Chapter 30 #2
He nods, slowly, his blue eyes bottomless. “I faulted you for not pushing back at your mother. I wanted you to fight back. But on some level I was jealous that someone cared enough for you to pay attention in the first place.”
I put down my fork and just stare at him for a moment. The Chase I knew at eighteen seemed impossibly confident. He hid his pain from me so well that I never really saw it. “My mother’s love was… complicated. But I never doubted it was there. Lately I’m not as sure.”
“She’s… yeah.” He clears his throat. “I just want you to know that I wouldn’t have cut all contact if I thought I had a choice.
And then afterward…” He looks away. “My life got messy, Zoe. I lost that phone, and your number, too. And then it just seemed permanent. So I apologize if I left you hanging at a bad moment. I convinced myself you probably didn’t care all that much. ”
I take a sip of water to compose myself. “Well, thank you. I cared a great deal. But I promise I won’t keep bringing it up. I won’t throw it in your face whenever your camel spin is off cycle.”
He smiles suddenly. Just for me. “I do appreciate that. Because my skating is a problem.”
It’s a potent smile. I force some oxygen into my lungs and smile back at him. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“Practice, I guess.” He picks his phone up off the table. “Let’s make a schedule, or else we’ll just get sucked into the hockey vortex.”
“Right. Okay.” I pick up my phone, too.
As we eat, we go over the calendar, and I note all the dates when a practice is feasible—when neither of us is out of town, and it’s not game night. There are only five of these unicorn days, so we agree to hit them all.
Then I steer the conversation around to the trickier bits. “What about the choreography? Should we scrap ‘Wicked Game’?”
He cuts a bite of enchilada with his fork. “I’m not sure changing the music will make the skating better. I had a thought about the soundtrack, though. Can we use a different recording of the song?”
“I guess? Do those exist?”
“Sure they do. Let me play something for you. A friend of mine made it.” After a few taps on his phone, he hits play on a song.
I get goose bumps as soon as I hear the opening guitar chords.
It’s “Wicked Game,” except the guitar isn’t Chris Isaak’s light twang.
A ragged electric guitar chord rips through my chest. Artful distortion gives the music a whole new texture.
And when the vocalist comes in, I get chills.
It’s a female voice with a rich, deep sound that reminds me of Lorde.
And she’s so, so interesting. I find myself leaning forward to hear how each new phrase spins out.
For the next four minutes, I finish my dinner without tasting it. I’m too absorbed in the song, right until the sad ending. “Wow,” I whisper into the silence. “That’s amazing.”
Chase gives me a big unguarded smile. “I know, right? And it would make Shara so happy if we used this recording. I even wondered if she could perform it live. If we’re going to make a spectacle of this damn thing, why not go big? It would take some of the focus off us.”
Oh. And now I’m wondering who “Shara” is to him. Then again, I almost married him off to his personal chef, so maybe I need to chill out.
“I mean… if you hate this idea…” he says.
“No, I don’t,” I say quickly. “And you know this person?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “She’s Emerson’s sister.”
“Oh.” Emerson is a fourth-line winger. “Okay. Then tell Veena your idea about the live performance. She’d be the one who has to figure out where to put a musician and how the sound system works and all that.”
“Fine.” He sits back in his chair. “You’re sure you’re okay with this direction, though?”
Trust me, I’m not. But I’m not willing to admit how painful it’s going to be to relive my teenage heartbreak. “I’ll be fine.”
He plays with his fork. “It occurred to me that if we can’t figure out how to skate it again, we could tell Sailor that your bad knee can’t take it.”
“Chase Johnathan Merritt—are you suggesting I lie to management?”
A laugh bubbles out of him, and I’m not ready for the way it changes his face. Suddenly he’s nineteen again, and we’re teasing each other on the rooftop under the summer sky. “I was just trying to find you one last out.”
“I don’t need one,” I declare. “Besides, I’m a terrible liar.”
He looks away sharply. “I’m aware.”
Great job, Zoe! Way to make it awkward. After all, I’m the one whose great ideas got us in trouble all those years ago. What we need is a getaway…
Urgh. The silence stretches for a moment until I try my guacamole, which I’ve been saving for last. “Oh my God, this is amazing.”
“Isn’t it?” He looks up and I get a flicker of a smile. “Marnie feeds half the team. DeLuca says he might as well just marry her, it would be cheaper.”
I laugh, because that sounds like something DeLuca would say.
