Chapter 30 Colt
Colt
The memories keep coming back, more and more every day.
I remembered things farther back, before I met Stella, having one-on-one training sessions with Booker. He would push me to my limits on the ice, making me faster and harnessing my control over the puck. For two years, he’s been my second coach, acting like older brother I never had.
A few memories of Drew come back, too. Team cookouts at their house. Watching him successfully land a flip on his snowboard at last year’s trip. We were hype about that for days after the fact. It had been epic.
There’s no rhyme or reason to the order in which they return, except when they’re about Stella. Those seem to come back with emotional triggers.
We finally emerge from my room, finding a note from Jill that there are leftovers from breakfast in the microwave. I pop a couple of Tylenol and make us each a plate.
Stella tracks my movements. “You okay?” she asks, a little divot forming between her brows.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little headache.”
“When do you go back to the doctor?” she asks, shooting me a grateful smile when I place the plate of eggs and hash browns in front of her.
“The twenty-ninth,” I reply.
Beau comes barreling into the kitchen. “Good morning, love birds. Or should I say ‘horn dogs’?” His shit-eating grin turns Stella’s face bright red.
“Shut the hell up, B,” I say, shoveling another bite of food into my mouth, but I can’t stop the smirk that pulls at my lips. I don’t care that he heard us; I only care that Stella’s uncomfortable.
“Beau, could you give me a ride back to my dorm in a little bit? I’ve got to go home for Christmas tomorrow,” Stella explains.
“We’re going for Christmas,” I correct. “I told Stella’s mom I would be going with her.”
Beau looks confused. “You’re going to meet her mom with amnesia?” he asks.
I shrug. “She doesn’t know about that. Besides, you’re the one who told me to keep making new memories.”
“Fair enough.” He turns back to Stella. “Yeah, I’ll take you to your dorm, and I can drive you guys to the airport in the morning.”
“You’re the best,” Stella thanks him.
The first thing I notice walking out of the airport in Atlanta is that it’s so much warmer here than back home. It’s not hot—it’s still winter—but I could be in a t-shirt and be just fine. I’ve never spent a Christmas somewhere warm before.
Stella sees someone in the pick-up area and drops my hand, running toward a girl who looks so similar to her it’s uncanny.
“I missed you!” I hear Stella say as the two girls embrace in a hug.
“I just saw you, like, a month ago,” the other girl—Stella’s sister, Maddie, I was informed on the plane—replies. Her hair is the same dark brown as Stella’s, only it’s chopped off at shoulder-length. She also wears a pair of glasses, whereas Stella does not. Other than that, they could be twins.
Stella told me that she was four years older than Maddie, which would make her a junior in high school.
“Maddie, this is Colt,” my girlfriend introduces as I finally close the distance between us.
“Damn, you didn’t say your boyfriend was hot,” Maddie says, looking at Stella accusatorily.
I chuckle, opening the trunk of the Toyota Camry and setting our bags inside.
“What did you expect?” Stella asks, exasperated.
“I don’t know,” Maddie shrugs. “You said a hockey player. I was imagining a crooked nose and missing teeth. Instead, you bring home Henry Cavil and Angelina Jolie’s love child.”
This causes me to bark out a laugh that echoes throughout the parking structure.
“Oh, for the love of God, now you’ve done it,” Stella says, rolling her eyes. “He’s never—ever—going to forget you said that.”
“No, I’m definitely not,” I say with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Maddie.”
“Same,” she says.
We pile in the car, me in the backseat, so the sisters can catch up. The drive back to their house takes about two hours, and the girls don’t stop talking the entire time.
Pulling into the driveway of a modern, two-story brick house, I get my first glimpse of how Stella grew up.
There isn’t another house for at least half a mile in any direction.
The property has an old barn sitting off in the distance behind the house, and I know in my bones that Stella used to play there as a kid.
I wonder if that’s something she’s told me before or if it’s just my gut telling me it’s true.
A few chickens wander around the yard, making me smile. She grew up so different than I did, yet, somehow, it’s like we were made for one another.
I get out of the car, still taking in my surroundings, when I’m attacked, falling to my ass in the gravel.
“Colt!” I hear Stella scream, running around the car to me.
My attacker—a hyperactive chocolate lab—is lying on my legs, licking my face aggressively.
“Penny, no!” Stella pulls the dog off me by the collar. “Oh, God, Colt are you okay? Your head?”
