again, returning to safety. “When I was a kid, Elijah was, like, the most important thing.”
“He’s still important to you?”
“Not like that. All I wanted was to hang out with him, and when Elijah joined hockey, I joined hockey. But as we got older, it was pretty clear our skill levels weren’t comparable.
He landed select teams and I got participation trophies.
Honestly, I stopped playing hockey before the summer with Hersch. ”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Seriously?”
“The only reason I went to hockey camp was for a convenient reason to spend time in Colorado. And then…I met you, and you really liked hockey, so I figured I could keep up the ruse.”
“You don’t like hockey?”
“No, I like hockey. I just don’t like playing it.”
Denali stared at me, surprised. “You lied to me. When we were kids.”
“Yep. I was a horny fifteen-year-old too. I wanted to make out with you, I didn’t care what hobbies you thought I liked.”
He snorted into a hard laugh, staring incredulously at me. “Zariah—”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“You were already going to quit hockey? That’s why you don’t play it anymore?”
“That’s—erm—part of the reason,” I admitted. It was easy to joke about because the real explanation wasn’t funny. I wasn’t keen on ending our good mood. “I mean…after we broke up…”
His laughter eased. “Oh.”
“We don’t have to talk about this, Denali—”
“I knew the answer, I know it’s because of me,” he sighed. “I don’t know why I asked.”
After our breakup, after the endless phone calls and letters from Denali, after the incident at the funeral, I refused to have any association with hockey. I didn’t want to accidentally see Denali again or be reminded of what happened.
My parents’ love for hockey soured too. We didn’t watch games at home anymore, and I wondered if that was why my parents stopped having as much interest in Elijah’s hockey events altogether.
They loved Elijah. My dad did his laundry the second Elijah came home, my mom cut his steak for him, his hockey trophies took up a third of the living room, but it’d take the Gladiators going to the Gulf Coast Cup before they stepped foot in an arena again.
“I was worried going skating wouldn’t be a good thing for us,” Denali said, his voice low. “Maybe we should do something else.”
“No, this is a good thing,” I replied.
“It’s because of me that you don’t want to skate in the first place.”
“But without you, I wouldn’t have put on the skates again.”
He was quiet for a moment, hopeful. “Really?”
“I do miss skating, even if I suck at it. It’s just not something I would’ve thought to do on my own because…I was nervous. I have boundaries, sure, everyone does, but you make me want to move outside of my comfort zone. You make me feel braver to do things like this.”
“Skating takes practice,” he said, touching my waist.
“So we’ll come here again.”
“Yeah?”
“You and me, baby,” I murmured. “Because I love spending time with you.”
Denali dipped down to kiss me, cupping my face. My pulse picked up at the close contact. I loved when he kissed like that and was flustered when he broke away, especially with that look on his face.
“Ooo,” I giggled, breathless. “Freaky shit dropped in your head.”
His expression cleared and he snapped out of it. Whatever it was must’ve been insanely freaky. My stomach flipped in response.
“Denali?” I grinned. “What is it?”
He shook his head, a flush creeping up his neck. “Too far.”
“Too far? Sounds enticing.”
“No—no. It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Open communication means we talk to each other.” I took him by the hand. “How about if it’s too far, we’ll pretend like you’re joking?”
“Except I’m not joking, Zariah.”
I hummed, pleased. “Denali?”
Denali was always so sure on the ice, so sure in front of his team. To see him anxious about this made my heart pound. He had these feelings he didn’t know how to handle. He didn’t know what to do with that wanting, that longing, and being the person to cause that was a rush.
I wanted to hear what had him so twisted up inside.
His dark eyes studied me. The nervousness edged to something else and his voice deepened. “I want to put a baby in you.”
Oh, god.
Yet as Denali began to reiterate how he would never do that to me without my permission, and how it was only a biological need, this wasn’t him plotting behind my back—I rested along the rink, breathless, letting my heartbeat overtake me.
Quickly, I pushed from the rink’s wall, letting gravity take me on a slow glide. “Not yet, Denali.”
A beat passed before Denali broke the weighted silence. “What?”
“No babies yet.”
“Yet?” He followed after me, shocked. “What do you mean yet?”
Grinning, I stuck my tongue at him and built up momentum with my skates. Denali was seconds behind me, easily overtaking me, wrapping his hands around my waist, stopping my momentum.
He searched my face, less composed than earlier. “What do you mean not yet?”
“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” I explained, warmth blossoming where he touched me. “We have two paths ahead of us. If we break up again—”
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. “I’d be a fucking mess.”
“It’d be this horrible thing, but in five years, we’ll bump into each other at a cafe, or a mechanic shop, or—”
“Or a sports bar,” he finished for me, his eyes widening.
“And you’ll say—”
“I never got over you.”
“I—yeah.” The blush darkened. “The romantic stuff. We’ll be older, wiser, we’ll know what deductions to count for our taxes, and third time’s the charm. We’ll get back together, and that time for good.”
“That’s the first possibility,” he breathed out. “So…?”
“The alternative is…we don’t break up,” I said. “We’re juniors in college. We have our senior year to explore this relationship. We’ll do the stuff we’re supposed to, we’ll take our time. Then, we graduate, and you’ll sign on to a pro team.”
“I have a list of places that’ve contacted me—”
“Wherever you go, I’m coming with you.”
His words were hushed. “You’re coming with me?”
“Mm-hmm. I don’t want to get married yet, Denali.
