Chapter 55
ZARIAH
MATCHING
Denali’s slip-up was a huge mistake, but I could salvage this.
I pasted on the most believable smile I could muster while the Maddoxes stumbled to their seats in the row behind us, everyone gawking at me.
The uncomfortable silence stretched as Denali’s mom stared at me like I was a ghost.
My own mother tugged on my sleeve. “The boy you’ve been seeing is Denali Maddox?”
My dad craned his neck, distressed. “My love—”
“Denali is my boyfriend,” I said firmly, even while I mentally lobbed curses at him for throwing me into this mess. I had to be diplomatic. I stretched back, giving a polite wave to Mr. and Mrs. Maddox. Denali’s mom zeroed in on my Gladiator band.
I dropped my hand from her eyesight.
Oh, shit.
The ring practically burned my skin. I started to unclasp the bracelet then forced myself to think it through. I didn’t want to draw attention to it, and I couldn’t properly hide it with everybody watching. I’d have to do it on the way to the restaurant.
I had to go about this very, very delicately.
Game music thundered over the speakers as the Gladiators rushed out to the ice to riotous applause.
Applause from the crowd. The difference between now and months ago was so stark—it was unbelievable.
I forced myself to focus on the game, to pretend like any of this was normal, while a dozen eyes stared at my back.
I was pretty much the only one in our rows to clap.
“Zariah,” my mom whispered out the side of her mouth.
I gestured towards the hockey players doing loops on the ice. “This is going to be an insane game, huh?”
My sweet, doting mother stared daggers at me for trying to change the subject while I hunkered down in my seat, staring at the ice.
The puck dropped and the crowd screamed when Denali stole it, dancing it between his stick on his path towards the net. Other players crashed into each other, there was no space in between them.
God, I thought playoffs were bloody, but this was a fucking madhouse.
There were so many penalties, checks to the head, grabbing each other’s sticks, minor scuffles that should’ve landed more players in the sin bin. Should’ve is the key word. The refs weren’t doing shit.
Another player elbowed Denali, but it didn’t faze him, he stole the puck, swiping it to the left. I couldn’t believe the refs. It was an illegal move, and just because Denali didn’t go down with it didn’t make it okay during the game.
“CALL IT, REF!” I shouted. “FUCKING BULLSHIT!”
“Zariah,” my mom said, shocked.
“They’re not calling half of these penalties!” I gestured to the ice. “What are the refs doing?!”
That same player from the opposing team zeroed in on Denali. Denali kept pushing back to Montoya, but the opposition must’ve realized his plan. When they checked Denali to the head, I was convinced the refs would say something, but no.
Nothing.
Denali was too busy overcompensating for Montoya. He couldn’t stop them, and my heart lodged in my throat.
The puck was lobbed to the boards, careening down the side, you could hear the movement of the crowd, everyone jerking over to see where it raced off to. Denali skated hard, head down, the player who wouldn’t let him go went flying after him.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I repeated, hands covering my mouth.
Another player soared from the side, taking an abrupt right to throw himself into the mess—Elijah.
Elijah crashed into the player trying to take down Denali. I had no idea what he said but my brother cornered him at the boards, beating him back.
The other player ripped off his gloves and dove at Elijah. They hit the boards, hard, and my dad gasped.
“What is he doing?!” my dad panicked.
“He’s forcing the refs to act,” I said, pointing. “Elijah’s riling that guy up! He’s basically throwing a penalty at them!”
The air erupted in whistles as the crowd roared with indignation. Three refs had to pull them apart, and when they did, the opposition had a major penalty, lost a player to the sin bin, and Elijah emerged with bruises around his eye.
The other side screamed at the ref for the penalty while Denali wrapped an arm around Elijah’s shoulders. The player screaming at the ref lurched over.
No, no, no, he was lurching over to grab Elijah.
My stomach plunged, I couldn’t breathe.
The Gladiators for the next shift change were rushing out, Montoya stopped between them. His fist flew for a punch before I could comprehend what was happening and the crowd screamed in response.
It was Montoya. Montoya punched the player going after Elijah!
I shoved up out of my seat. “Holy fucking shit!”
I couldn’t fucking believe it. Neither could Montoya by the way he stumbled back, arms flailing, or the Gladiators with how they poured onto the ice, surrounding him.
