Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Len
When Zaiah told me he wanted to take me somewhere, I wasn’t expecting this.
He leads me into the arena with the goofiest grin, his golden-retriever energy turned up to the max.
“Do you have practice or something?”
He shakes his head.
“A game I suddenly don’t know about?”
If it’s possible, his grin widens even more. “You know when my games are, Little Miss Stalker.”
I bump him with my shoulder as he squeezes my hand. We’ve barely been able to stay separate since last night. We slept in each other’s arms. We showered together, a flirty explosion of bubbles and shampoo, both of us now smelling like my body wash. “Please,” I retort. “I’m the opposite of a stalker. I’m like the anti-stalker.”
He reaches up to move a strand of hair away from my face. “What about now?”
I blink. Sometimes staring into his eyes transfixes me, as if he’s standing in a spotlight and I’m the only other person in the room. “What’s that song? ‘I messed around and got addicted.’”
Ahead, the ice looms beyond the open Zamboni doors, and I instinctually breathe in, taking in the aromas that uniquely belong to a hockey rink. The ice, the tang of forgotten, sticky sodas and old popcorn. It’s like a stale candy shop. But today? Today it smells a little better. Like I can inhale every part of Zaiah.
He bends over to retrieve something and comes back up with a pair of skates. “I hope you skate better than you sing.”
I mock gasp, taking the skates from him. “You’ll have to get used to my concert showers. They happen every morning.”
“Your lips will be otherwise engaged, I’m afraid.”
A shiver flutters through me like the light touch of a butterfly’s wing. Yesterday, I wanted to make ground rules so we wouldn’t take this too far too soon, the idea of having a live-in boyfriend freaking me out. What if he gets bored with me? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he snores and I can’t get adequate rest?
But the way he spoke to me last night, the tender way he broke down my fears, I’m floating on a cloud d’amour. A love cloud.
“And you got my skate size how?”
“I looked at your shoe size like a proper stalker. You really could take some cues from me.”
I grin. The idea of Zaiah pursuing me is still preposterous in my head, but here we are. We sit on the nearby bench and pull our skates on. I peek over at the expert way he laces up, his nimble fingers wasting no time. “And you miraculously have yours here too? They weren’t in the car.”
“The general manager here loves me.”
“Oh, does he now? Do you want me to take photos with you guys kissing?”
He shakes his head. “He has a beard. It would sting too much. Face rash and all that.”
I laugh. It’s been forever since I’ve skated, and I pray my legs will hold me.
Zaiah offers me his hand when I’m finished lacing up, and I take it as we walk toward the open ice. He does it effortlessly, and I think he looks like a graceful swan, but that was before his blades hit ice.
I stand back in awe, watching while he glides. Hockey is all sharp angles, fast breaks, and severe stops. I didn’t get to admire his fluidity on skates before, but it’s all here in front of me now. The way he shifts from one edge of his blade to another. His hair billowing up on the side. And of course, there’s no pesky helmet blocking his handsome face.
That little, negative voice inside me sneers, You can’t pull in a guy with such good looks. What are you thinking?
But then he skates up to me and reaches out his hands. “Lenore, sweetie, you ready?”
I place my hands in his, like a symbol of faith. Our connection sizzles, the tips of my fingers buzzing with electricity as he urges me out onto the ice.
“I’ve secretly wanted to bring you here for a while. I thought the girl who cheered for me at my game and spouted stats couldn’t hate hockey as much as you said. Then I met your dad…”
His words are softened by my concentration of getting my legs to work in tune with the blades, syncing them up so I don’t make a fool of myself. Zaiah watches me and talks at the same time like some sort of savant.
“Then I figured you out. It wasn’t hockey at all. It was him. It was your whole life being smothered and you wanting to break free. I saw it all,” he finally says, squeezing my hand. “That’s why you don’t want to work with him, isn’t it?”
I skate a few clunky strides, thinking about how I want to say this. My dad is a touchy subject. It’s not like he’s a bad person. He’s not mean, he’s actually just trying to do good things. “I want to be my own person,” I start. “His whole life is hockey, which meant for a very long time, my whole life was hockey. I never had a mother figure—that I remember, anyway—to steer me another way. To add another layer. It was hockey and dad all the time. And I guess I don’t hate it. I just don’t want it to be my identity. I don’t want to live in the Robertson shadow my entire life. You know?”
“I get it,” Zaiah says. “Admittedly, I was confused when he first showed up at the restaurant. I was expecting a tyrant twirling a thin mustache. Which is ridiculous because I’ve seen pictures of your father.” He laughs to himself. “But there’s more than one way to be…overbearing.”
“I do love him.”
“He knows that.”
I shrug. “Sometimes I think we’re the exact same. He wanted to make something of himself, and that’s how I feel. I just don’t understand why he doesn’t get that it doesn’t have to be hockey for me. It can be something else.”
“I think…and I may be completely off base, but I think because he made this bigger-than-life life, he wants to pass it on to you—or at the very least, share it. He wants to give you the best things, and this is the only way he knows how.”
