Chapter 30
HUDSON
While waiting to board the plane back to Nebraska after a winning game against the Wisconsin Warriors, I check my email.
My secret adversary, who I’d like to think is actually my secret admirer, replied to my last one and I quickly read it.
from:
to: Hudson Roboveitchek
date: October 7, 5:39 PM
subject: Re: Re Situationships
Dear Dirt Licker,
I know? I know?
That wasn’t a love letter that I wrote. I was being serious, and that’s all you had to say? I finally came clean, and I know is what I get in response?
What about my friend who needs your advice? I’d tell you that I hope you get stranded in a snowstorm, but you’d probably just reply with I know.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Adversary
I click the backspace key repeatedly as I type a reply until I finally get out what I’d like to say. Busy with away games, it takes me a few days because I want to choose my words carefully.
from: Hudson Roboveitchek
to:
date: October 11, 9:53 AM
subject: Re: Re: Re: Situationships
To My Secret Admirer,
All those years ago, after your fifth or sixth email, I contacted law enforcement. They assured me that you’re harmless and were probably either trying to rile me up or were using the correspondence as a coping mechanism of some sort.
Frankly, it’s amusing. I hope that doesn’t set you off. But in a yes world where everyone around me feeds me compliments and potentially anything I want, it’s refreshing that someone has the audacity to tell me how they really feel. So kudos to you.
As for your friend, are you really asking for my advice, a guy you purportedly despise?
You know this person better than me and without any details, I can’t rightly suggest what they should do.
However, since you seem insistent on having my opinion, here goes.
First, always listen to what they have to say.
Sometimes they already have the answer they seek, but they don’t realize it.
Second, if everything has gotten muddled, I like to break a sweat and then break things down systematically with a pros and cons list or something along those lines.
Lastly, sometimes there’s no wrong decision to make.
They can make the one that is most logical and reasonable, but it may not work out.
They can take the road less traveled and it could result in good things happening.
It’s also possible that whatever decision they make might initially seem like a failure, then they learn a lesson like resilience or mental fortitude (I got a class in that recently and it was life-changing).
I guess what I’m saying is sometimes there’s no wrong way to go, but it’s better to move forward in some direction rather than remain stuck.
And that concludes my TED Talk.
Sincerely,
Me
P.S. Who is Ted, anyway?
When I get back to Cobbiton, I have to admit that I’m a bit disappointed that my figure skating lessons are officially over. Other than the supposed arranged marriage, I have no excuse to see Leah.
I agreed to help Redd with the high school team that he’s doing a clinic for. We run drills, focus on breakout patterns, and defensive zone coverage with me in the cage. After a scrimmage, the players launch an attack on us with shaving cream, whipped cream, and silly string.
It’s a mess and we’re covered with what amounts to slime as it mixes with sweat from the active workshop. The Zamboni rolls onto the ice and we edge to the side. The driver—one of Leah’s cousins or maybe uncle, I can’t remember—shakes his head with dismay.
Redd cups his hands around his mouth and hollers over the sound of the machine, “It’s not as bad as corn cobs and kernels.”
The guy chuckles and proceeds to resurface the rink.
I’d have expected Redd to explode with rage at the assault, but he takes it in stride. At least, I think so. He winks at me as he claps my hand, thanking me for the help.
“Do I smell revenge?” I whisper.
“You smell a brutal warm-up session at the next workshop,” he says as he stalks off.
I don’t yet have my blade guards on when Leah glides onto the freshly cleaned ice. Our gazes lock and then drift before reconnecting again.
I meet her by the boards and ask, “Did I miss the memo for a lesson?”
“No, I have special permission to be here. I come once a week if I can. It feels good to be out there and knock the rust off.”
“You’re anything but rusty, Leah.”
She scrunches her nose as she takes in my appearance. “What happened to you?”
“I helped Redd coach the Red Hawks.”
“The Clarkson High School team?”
I nod. “They were armed with shaving cream, whipped cream, and some other gooey stuff.”
“Back in the day, that wouldn’t have flown.”
“Well, they are Red Hawks.”
“Har har.”
“You’re right. Coach Walker would’ve put all of us in the penalty box at once.”
Leah laughs as if imagining twenty rostered guys all piled up in the sin bin.
I tap my stick on the ice. “You used to play hockey, why’d you change to figure skating?”
Her chest rises and falls on a breath. She stares at the skates on her feet as if she’s reluctant to tell me. No surprise since she didn’t want to share why she retired altogether.
In a small voice, Leah says, “Hunter made me think I was too much of a tomboy, so I tried to do something girly.”
My fist tightens around the carbon fiber of my stick so tightly, I feel like I could break it. Through gritted teeth, I say, “He said that?”
She shrugs. “Hockey will always be my first love.”
Wanting to steer the conversation away from my idiot twin and any pain he may have caused her, I ask, “You mentioned opening a museum in the Barn?” It’s the old rink that we grew up skating on before the Ice Palace came along.
Brightening, Leah says, “The Happy Hockey Days festival comes first, but yes, I have a vision for a museum, eventually.”
“A local hockey museum is so cool.”
“You think so?” she asks as if not accustomed to this answer.
