Chapter 10 Kevin the police bear #2
The New York team is rolling around the ice like they own it, complete decimating the Outlaws on their own turf, and just another minute in, Severin extends his left arm out but it’s just a millisecond too late.
The buzzer sounds with the small puck inside the net at the same time as a knock sounds on my front door.
A worried frown crosses my face, and Dad catches it, eyeing the door. We didn’t invite anyone over. Stella never knocks and Betsy is off today.
Aaron wouldn’t be back so soon, would he? Damn it. See, I knew I should be home today.
I untangle myself from Emett, leaving him with Dad to watch and stride over to the front door. Making sure the safety chain is still on, I open it slightly but it’s not Aaron on my doorstep.
“Can I help you?” I ask an older gentleman with graying hair, wearing a construction uniform.
“Hello there, are you Aurora Johnson?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Mike from Comfort Home, we’re here to replace your window”
“My window?” I frown.
“Mm-hmm, it says it was broken yesterday, is that right?”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, it was broken but…I’m sorry, there must be a mistake because I haven’t called anybody about it.”
“Oh, yeah, he calls that (beep) memorable! IT WASN’T!!!” Comes another shout from the TV, and my son groans.
“Let me guess, the Outlaws are playing?” the man at my door asks, sighing.
“Um, yes.”
“Those guys need to pull their heads out of their asses.” He shakes his head. “Mind letting us in? It shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”
I close the door, unlock the chain and open it once more. “I’m sorry to waste your time but there must’ve been some kind of mix-up, because I really haven’t called anyone to fix it.”
“Well, someone did.” Mike turns his iPad over to show me the contract. “And if it was a mistake, well, then I guess joke’s on them because it’s all paid for already…so, want a new window for free?”
What is it with all these unexpected deliveries today? I frown, feeling completely lost. Up until now, I thought maybe it was Aaron playing jokes on us, but he’d never pay for anything. The goodness of his heart doesn’t extend to us.
Jesus…it’s Stella, isn’t it? That woman…I told her I’d take care of it last night. The company’s already here, so I guess I’ll just pay her back—we do need a new window after all.
I step aside, letting them in. “It’s in the living room.”
Mike and another guy step inside, greeting Emett and Dad as they check out the damage and get to work.
I’m set on watching the men work because my trust is fragile these days but yet another buzzer from the TV pulls my attention away from them.
Severin tips his head up as the camera flashes between their coach and Outlaws goalie who stands frozen on his spot. The small, black puck laying unmoving in the back of his net.
“Oh, damn it,” Mike curses silently, watching the screen from his working spot with a scowl.
“Mommy,” Emett whispers. “I think Mr. Brick is going to be on a biggg time out.” He sighs, heartbroken for his favorite goalie.
I run my fingers through his dark stands. “I’m sure he’ll be all right. Sometimes we have those bad days, you know? It’s an important lesson for when you’ll be playing in the NHL one day. We don’t always win, but what matters is learning from your mistakes and doing better next time.”
Emett nods pensively as if his four-year-old mind understands everything the way I meant it. After a moment of that pensive silence, he deadpans, “We need to get him a lucky charm. The guy needs it.”
I have to roll my lips to stop from laughing. Okay, so he didn’t understand everything the way I meant it.
“Maybe he does.” I squeeze him into my side, planting a kiss on his head.
My eyes take in the best goalie in the league. I’ve made up my mind about him yesterday and despite his apology—which I did accept—I know better than to let my guard down. I know his type. I know all their tricks, yet the man on the screen looks nothing like the image I have in my head.
That type also doesn’t buy five fancy bears and dress them up in different clothes.
He looks tired. And lost. So lost, like the ground he’s standing on was pulled right from underneath him.
It reminds me of the picture I saw this morning in my bathroom mirror when I stared at myself, and I find my bottom lip trapped between my teeth.
It’s silly to think that he’s feeling this off-kilter because of us. Me. After all, being a na?ve girl is a part of my DNA, not rich boys.
It’s me, who despite knowing better, couldn’t close her eyes without seeing a set of deep, caramel ones so intense they had me gasping for air in the middle of the night.
It’s me, who still felt his presence when he was long gone.
It’s me, who stared into the dark night as if he’d show up right there and then, like he did earlier.
Did I want him to show up?
Did I want to see him again?
I close my eyes, letting the voices of commentators and my son’s cheering clear up the haze inside my head that screams to answer, yes.
Yes, I want to see him again. Yes, I want to drown in that mystery that is Severin Minaev. Yes, I want to see if those small glimpses I’ve witnessed are the real man behind the smile. There is something about him…something so familiar yet cold, I can’t push it out of my mind.
I could swear he hated me or something along the lines. For whatever reason, I could feel the resentment and distaste rolling off him at the same time as something else flashed in his eyes. It was almost like a war, a battle that he was having in there.
Yes, I want it all despite knowing how foolish it is. How unrealistic and stupid it is to get those ideas in my head.
I don’t have the time for it. And I was never the girl to get what she wants. That was all Electra. Even in this horrible situation she’s in now, she’s getting things done her way, and it’ll be a battle for anyone who stands in that way. As Exton very well knows already.
Me? I’ve welcomed every crap that sailed past my river, getting caught on every branch in the process, as if I didn’t know how to swim.
No. The answer needs to be no. Because I know better than to dream. Dreams are a synonym for disappointment, and I’ve had more than enough of that in my life.
I’ve lived half a decade without that kind of connection, and I’ll live the next few just as well.
Look at me, sitting over here, having internal battles as if that beautiful, famous hockey player would even want anything to do with me. I’d be surprised if he could tell what my name is the next time we’d bump into each other.
I let out a silent snort, shaking my head at my own ridiculousness, all while something crumbles deep inside me. Something I didn’t allow to take root, yet it popped through the hard, cold concrete walls around my borrowed heart anyway.