Chapter 11 Clara
CLARA
The first thing that woke me up was a wet, rhythmic slurping. The second was the ache of a lower back that had slept on a plywood bench.
I peeled one eye open. The fish hut was gray, lit only by the early morning light leaking through the cracks around the door. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and Dash was crouched by the hole, drinking the edges.
"Dash, your slurping is disgusting," I croaked. My neck was stiff, and I was warm. Too warm for a plywood shack in the middle of December.
That's when I realized Beck's arms were wrapped around me.
His coat was draped over Dash like a blanket. At some point during the night, Beck must have gotten up to tend the fire and cover the dog. I'd been too dead asleep to notice.
I froze. This was the man who had once promised me the world and then bailed. Could I get out of here without waking him up? Fight or flight kicked in, and flight was my go-to.
Then the smell of him hit me. It was partly gross, part nostalgia: wet wool, body odor reminiscent of his hockey bag, and that minty eczema soap he always used.
The mint calmed me down. Yes, he'd hurt me, but he'd been hurting himself. I would never forget that he left me behind, but this morning I felt like I could get around to forgiving him.
I tilted my head back. He was fast asleep. His jawline shadowed with stubble. There were deep grooves of stress between his eyes that hadn't been there when he was eighteen.
He looked exhausted.
Dash let out a final slurp and shook off Beck's coat.
Beck groaned and tightened his grip, pulling me closer. "Five more minutes," he grumbled.
"Beck. We need to get going," I whispered.
One of Beckett's eyes cracked open. It was bloodshot. He blinked, focusing on me before looking around the hut, as though reminding himself where he'd spent the night.
He didn't pull away.
"Morning," he rasped.
"Morning."
We stayed like that for a few more seconds. It felt too much like a Sunday morning from fifteen years ago, not a survival situation in a fish hut. I shifted, sliding out from under his arm. "I need to check the door to see if we can get out."
"Right." He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "The door. I'll check it."
I stood. My hip ached from the hard bench. When I shoved against the plywood door, it didn't budge.
"Out of the way, figure skater." He put his shoulder into it, grunted, and light spilled into the hut as he forced back the pile of snow between us and the outside world. I had to squint against the sudden assault of brightness.
The storm was gone, leaving behind a blanket of white snow and a sky the same blue as Beck's eyes. The world was buried. My truck and his rental car were just two white humps in the distance.
"How bad is it?" I asked.
Beckett stepped outside. "Two feet. Maybe more in the drifts." He picked up his coat from the floor, sniffed it, then put it on.
I couldn't hold in my giggle.
"What?" he smiled. "Your dog doesn't smell that bad. It’s better than your jerky breath."
"Hey." I shoved him. "Says the guy who smells like a dressing room."
He stuck his nose in his armpit and sniffed. "It's a real buffet of smells in here, isn’t it? Should we get some fish guts in the mix too?"
He took his phone from the pocket of his jacket. "I've got one bar. The Chance Rapids weather station has dropped the squall warnings and that plows are on the main highway."
"The highway is five miles that way." I pointed toward the tree-line. "We're stuck until the grader comes down to the lake."
Squinting at his phone, he scrolled through. "Secondary routes will be cleared by noon."
I laughed. "That's optimistic."
"Breakfast?" He lifted the lid of one of the plastic bins.
My coat was still warm from our body heat and it felt like slipping into a warm, slightly stinky, hug. "Unless you have a secret stash of eggs Benedict in your pockets, we're out of luck. Dash ate the rest of the jerky."
"Of course he did." Beckett sighed. "I saw a tin of something on the shelf."
It turned out to be a tin of Danish butter cookies that looked like they'd been there since bell bottoms were in style, and a bottle of whiskey that looked much fresher.
"Breakfast of champions," Beck said when I held them up. Beck chipped away at the last of the instant coffee with a spoon. "Better than nothing."
It didn't take much to coax the fire back to life.
The lake water coffee was the best brew I'd had in years, and I work at a coffee shop with an espresso machine imported from Italy.
We sat on the bench, a respectful foot of space between us now, dunking stale, sugar-dusted cookies into the black coffee.
"So," Beck said, looking at the cookie in his hand. “About last night."
"Yeah." I took a sip of coffee.
"I meant it, Clara. Everything I said." He unscrewed the whiskey and took a sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I took the bottle from him and swallowed a big gulp. "I know."
"Do you believe me?"