I don’t want kids right now, I don’t want the HOA meetings.
I want something else.” I softened my voice, keeping our conversation between us.
“During your off season, I want to write scripts in the Colorado mountains, on California beaches, and in haunted hotels in New Orleans—I want to travel. I want to go everywhere with you—”
Denali yanked me to him with a kiss, gripping my face. The kisses were frantic. His mouth traveled from my lips to my cheek to my neck until I was gasping in his arms.
“We have our whole lives ahead of us,” I panted. “Don’t worry about skipping to the serious stuff. I just want you.”
“I want you.” His fingers clenched my jacket. “I want you, Riah. I want you today, tomorrow, always.”
Maybe the skating itself wasn’t magical but everything between us was. We left for the ice cream shop and split a sundae, cozying up in the booth together. Denali wound a few of my loose curls between his fingers, kissing the top of my head.
I was struck by how similar this was to our first date when Denali asked if I wanted to go ice skating at the mall in Colorado.
“Alaska?” I murmured. “Can I have your wallet?”
He slipped it into my open palm and I pulled out the piece of paper that’d been folded so many times. Through a sliver of the window, I could see the rink. For the first time in years, I remembered everything about that day.
Denali and I were regularly holding hands and kissing in the complex’s courtyard. When he finally asked me out on a real date, our first date, I was ecstatic. At the mall, I was so excited my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, while Denali was silent.
I didn’t mind filling the silence while we ate Chinese food in the food court. Denali nodded throughout the whole conversation, and when we walked to the rink, he continued to nod while he tied my skates. I’d egged him on to a race, he nodded again, silent.
It was a silly contest. We both knew I was faster, I just wanted him to loosen up. But the race ended when some kids rushed out and I took a hard left crashing into Denali, sending him to the wall.
It was so embarrassing. I’d blubbered through apologies, convinced I’d just sent my first kiss to a concussion.
“It’s okay,” Denali repeated. His words shot out like a cannon. “It’s okay because I love you.”
My heart wobbled in my chest, my pulse ran wild. This fifteen-year-old boy said he loved me and I couldn’t think of anything to say, except for…
“Got it.”
Got it? Got it?! I’d wanted to tell him that I adored him, I couldn’t sleep because of him! But I was tongue-tied. I’d never told a boy anything close and it was petrifying to grapple with.
We took the bus back to Hersch’s apartment, both of us silent.
I knew he was supposed to go home—his bike was tied up in the courtyard—but I dragged him inside anyway.
“Uh…I told my parents I’d be back at two…” Denali said, his voice so much quieter than usual.
“Stay here!” I insisted, sprinting to the balcony, slamming the door behind me.
My grandfather sat at his usual place, sculpting clay. At that point, he was losing control of his hands, but he sculpted anyway to defy his muscles weakening. A lone cigarette hung off his mouth like a lollipop stick, and he arched an eyebrow in my direction.
I crouched to him, burning with shame. “Grandpa, he said he loves me!”
“Prego? What an odd boy.”
“What do I say?!”
“Tell him to return home. Sto morendo di fame, I want us to go to dinner.”
“I have to tell him how I feel—” I sucked in hard breaths, panicking. “But if I tell him, I think I’m going to vomit!”
He rolled his eyes, returning to his clay. “You don’t love this boy.”
“I do! I do!”
“You don’t know him.”
“You barely knew Grandma!” I retorted. “You proposed after three weeks!”
He scoffed. “Your grandmother was engaged to a—uh—” His frown deepened, trying to figure out the correct insult. “Testa di cazzo. I had to move very quickly.”
“Grandpa!”
I was clenched in the grips of agony, dumbstruck with love, and I hated my inexperience. I had no idea how to talk to Denali. My grandpa had to come to my rescue. I pleaded with Hersch, begging him to find pity, to help me.
Hersch pinched the bridge of his nose, smearing clay on his face. “Le cose che facciamo per i nostri figli.”
“What do I say?!”
He stood up and took me by the shoulder. “Your grandmother left some of her pink books around the house.” He knelt to me. “I’ll distract the boy, you think on what to say. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
With an unnaturally boisterous voice, Hersch directed Denali outside, saying he needed to tell him the story of the ice monster, while I poured through my late grandma’s romance books, throwing them over my shoulder.
I couldn’t find anything worthwhile and didn’t have enough time.
I had no idea what to do.
My eyes landed on the typewriter, and I stuffed a piece of paper through, typing as quickly as I could.
As soon as I finished, I ran down the stairs and found Denali at his bike. Hersch quickly left us—this type of pathetic lovesickness was too much for him—and I gazed at Denali.
I wanted to tell him how I felt, but I couldn’t. Instead, I did the next best thing. I folded the piece of paper in my hands and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, sprinting back to Hersch’s front door. I slammed it behind me, breathing hard.
“Cosa gli hai detto?” Hersch inquired.
“I didn’t say anything, I wrote him a letter!” I blurted out, pointing at the typewriter.
“Hm?”
“It said ‘I love you too!’”
Grumbling under his breath, Hersch rolled his eyes, but I didn’t care that my note wasn’t poetic. It was frightening for me to write, and I couldn’t believe that I’d gone through with it. I actually did it.
And I didn’t even stick around to see Denali’s reaction.
The next day, I arrived at hockey camp at seven o’clock in the morning. I looked around every corner until I found Denali at his locker. He had a sweet, shy smile on his face and he showed me his new locker decoration, the four-word page I’d shoved into his shirt pocket.