Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
“I’m so glad it’s Friday,” Sloane says over lunch. We’re on cafeteria duty, which basically just means we need to be present to discourage and intercept any devious behavior.
“Me too,” I agree, though my weekend plans include being less naked than I’d like with Conrad going out of town.
“Are we still on for our Saturday morning walk tomorrow or has the Montana winter air scared you off?” She smirks slightly as she eyes my sweater and the scarf I wore to school and still haven’t taken off.
I huddle into myself as a shiver works through my body at just the thought of the temperature outside.
“I ordered the fleece-lined leggings you suggested, so hopefully I’ll survive.” I lift my right hand to show her my fingers are crossed. “I’m free in the afternoon too if you want to make a day of it and grab tea or something.”
“Yeah.” Her lips curve in a small, friendly smile. “That sounds nice.”
“Great.” I take a bite of the school pizza and make a face.
“I told you the salad was a safer choice.” She lifts a forkful of lettuce and shredded cabbage to her mouth.
“I should have listened.” I push my tray to the center of the table. How do you screw up pizza?
“Is Conrad out of town this weekend?” she asks.
“Am I that obvious?”
She laughs. “I don’t mind. If I had a boyfriend, I might also be tempted to blow off our walks and tea dates.”
I gasp in mock outrage.
Her smile pulls higher. “Where are they playing?”
“They aren’t. He’s in Washington for a retirement ceremony for his high school coach.”
“Fun,” she says in a tone that suggest she thinks otherwise.
“He hated high school, so doubtful. But he really liked his coach and wanted to be there.”
“Why did he hate high school?”
“He got bullied a lot,” I say, immediately feeling angry all over again on his behalf.
I’m not oblivious to it happening at Moonshot High nor was I when I was in high school myself, but it’s hard to stomach the thought of Conrad being treated so poorly that the only reason he’s going back is for his coach.
“Do you keep in touch with friends from high school?” I ask her.
“No.” She shakes her head too quickly. “You?”
“I did when I was still in Houston but not really since I left.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him.”
“To Washington?”
“Yeah. I know if I had to go back, I’d want my super-hot boyfriend with me so I could show him off to all the assholes who were mean to me.”
“Have you seen Conrad?” I ask with a laugh. “I am not the hot one in the relationship.”
Sloane laughs good-naturedly, then her earlier words register.
“Wait. People were mean to you?” My gaze narrows into slits.
Sloane’s laughter grows louder. “No. It was a hypothetical. Mostly people didn’t realize I existed.”
“Yeah, same.”
“I have my five-year reunion coming up.” Her face scrunches up.
“Are you going?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I thought I would have more to show for my life by now.”
“Didn’t we all?” It’s amazing how fast time goes and how I can feel like the same person and completely different all at once.
We fall quiet, and I think about what it’d be like if I had to go back to face my old classmates. It would be uncomfortable, at best. And even if I weren’t dreading running into anyone specific, I know I’d feel better if I had someone by my side. But maybe that’s just me. I love a partner in crime.
“Conrad will be fine, right? He’s a professional hockey player. He’s more than proven himself.”
She hums a sound that might be agreement.
“You don’t think so?”
“I mean, I agree that he has, but whether or not he feels like it is a completely different thing. What’s the saying? Old wounds never heal.”
A cinder block of unease drops in my stomach. She’s right. I know how badly they hurt him and how he still carries the insecurities with him.
“I should have offered to go with him,” I say.
She shrugs one shoulder. “He could have asked.”
He wouldn’t though. He’d worry about it messing up my own schedule or plans, he’d stress about me saying no, or maybe he would struggle with the literal words to pose the question. He’s way more comfortable with me than in the beginning, but there are still moments I can tell he’s nervous.
“I’m the worst girlfriend ever.” I bring both palms to my head and continue to chastise myself.
“You’re not,” Sloane says, trying to reassure me.
I groan in response. Maybe not, but I should have thought about how big of a deal it would be before now.
Sloane speaks in a soft, hopeful tone. “What time is the award ceremony?”
The additional unspoken question is: Can you still make it?
“He didn’t say.” I’m not even positive when it is. Tonight? Tomorrow? “Will it be weird if I just show up unannounced?”
She hesitates before she shakes her head. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do it if I were in your shoes, but you should go. He surprised you in Houston and that was so romantic. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
That night was magical. “Why is it always romantic when men make big gestures and slightly stalkerish when women attempt them?”
“Stop procrastinating and book the flight,” she says in a stern voice I’ve only heard her use on kids running in the hallway.
“Okay, Ms. Wingrove.”
I search for flights, and when I do the mental math and determine I can make the very last one going out today, I’m filled with such a sense of relief, I know I have to go. Romantic? I’m not sure, but it feels like the right thing, anyway.
Sloane’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Need a ride to the airport?”
It isn’t until I arrive in Washington and spot Conrad waiting for me at baggage claim that I second-guess my plan. I sent him a frantic text on my way to the airport to tell him I was coming but had to turn off my phone before I got his reply.
His wide grin puts me at ease. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might want a sexy date for this retirement ceremony as a silent fuck you to all the jerks in high school, so I grabbed the skimpiest dress in my closet and ran out the door.” My breathing is ragged from the trek I made through the airport.
He barks out a laugh, much louder than I’m accustomed to from quiet Conrad. I bask in it, his laughter and his obvious delight at seeing me.
“It’s okay I came?” I ask. “I was going for spontaneous and supportive, but if it’s creepy, I can fuck right off.”
A man behind him chuckles, then catches himself and tries to cover it with a cough. Oops. I forgot we are in a public place. I flash the man an apologetic smile, but then I notice the Moonshot Hockey hat perched on top of his head. The blood drains from my face.
