Chapter 12 A Piece In The Puzzle
A PIECE IN THE PUZZLE
It’s raining. No, not just rain. It’s pouring.
“Slow down.”
“We’re fine.” Holt flashes me a winning grin, but he slows down just a bit. “I’ve driven this road a million times now.”
His eyes are still alight with the high of the win, but it’s getting dark, and the rain isn’t just rain. It’s a downpour. The highway leading into Rubble Ridge isn’t straight, either. It’s bendy and sometimes narrow. There has been more than one deadly accident in the short time I’ve lived here.
“Hydroplaning is a thing, Holt.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Come closer.” He pats the bench next to him.
I scoff. “I don’t think you need another distraction.”
Holt laughs, and to appease me, he slows down more. “That better?”
I nod a little begrudgingly. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Faye.” His eyes are on the road, but mine are on him.
I can’t help myself, I ask, “Promise?”
“Promise.” He crosses his heart.
I boss, “Hands on the wheel!”
Holt laughs, the sound adding to the melody of heavy rain pelting the truck, echoing in the cab.
When his laughter fades, I feel his eyes on me.
I always feel when Holt’s eyes are on me.
I’m hyperaware of everything Holt. My house faces his, my bedroom overlooking the street we share.
Somehow, I seem to catch sight of him every time he leaves his house.
Tate, too, if I’m being honest. So maybe I’m just hyperaware of Holt’s house?
A heavy, warm hand falls on my thigh. I feel the scorch of his touch through my jeans and can’t help the flutter of sparky little wings inside my belly. How can he make me so warm when everything around me is so gloomy?
“Can you promise me something now, Faye?” His voice is softer than usual. I’m not sure if it’s vulnerability I sense, or something else. Only that I like it.
“Anything.”
He pats the seat beside him once again. “Come closer.”
Glancing once at the road the water bounces off ahead, I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide across the seat. Then I buckle into the seat beside him. “I’m closer.” I wait, watching him expectantly.
He looses a soft chuckle. “Promise me that from now on, when we’re riding in my truck, you’re sitting right here beside me.”
“You don’t want me in the other seat?”
“I want you close to me.” His hand moves to rest on my thigh, his other on the wheel. “I always want you close to me.”
My heart jitters. “I always want to be close to you, too.”
“Fuck,” Holt curses. His head falls back against the headrest and his jaw hardens as he stares out the windshield. “August is going to be so hard.”
“Brutal,” I agree, a whisper of grief and longing already infecting my tone.
We’re months away from August, and yet it’s coming too soon. It’s been coming fast, the days flying, the months here and then gone one after the other.
Before long, August will be here and Holt will be on a plane, flying to tournaments in Nashville.
Who would have thought the Rubble Ridge Hockey Team would be so good, they’d tour to Nashville?
Who would have thought sixteen-year-old players jet-set around the world to compete. Not me, I know that much.
It seems every month that passes, something great happens to Holt. Something that pushes him that much closer to his goal of playing professional hockey for the Vancouver Vikings.
And me? Nothing happens to me. Every day is the same as the one before. I have absolutely no ambition for stardom and find it difficult to wrap my head around the life Holt wants so much.
So, where does that leave me?
I’ve asked myself this question a thousand times. I can’t seem to find an answer.
“Thoughts?” Holt likes getting inside my head. I’m a thinker, and he likes to dissect each and every deep thought I try to hide from him. He likes to strip away my insecurities even as he unknowingly helps to craft new ones.
“Just thinking about when you’ll be gone in August.”
“It’s going to be great, but I’m going to miss you.” He slides his hand over my thigh and squeezes. “I’ll call every day.”
I offer him a smile. It shakes.
I want to support him in his dream.
I vow to myself that while Holt is gone, I’m going to sit down and find my own dream. One that complements his. Something that fits me into the wild chaos of this lovely life he wants so much.
I feel a little happier on that thought, and say, “Coach Kirk says there will be scouts in Nashville, right?”
“Yeah.” He releases a nervous breath. Holt is so very rarely nervous. He’s always so confident, so unshakeable. “I know I’m going to play for the Vancouver Vikings, Faye. I know it. I just don’t know how it’s going to happen yet.”
I snuggle into his side. “It is going to happen. I’ve never met anyone quite as stubborn and devoted to the game as you.”
It’s not just the game, though. Holt has a passion that very few have in life. It drives every breath he takes, and I can’t imagine being the reason he ever stops breathing. I couldn’t survive knowing I was the collapse of his dreams—his purpose in this life.
He chuckles. It’s a light huff of air, nothing more. “Does that bother you?”
“What?”
“How devoted I am to hockey?”
I tip my head back and look at him. His eyes are a little harder than usual and fixed on the road. I think he’s afraid of my answer. He’s throwing up a wall of defense even now. I can feel the bricks slamming into place.
I hurry to assure, “No. Of course, it doesn’t.”
Relief shudders from his lungs. “You’ll come with me, right?”
“When?”
“When I leave this place. When I get signed.” There’s a crack in his voice when he asks, “When I leave Rubble Ridge, you’ll come with me?”
I imagine it. It plays in my mind like a memory not yet made. It’s crafted in gold, as though spun by the sun on a cloudless day. Holt gets signed for the Vikings, and we pack our bags into the back of his rusted truck before setting off for the Island.
He’ll kiss me up against the truck before we climb in, and again when we’re in the cab.
It’ll taste like hope and dreams, because it’ll be us against the world.
I can see our first apartment. It’ll be little but clean, and we won’t have it long because Holt will be playing for the best team in Canada—biased, I know.
But if Holt is playing for the team, it’s going to be the best. I’ll go to school, and we’ll meet up at home every night and…
“Thoughts?”
My smile stretches. My fingers link with his on my thigh as I say happily, “I was just imagining what our life will look like together.”
“Yeah?” His voice is so deep, so gruff with emotion. “What does it look like?”
“Happy.” I lean up to kiss his jaw. “Sunny.”
“Can’t forget icy.”
“Oh, there will be ice. Lots of ice.” I laugh, feeling light and hopeful now that I feel some direction for our life together. A place where I fit in the puzzle of his dreams. “You’re going to be the best player the Vancouver Vikings have ever seen, and I’m going to be your number one fan.”
All I have to do is find out what my own passion is. It can’t be all that hard, right?