“Yeah. Think about it. There are numerous places to visit and ways to celebrate other sports, so why not hockey?”
“Well, there are a few places for diehard fans to visit in Canada, arenas all over the world, and the Hockey Hall of Fame Museum in Minnesota, but this would be unique because it would combine all of that with memorabilia. Plus, visitors could skate, hockey teams could take field trips, we’d have a VIP experience, along with hosting charity games, there would be interactive displays, people could try on goalie gear and see how heavy it is. ”
“I feel so seen.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers.
“There’s a ton more, too. I could seriously go on and on. That is, if I get the funding to rehabilitate the barn—the cooling system needs an overhaul along with the roof.”
“Sounds like you’ve really thought this through.”
She tucks her hands into her sleeves. “Yeah. Though it’s like no one believes that I can do it or they just think of it as a quaint, small-town notion paying homage to the sport.
We already have the Fish Bowl. I’m thinking bigger.
Never mind welcome to Hockey Town. Welcome to Hockeyland. ” She arches her hands dramatically.
“Like Disneyland?”
“With a Smithland flair.”
My lips quirk because if anyone can make something happen, it’s Leah Smith, backed by a small army of chaotic siblings, nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles, her parents, and of course, Abuela.
“I got approval to host the Happy Hockey Days fest on the town green, but the self-appointed head of the Cobbiton Activities Commission, Karen Linderburg, is fighting it for some reason.”
“She doesn’t see your vision for Hockeyland in Hockey Town?”
Leah’s lips bunch to one side with laughter. “The word hockey is starting to sound funny, foreign. Like we’re speaking gibberish.”
“Say something in Spanish.”
“What? No. Why?” She lifts her eyes to mine.
Mouth quirking, I shrug. “I remember you in Spanish class.”
She tips her head back. “I still can’t believe my high school advisor allowed me to take that class.”
“You could’ve taught it. Is your whole family fluent?”
“Mostly. Mami wasn’t going to teach us, but she and Dad would switch languages when they didn’t want us to understand what they were saying.”
“So your dad speaks Spanish too?”
“Born and raised in Nebraska, served four years in the army, learned Spanish, and then took a trip to Spain and never looked back. My mom was there for a dance festival.”
“So of course, you learned real fast so they couldn’t keep secrets from you guys.”
She nods. “Except Chuck.”
“Carlos.”
Leah rolls her eyes. “Yeah, he insists on being called Carlos now. It’s a Marisol thing.”
“Is she forcing him to go by Carlos?”
“No, he’s trying to win her over.”
“They’re engaged.”
“You’ve met my family. They can be pushy. Marisol doesn’t realize what she’s getting into … or maybe she does and that’s why she’s been so reluctant. She’s not just marrying him, but the rest of the family too.”
“So these arranged marriage things are customary?”
“Not. At. All.”
She takes a slight detour and tells me about how she recently learned her cousin was a mail-order bride.
“What country is she from?”
“Maryland.”
“Not a country last I checked.”
“She was living there after college and then met this guy online. They’re happily married.”
“So these arrangements work for some people?”
“They seem to be happy when we see them during holidays.”
“Every week it seems like there’s another one of those in your household.”
“They’ve only increased as the family has grown.”
“So October thirtieth,” I say, hinting at the one next on the calendar.
Leah leans in. “Listen, how about I run away to Greenland and you pull one of those twin trading places swaps?”
“You know the problem with that.”
She shifts on her skates. “Right. No one has heard from Hunter.”
“Plus, I’m so much better looking.” I pop my eyebrows and flash a smolder.
She smiles and doesn’t disagree, sending a burst of electricity through me.
I add, “No one would buy a twin swap, anyway.”
Wagging her finger between us, she says, “You know this cannot happen.”
“You’re going to kick and scream, huh?”
She holds up her palms. “Hang on. Don’t tell me you want to,” she looks around, “marry me? It’s not too late to turn back. To go the other way. To take the fork in the road.”
Her choice of words reminds me of the email my Secret Admirer sent along with the advice I gave.
“Option A. I could back out. Option B. I could see what happens.”
“We’re talking about me, Hudson.”
I smile. “Yes, we are.”
I’ve faced down legendary hockey players and have played intense games with seconds left on the clock with a hard rubber disk spiraling toward my face. I’ve shed blood, sweat, and tears for my career. But this is a different kind of thrill.
“I like you, Leah. I think about you a lot.”
Her arms, tight to her body, loosen.
“I don’t know if you have many fans in your life, but I’d like to be yours. I can feel your passion for the Happy Hockey Days event and museum. Your love for your family, your talent on the ice.”
She angles toward me. “I’ve never been very nice to you.”
“I’m not the guy you think I am, but I don’t want to change you. I want you to be you and not morph into someone else for a guy. I’ve seen your playful side. I appreciate the fierce side. And everything in between. All of it makes you who you are.”
The lines across her forehead smooth and her eyes study me for a long moment. She opens and closes her mouth as if conflicted. Words don’t come. Maybe she needs to process. I sure do.
Shifting toward the exit, I say what I always have, exactly the way I’ve always said it, “Later, Skater.” Because maybe I’ve always hoped that there would be a “later” between us.