And because it gives me a glimpse into Chase’s personal life—hanging out here on the penthouse floor with his buddies, discussing their access to overpriced guacamole.
“He lives in that unit?” I point toward my left.
“And Tremaine is on your other side? You must have some incredible parties up here.”
“That’s been known to happen,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Usually at DeLuca’s place. He has a higher tolerance for chaos than me. I don’t like people in my space.”
“I’m in your space,” I blurt out.
He studies me with cool blue eyes. “So you are. Now what about costumes?”
Right. Back to business. “Unless you have ideas, I’ll handle the costumes. If you trust me to make you look studly and not silly.”
“Do your worst, Zoe. I’ll leave it in your hands.”
“I’ll need your measurements. Waist, inseam, shirt size.”
“Whatever you need.”
We work out a couple more details. A few minutes later, though, he sits back in his chair, our plates empty already. And we’ve run out of jamboree details to discuss, too.
Our little meeting is over, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome. So when Chase pushes back his chair, I ferry our glasses to the kitchen and ask if I can help clean up.
“How about I walk you home instead?”
“That’s nice, but you don’t have to.” I pace across his swanky living room and grab my coat.
“I’d feel better knowing you got home safely,” he says, grabbing a coat out of a closet that’s camouflaged into the wall. “You’re new in town, and it’s dark now. Besides, I can pick up some OJ at the bodega.”
“Chase, I’m a big girl, and it isn’t late.”
“It’s on my way,” he says.
“Really? Do you know where I live?”
He frowns. “Okay, no. But how far could it be?”
He’s right. Which means he’ll realize how unnecessary this is. “Fine. If you want to walk with me in the cold for five minutes, I won’t argue.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says, pulling his keys out of an elegant glass bowl on a hutch beside the door. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
When Chase opens his door, though, DeLuca is standing in front of the door to his unit. He’s got two cases of beer under one meaty arm, and he’s fishing for his key with his free hand. “Oh, hey, guys! Great to see you two getting along again.”
Are we, though? I can only imagine what he thinks I’m doing here. “It was time for a planning session!” I say quickly. “And enchiladas.”
“Ooh!” He brightens up. “Can’t wait to see what Marnie left in my fridge. Hey—I got people coming over later to watch Brooklyn versus Boston. You should join us, Zoe.”
For a half second, I feel a blip of joy. Being nearly friendless in a new city makes for lonely evenings. But then reality sets in, and I remember that I can either be a Legends coach or be their fun friend who shows up for the party. I can’t be both.
Besides, Chase is almost certainly on the guest list—and my presence would only irritate him.
“That sounds like fun,” I say with a wistful smile. “Maybe another time. I have some prep work to do for my master class. You’re coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, Coach!” He unlocks his door and kicks it open.
Just then, the elevator lets out a ding, and we all turn to see who will step out.
I’m not quite prepared for the doors to slide open to reveal a hot-as-blazes blond guy who’s got a pretty brunette absolutely pancaked against the richly paneled elevator wall.
His hands are bracing her wrists overhead, and his muscular thigh is wedged between hers.
They’re making out like it’s their final hour on Earth, and my body temperature climbs several degrees before I can even register that the dude in question is Eric Tremaine.
Oh my.
For a split second nothing happens, except I watch Tremaine thrust his hips in a way that makes it clear he wishes that clothing had never been invented.
But then Chase leans forward to reach into the elevator, probably to stop the doors from closing again. And then DeLuca clears his throat. Loudly.
Only then do they break apart. Tremaine doesn’t even look startled. He just tugs the woman off the paneled wall with a possessiveness that shouldn’t be a turn-on—but somehow is. Then, without a glance at his teammates, he and his—date? Girlfriend?—stalk toward his door.
Quick as lightning, he produces his key and flings the door open. The two of them are sort of sucked inside the unit in a funnel cloud of sexual tension. The door closes, and then we hear a soft thud—the sound of a woman’s backside colliding with the wood, followed quickly by a female moan.
And here I thought nothing could make this evening any more awkward.
“Huhhh,” DeLuca says slowly. “When’s the last time they…?”
“Dunno,” Chase says, still holding the elevator open. “Couple months?”
“Right on schedule, then.” DeLuca sets the beer down inside his apartment. “You better come over tonight, big man. Either that or charge your noise-canceling headphones.” He nods toward Tremaine’s door and chuckles.
“Good plan.” Chase steps into the elevator and beckons to me.