Chapter 15
LEAH
After the anniversary party, Hudson tries to stay and help clean up. There is tons of food left because everyone brought enough to feed an entire ship of pirates stranded on a deserted island for an indefinite amount of time. He probably wants more cookies.
His abs rival Liam’s—yes, I’ve scrolled #MrDarcysAbs—so I’m doing the public a favor by withholding more dessert from him.
I clear Hudson out of here like a witch with a broom. Not because I don’t want his help, but because I need to have a word with my mother and father.
When I finally get them alone, they’re gazing all lovey-dovey-eyed at each other … like it’s their honeymoon all over again and I don’t have the heart to give them an earful.
Instead, I retreat to my bunk bed in the basement with an assortment of cousins and tell myself not to think about Hudson. Or marriage. Or marrying him.
I promise myself not to give it a thought. Pretend it never happened. Mom and Dad will get caught up in Valentina’s pregnancy and forget about arranging my marriage as if we live in the eighteen hundreds, or whenever that custom was commonplace.
A few days later, I park in the lot at the Ice Palace and march up to the facility with an agenda.
Yes, I’ll be teaching Hudson some figure skating basics.
No, I will not be discussing what happened at the party.
The arranged marriage declaration did not happen. The whole party was a figment of our collective imaginations. I’ll simply pretend it’s not happening and it will go away like the other messes in my life.
Then I remember the slice of cake from Valentina’s pregnancy party wrapped in cellophane that Mami insisted I bring to him.
Yeah, the Smiths move fast when it comes to celebrating.
Wait too long and they’re already on to the next event.
I contemplate sitting on it or mushing it into his chest, but he’s already on the ice when I arrive and I don’t want the ice resurfacing technician to blame me for cake crumbs on the slick frozen sheet.
I leave the cake with my bag and lace up before gliding onto the rink. Hudson goes still for a long moment as if remembering why he’s still here or like he’s seeing me for the first time, I can’t be sure.
Cheeks already pink from hockey practice, he drinks me in with his eyes.
I say, “Let’s stretch.”
“I’m warm,” he argues like at the first lesson.
“Stretch,” I order.
“Only if you do it with me, Mrs. Roboveitchek.”
I set my jaw. “Why would you say that?”
“You know why.” He licks his lower lip and quirks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s all over social media.”
“As if figure skating lessons weren’t already awkward enough, now this? Ought to be a real treat at work,” I mutter.
“A treat? Your mom texted and said you were bringing me a slice of cake as a reward for my hard work—now that I’m part of the family.”
My eyes bulge. “She texted you? How did she get your number?”
“Chuck, I think. He probably got it from Jack.”
I swipe my hand across my forehead and start to lead us through extra hamstring and hip stretches followed by dynamic warmup exercises.
Bumping my shoulders up, I play dumb. “I don’t know anything about reward cake.”
He mock pouts like I just ruined his day.
I narrow my eyes, daring him to say another word about the cake, so help me!
He tucks his hands in his pockets, gazes up at the ceiling, and whistles as if to say, Nothing to see here.
And there shouldn’t be, but the fact remains that my family did publicly arrange our marriage.
But I tell myself to keep scrolling. That’ll never happen, just like I’ll never have smaller feet, an organized living space, or a real boyfriend who appreciates me for who I am.
Instead, I run us through inside and outside edge work, including forward, backward, and alternating moves.
After denying that my parents are arranging our marriage for the last three days, like an avalanche, it reaches a critical mass and I fear the topic is going to come tumbling out of my mouth in three, two, one.
“It’s madness. They’re loco, right?” I look at Hudson. My eyes bulge cartoonishly. “Please say it’s nuts.”
He shakes his head while at the same time saying, “Yeah.”
“I need cake. Now.”
“I thought you brought it for me.”
“Abuela wants you to look after those abs. She and Jess’s grandma have formed an alliance. Septuagenarians for hockey abs.”
“Is that real?”
When we take a break in the warm room, voices rise and fall and a swarm of people pass through the doors. As far as I knew, we had the ice to ourselves, then I see Jack, Pierre, and Liam followed closely by Ella, Cara, and Jess.
And let’s not forget the combination of my family, including Chuck, Valentina, cousins Benny, Lincoln, and Logan, along with several aunties, and uncles Isaac and Anthony.
“There’s our girl!” Dad cries as if he’s never seen me come off the ice after a big competition.