My family had no idea why I was cheering so loudly for a penalty against our team, but I didn’t care. The Gladiators shouted encouragements at Montoya as he skated to the penalty box, a little woozy and very, very dazed.
Denali cheered and Elijah beat his chest, howling Montoya’s name.
I finally stumbled into my seat again, breathless with laughter.
I couldn’t fucking believe any of that happened.
The guys were messing around on the bench, pointing at Elijah.
His black eye was rapidly becoming more apparent, and they were hyping him up for it, Denali the loudest out of all of them.
“Holy crap,” I whispered. “They’re going to win this game.”
The period ended and music thundered over the speakers as the teams returned to their respective locker rooms. I could feel the questions pulsing from my parents, but my mom hated anything personal and probing in front of company. She’d wait to demand answers later, while my dad followed suit.
The seat creaked behind me. I could barely hear above the noise of the crowd. Denali’s dad had to raise his voice to get me to turn. “Zaraya?”
I glanced back, eager for the distraction from my speechless parents.
I could understand where Denali’s dad came up with that name, a combination between Zariah and Raya, but I quickly shook my head.
If Denali heard that, it’d be a whole thing.
As gently as I could, I corrected him. “It’s Zariah, Mr. Maddox. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s your first time hearing it, it’s okay.”
He was silent for a moment, but I wasn’t surprised. He waited until the game music quieted between songs before he spoke. “Zariah, is this what’s best for you two?”
“Sir?”
“I can take the coincidences, I can go to the dinner, but can you be honest with me?” he said quietly. “Is this what’s best for you two?”
I was careful to drop my voice, to keep our conversation private. “Denali is very, very good to me, and he’s just as good for me. He can admit when he’s wrong. He takes accountability. He’s gentle and kind. Honestly? He’s everything I needed five years ago.”
The Gulf Coast Cup was the most insane hockey game I’d ever seen up close and personal. Both teams were desperate for the win.
The goal horn screamed in the last thirty seconds, the Gladiators earning their win—five to four.
When I made it to the locker room, I was swept up in the celebration.
Journalists rushed in to get their interviews, cameras flashed, and the team held up the Cup together, everybody with their hand on the metal.
I couldn’t believe Denali had abandoned our plan to tell our parents, but I couldn’t be mad at him.
Not on a day like today.
The arena was aglow with the celebration, and Elijah and I finally crawled into the rental car with our parents, I was exhausted. My brother was decorated with bruises, drooping from the intense game. Regardless, I threw my arms over him, hugging him in the car.
“Ow, ow, ow, Zariah,” he complained. “Not too hard.”
I grinned. “The black eye looks cool.”
“Duh.” He scoffed. “I know it looks cool. It looks cool as shit.”
“Zariah Viviana Contractor, I don’t like being cornered like this,” my mom interrupted from the front seat, her voice clipped.
I winced, glancing at Elijah for help, but he shrugged. Even he knew not to push our mom when she burst out with our middle names. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Mm. Where is the restaurant?”
I read off the address from my phone and apologized again. “I’m sorry. The timing was messed up from the championship, I wanted to tell you sooner.”
“My love,” my dad said, heaving a breath. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“You don’t have to come to any conclusions yet,” I promised. “I just want you to hear Denali out. If you still have reservations, I understand. I know this’ll take time.”
In the parking lot of the steakhouse, I had to resist running over to hug Denali. He’d donned a t-shirt and jeans, his dark hair scruffy from his helmet, his ring shining around his neck.
He looked so good, but running to him wouldn’t be a smart move. I forced myself to stick to my family.
Except when we went to our table, out of habit, I pulled out the chair next to Denali.
My mom clicked her tongue, pointing at me. “No, no, no.”
So I took the chair next to Elijah instead. I didn’t want to provoke anybody, I wanted to be respectful.
Elijah squeezed my shoulder, his voice a mutter. “It’ll be okay, Z.”
“I hope so,” I whispered back, but his gesture did make me feel better.
Slowly, I began to explain to our families about how we met at the beginning of the year.
How we didn’t want to upset Elijah by explaining our past, how important he was to both of us, and how much we’d changed.
I stressed how important boundaries were.
We were dedicated to taking it slow and I was adamant that I loved Denali very much.