I looked at him. His eyes told me he was sincere, but I'd been burned by them before. "I want to."
He finished his cookie and brushed the ancient icing sugar from his hands. "That's a start."
Sitting still was making me anxious. I couldn't stop thinking about how good it felt in his arms. The longer we sat in that hut, the more I wanted to shimmy closer to him, and this time, not for warmth.
I stood up. "Come on. If we sit here any longer I'm going to finish that bottle and pick up one of Harry McNabb's fishing rods. "
"What's the plan? Build an igloo?" He put the whiskey back on the shelf.
I opened the door and pointed to the rink. "We dig."
By the time we got to the rink I was sweating. Worrying about Dash running off again wasn't an issue, the snow was deeper than he was tall. Next to the time-keeper's hut we found their stash of shovels.
The snow was deep, but at least it was fluffy and light. After our night in the hut, moving felt good for my body, and even better for my mind.
We worked in silence, carving paths across the ice, pushing snow toward the edges. Dash got out some energy by zooming around the paths at top speed, launching into the deep snow to slow himself down on the corners.
"This is insane," Beck said, breathing hard.
"You're the one who wanted to impress me."
"Pretty sure I cried on you. I don’t think I can come back from that."
“You idiot. That was the most impressive thing you’ve ever done.” I laughed. It felt strange, but in a good way. “
"This is pointless," Beckett panted, leaning on his shovel. We had managed to clear a path from the rink to the trucks, and a small, jagged patch of ice near the boards. It was maybe twenty feet long and ten feet wide.
"It's exercise," I said, kicking a chunk of hard-packed snow. "You won't have to do leg day today."
Beckett looked at the patch of ice we'd exposed. "I bet I can still out-skate you."
In your dreams, Beck Shepherd."
"Prove it."
"Do you think Dash’s nose can find your skates?"
My skates.
"Shit!" The shovel clattered to the ice. "I think they're by the edge of the forest."
Dash whipped his head in response to his name. “I’m not sure, but we do know it can find a bag of unattended jerky."
"Come on, Dash.” Beck trudged through the snowbank and Dash followed in his tracks. He stopped and turned. "I'll get your skates, I have a pair of Logan's in my car. Meet me at center ice."
Before I could protest, Beck waded through the snow as though it was a training exercise, and the man was in shape.
Ten minutes later, we were laced up.
"I can't believe you put your feet in those," Beck said. "We could've let them thaw out in the car, or at least warm up a bit." He knocked on the frozen leather.
"I forget my skates in the car on a regular basis." It was true. I was used to cold skates, but not wet ones. But I’d be damned if I was going to let Beck's skating comment go unchallenged.
My toes were numb, and my skates were stiff, but as soon as my blades hit the ice, it all disappeared.
Beck stepped onto the ice beside me and then he was gone. Damn him. He was still that good.
"Not bad for an old guy," I called out, pushing off to follow him.
The patch of ice was too small for any real speed, so we just messed around. It felt like we were kids again, sneaking onto the rink before Donnie unlocked the doors.
Beck grabbed the shovels and handed one to me. "Race you to the end."
With the shovel in hand, I pushed off with my toe-pick.
Snow billowed out from the blade of the shovel as I picked up speed.
Behind me the clatter of Beck's shovel banging on the ice fueled my competitive fire.
Breathing hard, I bent my knees and focused my gaze on the bank at the far end of the rink, beating Beck there by a millisecond.
"Ha!" I dropped the shovel and raised my arms.
"Best two out of three." He picked the shovel up and handed it to me, then rocketed off down the ice.
"Hey!" I giggled. There was no catching the man. He’d totally let me win the first time around. Snow sparkles swirled in the air behind him. There was nothing like a hockey player's ass, and the one in front of me, in the jeans, was magnificent.
On our third round, Dash joined in, barking as we got combative. An elbow here, a hip check there, ending in full belly laughs as we hit the bank at the end.
He panted. "Look at how much we've cleared."
I turned to look but was bodychecked from the side. Beck's arms wrapped around my waist and we tumbled into the fresh snowbank. I'd landed on my back and Beck was on top of me, his weight sinking us even deeper into the snow.
"Is this where you snow me?"
"Do kids still do that?" he grinned.
When we were in highschool, it was a dead giveaway that a guy liked you if he pushed you into the snow and then planted a handful of snow directly in your face. "I'm not sure—"
I was interrupted by snow. Lots of it. "Ack." I spat out the snow and wiped it from my eyes.