“I want to show him that whatever my life turns out to be, it’s what I want. I might not be rich by his standards, but I want to be fulfilled. No offense, but hockey isn’t going to fulfill me.”
He nods as we make the turn around the back of the goalie net. “I’ve been thinking. Our whole deal is off. You don’t need to write the article about the team. I never would’ve asked you to if I understood everything.”
I stop sloppily, my skates unsteady. He turns on his edge, facing me, and I place my hands on my hips. “A deal’s a deal, Coach. Plus, I’ve already started writing it in my head, and I think you’re really going to like it.”
He skates toward me, threading his fingers through mine. “I don’t want to be your dad in your eyes.”
I swallow, his gesture nearly melting me. “You aren’t, Zaiah, because you’re not dictating what I write. I won’t give anything away, but I’m doing the article my way. It will still be about the team, but I’m putting my spin on it.”
He starts skating backward, pulling me along. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I tell him, staring into his eyes. I’m sure of a lot of things at this moment. Like how right it feels to be here with him, to hold his hand, to have this primal reaction to him in my stomach. A tug. A yearning.
“What did you think about my dad, anyway?”
He smirks. “For the answer to that, you’re going to have to catch me.” He untangles his fingers from mine and skates backward, easily skimming over the surface and picking up speed.
I wobble after him, my movements becoming less jerky as I try to pick up speed. I get into a rhythm, and he smiles when I reach out. He dodges out of the way, of course, then turns around to skate faster, and I know I have no hope of catching him. Before we get to the other turn, he slows so I don’t hurt myself, capturing my hand again.
“So?” I prompt, though there’s no way I actually won.
“Honestly, I was inspired.”
“He is inspiring,” I agree, smiling to myself. “I really don’t hate my father.”
“I know,” he says, rubbing my hand with his thumb. “I was inspired by how he took action and made his life what he wanted. He strikes me as the kind of person who wouldn’t let setbacks get in his way. As he said, he just kept solving problems that made a big difference. I envied him.”
A pride-filled bubble surrounds me. My father, the walking TED Talk.
Zaiah stares down at the ice as we skate. “I was thinking all last night about the future, and it made me come to terms with the fact that I really want a career in hockey. I want to play, I want to coach. I want to be around it, and I’m mad now.”
“Mad?”
“I stayed at Warner all this time for nothing. An underrated hockey team. No scout visits. No interest from the next level whatsoever. And now I’m a senior with no prospects.”
His shoulders slump forward. Seeing him like this kills me. “There has to be a way,” I say softly. “If it’s what you really want, you have to try. We can brainstorm. We can figure it out together.” Immediately, my mind starts sparking with ideas. “You need a lot more than local interest in your hockey team. My article isn’t going to cut it.”
He tilts his head back, the strong line of his jaw more cutting in the arena lights. “I’m mad at myself,” he admits. “It’s a lot easier living in complacency, isn’t it?”
“Oh God, yes. If I wanted a job right out of college, I’d go to my dad. He’d pay me handsomely and give me a generous time-off package with great benefits. Writing hockey bullshit is enticing. Complacency is enticing. But that’s not what I want. The easy way out isn’t necessarily the best way.”
“Hockey bullshit, huh?”
I grin. “No offense.”
“None taken because you’re cute.”
My face heats. I search his gaze and say, “I want to help. Call it the Robertson in me, but we can figure this out.”
He slows us to a stop, pulling me in, his hot breath fanning over my lips. “You’d really help me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
His arms band around me tighter. “You keep surprising me.”
“It’s nothing,” I assure him.
His low expectations are due to Trish. Thankfully, she’s no longer in either of our lives. Maybe her temporary appearance wasn’t as much of a curse as I originally thought. Her manipulations taught me that I needed to be stronger. That there’s a difference between having a backbone and being a bitch. Most importantly, her exit from my life taught me that people need to accept me for who I am.
Zaiah helped with that, too, except his influences were positive ones. When I asked him for help, he never changed me. He never told me to act like a different person. He never told me to wear clothes I would’ve been embarrassed in. He guided me toward better decisions to take ownership of myself.
Maybe I can repay the favor by doing the same thing? If anyone deserves to have his dreams fulfilled, it’s Zaiah.
He peers down, staring at my skates. “I think you passed the test, by the way.”
“There was a test? I’m always good at those, but I usually know I’m taking them.”
“Let’s see…” He traces his thumb over my cheekbone, leaning down ever so slowly. My gaze moves to his lips, my mouth opening slightly, and then my lids flutter closed as we connect.
His kiss is a promise, a new beginning, a balm. All gifts I need, and he gives it to me with his whole self.
He pulls away, squeezing my hips. “Definitely passed.”
I swallow at his attention, my throat suddenly dry, and a thought rings true. He’s said it before, but I didn’t actually believe it until this very moment, wrapped in his arms on his turf.
He sees me.
There are so many words on the tip of my tongue but sometimes, it’s just as potent to communicate in other ways. I pull him back down, sealing my lips to his this time, letting my mouth tell him what I feel because I’m scared to do it any other way.
I never take chances, always calculated decisions, but I will for him. I’m all in.