“What are you all doing here?”
“Well, hello to you, too.” Abuela stumps in with her cane alongside Grandma Dolly, Jess’s grandmother. She comes to most games and, as part of the Deaf community, has taught me a few signs, including the one for Congratulations, which I receive now, followed by several more.
Jess interprets. “They say, what do a couple of old broads need to do around here to see some abs?”
I swallow thickly. “He’s wearing a shirt.”
“Do you want me to take it off?” Hudson asks with a smirk.
“No!” I shout, rubbing my temples.
Valentina says, “We’re babysitting and thought the boys might like to check out the ice.”
Abuela mutters, “And the men on the ice.”
I gaze at the ceiling. “Why is this my life?”
Hudson juts his elbow at me. “Come on, let’s give them a show.”
“You’re keeping your clothing on.”
“I mean we’ll show them what you taught me today. I’ll be the hockey player and you be the goal.”
“You are the hockey player. Wait. What? You want me to pretend to be the goal?”
“I’ll skate around you.”
“But I’m the figure skater.”
His eyebrows bob. “So you want to show ‘em what you’re made of?”
“More like show off,” Chuck mutters.
“I’d like to see you lace up,” I challenge my brother.
Uncle Anthony says, “For a guy who’s employed by one of the top hockey players in the league and whose sister made the figure skating world championship, I’ve never seen Chuckie in skates.”
“I still say you were better than that girl from Belarus—or was it Bulgaria?” Uncle Isaac says.
Valentina taps the air with her forefinger. “He has a point.”
And my parents did not when they claimed they wanted Hudson and me to get married because they miss kids, considering they’re surrounded by children of all sizes—and ages.
Hudson is stripped down to a T-shirt and beckons me toward center ice.
Under the cotton, his muscles form a striking silhouette.
My throat bobs on a swallow. The grannies are goading us now.
The competitor in me cannot resist as the refrain from the song, “Anything You Can Do,” originally performed by Ethel Merman and Ray Middleton, choruses in my ears.
I didn’t get a lesson plan from Badaszek and while my roommates were having a snoring contest last night, I thought about what figure skating elements could help a netminder improve, so we worked on precision movements rather than floppy puppy dog motions.
Back out here with a purpose, soon, my frustration fades and it’s just the slick surface below us, Hudson, and me. I try to explain weight distribution across the blades of his skates when that’s really something you have to feel, but he’s just not getting it.
“When you think of hockey, what two words come to mind?” I ask.
“Hudson Roboveitchek.” He plants his hand on my waist. It’s a heavy weight anchoring me and not entirely unpleasant.
I roll my eyes but probably look like I’m having a seizure because his touch both tickles and electrifies me. “I was thinking, power and speed.”
“Also Hudson Roboveitchek.” He takes my hand in his.
He’s insufferable. “The same goes for figure skating, but with the added elements of rhythm and smooth movements. But that’s not just for show. Beneath what you see on the surface is an intentional balancing act of action, including launching, hovering, and landing.”
Before I know it, we’re sloppily dancing on the ice.
He says, “You make it pretty, but I’m a big blocky pylon that has to keep the puck out of the net.”
“And what I’m trying to explain can help you. Hockey involves a lot of sustained movement. This too, but also bursts. When executed at the right time, if you can control those, you can save more goals.” He spins me away from him and then back into his arms with a whoosh that steals my breath.
“That sounds like a great plan in theory, but in practice—” He squints like he doesn’t buy it.
We’re close. So close I can name the constellations formed in the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. Too close.
Hudson dips me backward and I feel clumsy like I might slip out of his grip. Upright again, I say, “Okay, you’re the goalie.”
“We’ve established that.”
I huff but position myself squarely in front of him. “I’m your pairs partner.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“But I’m also the puck.”
“So you’re saying my pairs partner is the puck.”
“Exactly, but you want to keep it as far away from you and the net as possible.”
Please get the subtext here, Robo, or I’m a goner.
“Do I?” He wears that stupid half smile and his eyebrows bounce.
Now Hudson is just being difficult. Nonetheless, I return his hand to my waist and take the other in mine and once more, we do the simplest ice dance. Our skates bump and then his leg nearly twists around mine.
I grind out, “You have to lead.”
“Well, then let me.” His gaze drops to meet mine, sending a sudden and intense ripple through me. It’s not commanding or cocky, but it is confident and I’m afraid I like it.