“In fact…I’ve been offered a work opportunity in Atlanta,” I admitted to the surprise of my parents. “I’ve decided to take it and I think that’ll be the distance we need for our relationship to grow.”
My parents were shocked at the news, they asked so many questions, but I wouldn’t waver on my decision. This was the start of the rest of my life, I couldn’t pass it up.
The conversation lapsed into silence until Denali straightened up, his words even. “Mr. and Mrs. Contractor, I want to apologize for my behavior towards your daughter, and—uh—my behavior at the funeral. I’m sorry for the pain I caused your family.”
For the first time all day, my mom relaxed a little. She hesitated. “Thank you.”
Our parents still talked in stiff, uncomfortable sentences, like everyone was waiting for some disaster, but at least they were talking to each other. We browsed over menus, and I hid my words behind mine, shifting close to Elijah.
“Can you see my sweat through my jersey?” I whispered.
“Not yet,” he muttered back. “But if it gets bad, I’ll throw my water on you. You can blame that.”
I snorted and grinned at him. My brother could get into so much shit, we could rile each other up, but he stood up for me. Even if he felt hurt, even if he didn’t agree with every decision I made, he still loved me enough to stand in my corner. I was loved, and I knew it.
I hugged him again, resting my cheek on his shoulder. “I love you.”
“I’m always going to be there for you,” he promised. “Sorry for being a huge dick.”
“So—erm—” Denali’s dad cleared his throat, setting down his menu. “I’d always wondered…Herschel, did he pass away right when you came back to Houston or…?”
Elijah’s eyebrows furrowed. “You knew Herschel?”
“Him and Raya—Zariah—” he quickly corrected himself, “used to pick up Denali when we were out in the city.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Herschel was just wasting away. Shaking and sputtering his words—”
Denali’s eyes narrowed. “Dad.”
“So, uh, is that stuff genetic?” his dad asked. “The shaking—I don’t know what he had. Do you have it—?”
“Dad,” Denali warned, his voice sharp. “Zariah and I already talked about that, we’re not discussing that here.”
I couldn’t believe how quickly Denali stiffened, especially to his own father.
My mom was quick to rebuff him. “Anyone can have the disease. It doesn’t have to be genetic.”
“Mama,” Elijah said softly. Our mom instantly retreated, but she was still tense, muttering something in Italian to my dad. Elijah cleared his throat. “Uh…Zariah and I had genetic testing done when we were seventeen. We don’t have it.”
While Elijah explained, I gazed at Denali, thinking over what he said.
I was so surprised he snapped at his dad, I didn’t really process his words.
What did Denali mean when he said that we’d discussed it?
Discussed what? I tucked my curls behind my ear, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
“I’m sorry,” Denali’s dad said after a moment. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this, and I know you two are taking this at a slow pace, but I can’t—”
“Oh my god.” Denali’s mom pointed at my wrist, shocked. “You have matching rings?!”
I jerked down my hand just as everyone’s heads flew up from their menus. I forgot to take mine off—and Denali was wearing his. Holy shit, how could I have forgotten? Why didn’t I say something to him earlier? Or rip it off his neck in the parking lot?!
Denali hurried to stuff his necklace under his collar, but his mom grabbed it, holding it out.
“Zariah?” my mom demanded. “What does she mean matching rings?”
Elijah stared at me, mouth open. “Come on, Z. You wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“Woah, woah.” Denali quickly shook his head. “They’re not engagement rings yet.”
My mom’s mouth fell open. “Engagement rings?!”
Dark red splotches crossed Denali’s mom’s face. “Yet?!”
Fourteen people began talking at once, my mother, his parents, his siblings, his sisters-in-law, his nieces, until our table erupted into noise, everybody asking if those were actual matching rings.
When the waitress passed by, my dad waved for her attention, motioning to the table. He was resigned to the conversation, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could we, please, have a bottle of wine?”
“Gin,” my mom corrected, grinding her teeth. “Neat.”
“Two bottles of wine,” Denali’s dad mumbled, rubbing his temples.
“Do you think they’ll say something if I get a bottle?” Elijah muttered to me.
“Nope,” I sighed. “They’re too mad at me. Go nuts.”
“Awesome.” Elijah caught the waitress. “Can I get a whiskey? I have a lot of opinions about what’s going on and a whiskey will keep me quiet.”