Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When we get back in the car, I say, “That was good.”
“Delicious.”
“Progress.”
“A success.”
Then I casually add, “What if we start over? Like, get to know each other again.”
Without argument, she simply says, “Sure.”
“Maybe we can be friends.” Maybe she’ll call me Mikey, though I don’t mind her calling me Miguel as much as I did before. It’s like how I’m the only one she lets call her Junie.
As if instantly picking up on how this could go, she asks, “What’s your favorite season?”
“Hockey season.”
“I didn’t ask about your favorite sport. I said season.”
“Hockey,” I clarify.
“Har har. Well, in case you’re wondering, my favorite season is winter.”
“Then why didn’t we plan to get married in winter?”
Her shoulder lifts slightly. “It seemed easier to go along with what everyone else wanted.”
And what do I want? Her. For her to be my wife, and for her to be herself with her family, our families.
“You’re not that kind of person, Junie.”
She’s quiet for a long beat as if digesting this fact. Probably doesn’t go down as easily as Casey’s Kakes.
“What’s your favorite sport?” I ask, knowing her answer.
“Hockey,” she says as if that’s obvious, but it does break the ice. Yeah. Har har.
The rest of the ride to bring Junie back to the salon so she can pick up her car is fueled by sugar before we somehow detour into the topic of weddings, which results in what feels like a roadblock.
Jersey barriers and pylons appear out of nowhere.
The ice freezes over again. A flashing sign reads Caution.
Between the apology I never gave her for walking away and returning to her life to plan someone else’s wedding, the moms taking over the construction of the salon, and Thanksgiving without her dad, I want to hug her.
But instead of giving me a chance to get out of the car, open the passenger side door for her, and say goodnight, she shoves it open and starts to storm off.
I could give her space and time. But isn’t fourteen months enough?
Instead of waiting to see if she’ll look back, over her shoulder, I exit the car and rush after her.
I don’t expect we’ll be hugging or kissing—anytime soon, but I reach for her hand and can only link my pinky with hers. It fits perfectly in mine, as always.
She halts and I squeeze. Her attention drifts from the connection to my eyes. I wait for her to tell me to get lost or push me away. At the very least, say something snide.
Instead, she goes so perfectly still, I’m not sure she’s breathing.
A charge rushes through me like the puck sails my way, opening the opportunity for me to score. But sinking the biscuit into the net isn’t about me. When I’m out there on the ice, it’s all about the team. I am part of a machine, something much bigger than myself.
And this time, whatever is happening between Junie and me isn’t about me, it’s about her, us.
Her dark eyes search mine as if asking what I’m going to do about it.
I’m going to be brave. Be a man. Be her man.
Without another second’s hesitation, I envelop her in my arms, tugging her close, being the support she needs, unwavering, adoring, solid and strong.
The tension leaves her muscles as she thaws. Her arms find their way around my back and she melts into the embrace.
Breathing in her almond and citrus spice scent, my voice isn’t audible, but when I exhale, I mouth, I love you. Always have. Always will.
Her grip around me tightens, not because she heard it, but because she must’ve felt it.
I cannot fathom ever letting this woman go.
When we part, she tugs on my jacket’s zipper. “You still didn’t tell me your favorite season and hockey doesn’t count.”
My lip lifts with a smile. “Junie.”
“That’s not a—”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Our shared laughter is warm and we say goodnight, but the rest has been expressed without words. Maybe communication isn’t our strength. Not yet. Perhaps we can work on it.
The Nebraska Knights have been preparing for the official season opener all week and the final practice is grueling.
Coach Badaszek didn’t welcome me onto the team with any fanfare.
It’s not like I expected a parade, but he treats me as if I’ve always been on the Knights and I’m not replacing Micah Lemon, the former center for the team and an absolute legend.
The guys, especially the rest of the starters, also act like I’ve been with them all along.
Unlike when I played for the Kings, the Liberators, or the Cascades, the Knights are super family-oriented.