Beck took off his glove and used his thumb to wipe the snow off my cheeks.
"Do the lutz."
I brushed the snow from the front of my coat. "What?"
"Your triple lutz. That's the one you did at the beginning of your long program.”
"I teach lutz's now. I don't do them."
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't landed a triple in years, Beckett. I'm a coach, not a competitor. I might be about to do a double. You saw me the other day. I fell on my ass."
“It’s in your head. You’re scared."
My chin went up. "I am not. I'm just out of practice. How about you go nail a slapshot from the blue line, big shot?"
He crossed his arms. "Get me a puck. Are you scared you're going to fall in front of me?"
"I've fallen in front of you a million times."
"So what's one more? If you land it, I'll buy you dinner."
"I don't want dinner." I looked at the patch of ice. It was short, but there was just enough room for the setup. "I want roses. White ones."
"If you land it," he pumped his brows.
I narrowed my eyes. "Fine. Hold this." I took off my jacket and handed it to him. "Hold onto Dash. I don't want to land on him."
Beck tucked his index finger under Dash's collar and I skated to the edge of our cleared patch.
I shook out my hands. It's just a jump. One I haven't landed in years. When I had enough speed, I leaned hard into my edge, reached back with my toe-pick, and bailed.
I didn't even try to rotate. I landed on two feet and stumbled forward.
"You popped it.”
"The ice is bad."
"The ice is fine. You hesitated." He skated over to me. "You stopped trusting yourself right at the take-off."
"Thanks, Coach," I snapped. "It's harder than it looks."
"I know." He reached out, grabbing my hand to stop me from skating away. "Clara. Look at me."
I looked up.
"You didn't fall," he said softly. "Try it again."
"No," I growled and yanked my hand away.
"Okay." He held up his hands like he was in a stick-up. "Then let's do something else. Remember the pairs routine? The one we did before power skating?"
"We were eight."
"And we were awesome. Come on."
I smiled. "You will drop me on my head."
"Trust me." He was talking about the move, but it felt like he was referring to something deeper.
He skated down the ice, spread his feet apart wide, and reached his hands between his legs. "Clara, come on!" he shouted, his eyes locked on me from his upside-down view.
I followed. I grabbed his strong hands and let myself drop backwards as he yanked me with enough force to tug me through his legs and launch me into the air in front of him. He let go of one hand and I instinctively twisted to land backwards on one foot.
It was fucking awesome. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins and I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face. "That was incredible," I gushed as I glided backwards, pulling Beck along for the ride.
"You're incredible." He yanked me again, but this time I slammed into his body.
His lips were on mine and mine were on his. It was hard to say who initiated the kiss.
For a few seconds, there was no stupid deal and no history.
We coasted to a stop, chest to chest, breathing hard in the thin mountain air.
"See?" he murmured, his hand lingering on my waist. "I didn't drop you."
"Yet."
A rumble echoed off the mountains.
We both turned. A massive orange snowplow was cresting the hill, throwing a wave of snow off the road.
“The cavalry’s here," Beck said.
The real world was rushing back in at forty miles an hour.
"We should get the trucks warmed up," I said.
With the trucks cleared, the snowplow driver waved as he continued down the road. Beck leaned against the hood of his rental, scrolling through his messages.
“Shit,” he whispered.
"What is it?" I put my skates on the floor and Dash hopped onto the passenger seat.
"It's Kelly. Mr. King's assistant." He looked up at me. "The King family is arriving tomorrow. The entire family is flying in for a Christmas vacation… including his daughter."
"His daughter?"
"Yeah. Everleigh King used to be the GM of the New York Thunder. Now, she's more of a confidante to her father."
It took me a minute to place the name. “Is she the one they call the Ice Queen?"
"The one and only."
"Why is she coming here?"
“To supervise the meeting, I guess? Check your messages, the town council scheduled the public meeting for tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?" I gasped. "We're not ready. I thought we had a few more days."
Beckett shoved his phone in his pocket. "I need to get back to the hotel. The new clause needs to be drafted and approved by our lawyer before the meeting."
"Okay. Well, you'd better go." Reality was waiting at the other end of that freshly plowed road.
"Clara." He stepped closer. "I'm going to get this done. I promise you."
I looked at the man who had slept on a wooden bench to keep me warm. "I believe you."