Chapter 6 #2
“We’re also moving to Nebraska.” I’m assuming she knows this.
But the surprise that streaks across her wrinkled face reveals that Ma hasn’t mentioned this to her amica/nemica. Probably because Nebraska doesn’t feel like a win. Quite the opposite. But I told her it’s a few steps closer to the California coast, which has a similar climate to back home.
The older woman goes very still as if I just cast a spell and she’s deciding whether to deflect it. “Is that so?”
“I’ll be playing for the Knights.”
She sniffs as if to say If it’s not Napoli—the Italian soccer club—it doesn’t matter. Ma roots for Rome or whatever team is beating Naples, which makes zero sense since they’re both Neapolitan.
To our mothers, ice hockey is a strange, foreign concept.
Guiliana is a bit more familiar, given her husband’s love for the game.
Ma tolerates bundling up to visit the arena.
But neither understands the draw to the rink, to the chill, or the sheer roughness of the sport.
I think it appeals to the Roman gladiator buried in my DNA—even though historically, ice hockey wasn’t invented yet.
We use sticks instead of swords and battle it out with a puck rather than against wild animals or criminals.
Still, it’s a sweaty sport, masculine, and in many ways primal when the gloves come off.
I think that appeals to a deep part of human nature, as odd as that may sound.
The good thing is that the moment we’re off the ice, guys from opposing teams are the best of friends. Wish I could say the same is true for Junie and me.
Even though boxes fill the apartment and it’s largely packed up, the phantom scent of garlic, herbs, and sauce bubbling on the stove fills the air, along with Juniper’s almond orange blossom scent.
A wave of nostalgia crests—it wasn’t particularly hard for me to leave the city. I was chasing my hockey stardom dreams. But I realize now that because I still had strong ties here, as tenuous and frayed as they were, it wasn’t like I was truly leaving.
Right now feels different.
Junie says, “You asked why we’re moving to Nebraska. Because I thought it would be far enough away to forget you.”
I splay my hand across my chest. “You wound me. You just keep driving the dagger deeper into my heart.”
She squawks a laugh. “Ha! If you had a heart.”
The corner of my lip curls because if a chess match were violent, I’m about to land a fatal blow. “Junie, if what you said is true, that means that you still think about me. That you haven’t forgotten.”
Mrs. Popovik mutters some unfriendly words under her breath and stumps away, leaving us alone to finish this slow, simmering fight.
Peering over her shoulder and then facing me again with a scowl, Junie hisses, “Can we just not, though?”
“Not what? Pretend that there’s still something between us?” I gesture with my finger.
She closes her eyes as if steeling herself with patience. “It’s bad enough that we have to plan Erica and Shane’s wedding. Let’s pretend that we still live in different states. Still hate each other.”
“But we don’t, Junie. You know that. I know that.”
“We’re terrible for each other. We don’t get along. We’ve proven that.”
Because it’s like I’m pre-programmed to say the opposite of whatever she does, I reply, “I just heard a lot of we’s. As in us. You and me.”
“I’m only going along with this because it’s for Erica.”
“Glad to know you’re loyal to some people,” I mutter and instantly regret it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She folds her arms in front of her chest and cocks a hip—classic Junie stance ... and those hips. My gaze drops to them, wrapped in dark denim.
Warmth races through me, escaping at the tips of my ears.
I’m a hockey player, tough, and am regularly put in the penalty box.
But my mother insisted I learn the tarantella, a traditional Italian dance.
I also enjoy a paso doble from time to time.
A samba. The cha-cha. And Junie and I had undeniable rhythm, chemistry.
I can picture her swaying those hips. Yeow.
She widens her eyes as if to ask What? But then her cheeks, which were already pink, go darker. She shifts as if noticing me drinking her in, remembering how good we were together.
The momentary flicker between us goes out because she’s still waiting for me to answer, but we both know the reference to loyalty without me having to spell it out.
She never cheated on me, but when it came to choosing between her family and me, the wedding was called off. She chose them instead of our future.
Truth is, I did the same but with my family.
Nostrils flaring, she says, “This is how it’s going to work. We’ll restrict communication to text-only and sit at opposite ends of the table at the rehearsal dinner. I’ll dutifully walk down the aisle at the ceremony by your side and then avoid you at the reception.”
I click my tongue. “No, we’ll be dancing together. You know this. I know this,” I say, because it’s true and I know it’ll rile her up.
“Not. A. Chance,” she grinds out.
“Mark my words. You won’t be able to resist once the music starts playing.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Considering we’re in charge of planning this thing, I’ll make sure the playlist consists of country tunes only.”
I angle my head and shuffle my feet a bit. “I just spent a year in Missouri. They like to two-step.”
“Then we’ll play heavy metal.”
“I don’t think Erica would approve. What happened to your loyalty? Oh, wait. You used the word we again. As in you and me,” I say slowly, letting each word drip from my lips.
She sweeps her side bangs out of the way as if annoyed ... or flustered. Both? “It’s a subjective pronoun. There will never be a you and me again.”
Some hockey teams gel with great chemistry—here’s hoping the fourth time is the charm. And some people have that special kind of compatibility too and you just know they’re the one. I’d go for a second chance with her.
Not only was Juniper Popovik the girl next door, but she was off-limits and out of my league. Then I took my shot, and she said yes.
I drop my gaze to hers and say, “I’ve never let go and I don’t think you have either.”
She cackles. “That’s hilarious.”
“Because it’s true.”
She closes the door in my face but doesn’t deny it.