How much of that did he hear? By the mischievous glint in his eyes, I’d say he started listening somewhere around my declaring I brought my skimpiest dress.
Next to him a petite woman with sky-blue eyes the same shade as Conrad’s watches us with a doting smile.
“Conrad.” I speak through clenched teeth while simultaneously trying to keep my expression friendly. “Please tell me those aren’t your parents.”
His arm slides around my back, and he opens his stance. I am mortified and am most definitely blushing.
“Whitney, meet my parents, Bruce and Cleo. Parents, this is my girlfriend, Whitney.” He chuckles, then says quietly, mostly to me, “Weird. I’ve never done that before.”
“Hi.” His mom speaks first, but it’s his dad who extends a hand toward me.
“Hello,” I reply as I place my palm in his and we shake. “It’s so nice to meet you both.”
“The pleasure is all ours,” Bruce says, smiling wide. Once he lets go of my hand, he reaches for my suitcase.
“Oh. Thank you, but I can manage.”
He waves me off. Then Conrad’s mom steps forward.
Moms scare me, probably for obvious reasons.
She’s shorter than me with light brown hair that’s cut just above her shoulders.
She’s adorned in jewelry—earrings, necklace, bracelets, and rings.
Somehow still tasteful despite the sheer volume of gold and diamonds.
I bet her accessories weigh several pounds.
“It is just so wonderful to meet you.” She opens her arms, and before I can decipher her intent, she’s hugging me.
“Oh.” I’m not quite able to hide my surprise, but I manage to make my arms work fast enough to hug her back. I give Conrad a wide-eyed “help me” look. I can’t seem to figure out what to do with my body except stand still and let her squeeze me. She smells like vanilla and something floral.
“You too. Conrad speaks so highly of you both.”
Cleo steps back, still smiling at me in a way that I can’t comprehend.
“Ready to head home?” Bruce asks.
Home, as in Conrad’s parents’ house. I should have anticipated this. We are not going to the same place.
“Oh, you don’t need to take me to the hotel. I can grab a ride. I’m so sorry you came all this way. It’s late. You all must be tired or have other plans.”
“Plans?” Conrad smirks. “When I got your text, Dad was destroying us in Yahtzee.”
“Sounds nice,” I admit, but it only makes me feel even more like an imposition.
Conrad dips his head down to meet my gaze. “Hey. I’m thrilled you’re here.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I would have invited you, but you had work, and a high school award banquet isn’t really riveting stuff.”
“It is when you’re there. And I meant it.” I lean in and whisper, “This dress was made for revenge.”
“Can’t wait to see it.” His mouth drops to mine, and he murmurs, “On my bedroom floor.”
I laugh. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”
“All my life.”
“Seriously, though, I don’t want to get in the way.” I smile tentatively at his parents. They can’t be happy I’m crashing their time with Conrad. “I can head to the hotel and meet up with you all tomorrow.”
“Nonsense.” Bruce shakes his head. “We are so looking forward to getting to know you.”
Conrad nods as if they’ve discussed this and wants to reassure me.
“You’re staying with us. I already made up the guest room,” Cleo says in a tone that leaves no room for arguing. She might be petite, but she has a certain determination about her that has me replying back, “Yes, ma’am.”
Conrad lifts one brow in amusement.
“Ma’am?” he mouths as we follow his parents out of the airport.
“I panicked,” I whisper, and fan my shirt. I think I’m sweating.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous before,” he says, grinning at me. “It’s usually me who’s freaking out.”
“Yes, I prefer it that way.”
I don’t really, but how am I going to survive an entire weekend with his parents and not make a total ass of myself?
An hour later, I’m sharing a seat with Conrad as his mom brings us another photo album. We started with college and now we’re going backward to high school. There are at least three albums per year of his life.
“I bet you can’t pick me out of this photo.” Conrad points to a team shot of his varsity hockey team senior year.
I take it from him, smiling as soon as I place young Conrad with his shy smile, hiding in the back. “It’s too easy.”
“How?” he asks, wide-eyed.
“You look exactly the same.”
He makes a face, clearly unhappy with my answer.
“You do.” I stare back at the younger version of him. “What number were you?”
“Seven. Always. It was my dad’s football number too.”
Bruce looks up from his iPad. He’s reclined back in a leather chair with his reading glasses on.
“Football, huh?” I ask him.
“High school state champs.” He winks, aiming a proud smile my way before he goes back to his iPad.
“Did you play other sports?” I ask Conrad.
“Sure, but hockey was always my favorite.”
“I think there’s a picture of him in his baseball uniform around here somewhere.” Cleo goes back to the bookshelf along one wall and pulls out another photo album.
She flips it open. “Nope. This is your rookie season with Moonshot.”
I hold my hand out eagerly. I can’t get enough. Dad didn’t really keep albums of me and Victor. The few printed photos I have of us over the years are ones I stashed away.
As I’m flipping through the first season of Conrad’s professional career, one photo grabs my attention.
“When was this taken?” I point to a picture of Conrad. Victor and three other guys from other teams in the league are standing with them, all in their individual team jerseys.
“All-Star weekend. That must have been at the fastest skater competition.”
“You won, didn’t you?”
His smile stretches across his face, then dims. “Your brother has hated me ever since.”
“Wait. That’s why? Because of a stupid skills competition?”
He shrugs.
“I doubt that’s the reason.” Victor is petty, for sure, but I can’t believe he’d be holding a grudge over something so minor.
“I think I was there,” I say, trying to remember back. I rarely traveled with Victor, but I think this was his first All-Star invite too. And I do have a vague recollection of him being pissy about not winning any of the skills competitions.
“Yeah?” Conrad looks up from the picture to smile at me.
“Maybe we even met.”
“Nah. I’d remember. I wouldn’t have been able to talk to you, but I would have remembered you.”