I’m laughing too hard to answer, my shoulders shaking. “I’m good, sweetheart. No additional brain damage acquired,” I finally reply, pushing up off the ground.
She heaves a sigh of relief, the dog pulling to get free.
“You can let her go. I’m alright,” I say, trying for a comforting tone.
Stella lets go of Penny, who immediately darts toward me again. This time, I’m prepared, and I don’t let her take me down.
“Hi, Penny. Nice to meet you,” I greet the dog, using a voice that the boys would definitely make fun of if they’d heard. I rub her head, behind her ears, letting her give me all the kisses she wants.
I’ve always liked dogs, but we never had one when I was growing up. My dad had said it was an expense we couldn’t afford, unfortunately. The one luxury he let me indulge in was hockey.
Now that Stella’s initial panic has passed, she looks annoyed. “Of course, she would love you and ignore me. I’m the one who brought you home from the shelter, traitor,” she huffs to the dog.
I laugh, finally standing up straight and pushing the dog’s front paws off my legs.
Maddie is standing by the trunk of the car, having observed the entire interaction. From her spot, she has a clear view of the scar on the back of my head where my hair hasn’t grown back to cover it yet.
I walk over to get the bags from her, because I’m a gentleman as well as a dog-lover, and she asks, “What happened to your head?” High schoolers: never ones to beat around the bush.
I give her an awkward half-smile that may actually be a grimace. “Hockey game. Cracked my skull. Look up ‘Colton Crosby versus University of Maryland game’ and it should be the first video that pops up.” I grab both bags from the car and head toward the porch behind Stella.
“Sorry about her,” Stella whispers as we walk in the front door.
“Don’t be. It doesn’t bother me.”
We walk further into the house, entering a living room filled with so many Christmas decorations that there’s not a clear surface left exposed.
“Mom? Mamaw?” Stella calls through the house, waiting for a response. Footsteps sound around the corner, and a short, middle-aged woman appears, oven mitts in hand.
“Stella!” The woman walks over and grabs Stella in a fierce hug. “I missed you, baby.”
“I just saw you a month ago, Mom,” Stella replies, echoing her sister’s words from earlier and shooting me a secret smirk.
“Yes, but I’m used to seeing you every day, so forgive me for missing my oldest daughter every once in a while.” Stella’s mom pulls back and surveys her daughter before turning to me.
“And you must be the secret boyfriend,” she says, pulling me into a hug, as well.
She’s so short, I have to bend over to hug her back. She may be around five-foot-five, which might be average to most people. But I’m used to hugging her daughter, who did not inherit her height from this woman.
“Guilty as charged,” I say with a small smile as she pulls away.
“Come on, Mamaw’s in the kitchen. She’ll want to meet you. She loves talking sports,” Stella’s mom says, leading the way farther into the house.
On the flight from Pennsylvania, Stella reminded me that her parents were divorced and that we wouldn’t be seeing her dad for the holiday while we were here. She also told me that her mom’s name is Jenny, and that she and Maddie live with Stella’s grandparents at their farm.
I knew we had already had this conversation before, and I hate when she has to remind me of things that are so fundamental to her as a person. It makes me feel like a shitty boyfriend, even if it’s out of my control.
The kitchen is a homely, hodgepodge of barn-wood, farmhouse decor, and—no, I’m not making this up—chickens. Ceramic chickens, photos of chickens, chicken-covered hand towels. It’s the most absurd room I think I’ve ever been in, and I love it more than I care to admit.
At the stove, an older version of Jenny stands at the stove. “Mamaw, this is Colt,” Stella greets her grandmother with a hug over one shoulder. “Colt, this is my grandma, Annie, but she will insist you call her Mamaw.”
Annie—Mamaw—laughs, and it warms my soul. “Darn right,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, Colt.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. It smells amazing in here,” I tell her.
“We’re making lasagna,” Mamaw replies. “Stella, where did Maddie run off to? Go and tell her supper is almost ready. And go track down Papaw, too, will you?”
Stella shoots me an apologetic look but goes to do as her grandmother asks.
“Colt, make yourself at home. No need to stand around.” Jenny gestures to the kitchen table, where she pulls herself out a chair, so I follow suit.
“How long have you and Stella been seeing one another?” she asks. “Trying to get answers out of that girl is like pulling teeth.”
I smile, knowing how stubborn Stella can be at times. “A few months,” I reply, not trusting myself to be specific. I don’t want to tell her something wrong and then look like an asshole if Stella says something different.
“And how did you meet?” she continues, making conversation.