The weekly outreach activities, team dinners, get-togethers, and general brotherhood are familiar because I’m from a big family, but in my experience, it’s not normal for a hockey team.
With the first three, it was all business, locker room banter, and brutality on the ice. We’d occasionally meet for holidays and, of course, post-playoff celebrations if things went in our favor, but it was mostly every man for himself.
Even Vohn Brandt, the assistant coach, acts like we’ve been working together for my entire career. In fact, he knows things about my skills and style that I didn’t even realize.
Granted, I’m not complaining. But the hazing, razzing, and newbie test from my previous teams doesn’t seem forthcoming, considering our first game is tomorrow.
After our warm-down, when we head to the locker room, I opt to talk to Beau Hammer, our goalie and Margo’s guy. We have that connection, even if it’s a couple of times removed.
“Am I missing something?”
He grunts.
I take that to mean he wants me to elaborate. “Like my entry onto the team seems a little too easy.”
He shrugs.
Okay, not the most talkative one. I move to the showers and spot Pierre’s towel because it’s stitched with his last name. Coach calls everyone by their surname without exception, apparently even his daughter—to whom our defenseman is married.
Over the flow of the water, I say, “Hey, are things cool with me on the team?”
“Yeah, why?” he replies.
“It’s just different.”
“How so?” he calls over the barrier between us.
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I expected Coach Badaszek to call me into his office, lay down the ground rules, and discuss expectations.”
Arsenault’s water turns off. “If you’re in his office, then you have a problem.”
I finish rinsing off, cut the water, and wrap the towel around my waist at the same time he emerges from his stall, also wrapped in a towel.
I say, “I take it you’ve been there.”
He shakes his head slowly, sending water droplets over his shoulders. “More times than I’d like to admit. The thing you need to know about Badaszek is—”
Before he has a chance to reveal this big secret, someone whistles.
“Ice Maidens incoming. Clothes on. Mouths clean. Look your best, boys.”
A flurry of female voices and giggles filters from the main part of the locker room.
“Nothing to see here, ladies,” Redd calls. “Except my wife. You can look all you want at me.”
I hear the sound of a towel slapping skin and gather that one of the other guys whipped our new team captain for making the comment.
The Ice Maidens are the on-ice hype team during the intermission. They also handle the social media, led by Heidi, Grady’s wife.
That’s another thing, most of the dudes on the team are married, which is quite different than the bachelor party boys from the other organizations. Back when Junie and I were engaged, I was the attached oddball.
“And we’re out,” a female voice calls, meaning they must’ve finished passing through.
“All clear,” Brandt hollers and then claps his hands, indicating we gather around.
“This is the season that we’re going to bring home the hardware. You’re not playing for yourself but for each other. For the fans. For them to look upon their team with pride when we hoist the Stanley above the ice, giving them the chance to all feel like winners.”
Hayden Savage, Beau Hammer, James Reddford, Grady Federer, and a few others salute him like we’re soldiers, so I follow suit.
When he leaves, Grimaldi, third-string wing and smarmy, asks, “Did the chick with the salon we did the demo for in town just walk through here?”
Now I understand why Junie didn’t like it when her brother referred to girls as chicks.
“No.” My tone reverberates like a neutron bomb.
“Seemed like you knew her,” he says.
My jaw ticks. “She’s my former fiancée and call her ‘chick’ again and find out what happens.”
He chuckles. “Is the newb threatening me?”
“Junie can take care of you herself.” But if she’s a hurricane watch, I’m the one who will make landfall.
His lip curls. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
A growl comes from my throat. “I advise against saying another word or looking, breathing, or thinking in her direction.”
The rest of the front line takes formation around me.
Grimaldi lifts his hands. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, boys.”
“Then act like a man,” Savage says low.
Grimaldi’s expression wavers like he can’t decide whether to fire back or hold off, so he slinks away.
In much the same way I showed Junie I was there for her with a hug, these guys just demonstrated that they have my back.
We head over to O’Neely’s Fish Bowl, home of the free fishbowl full of popcorn.
It’s a local joint with sticky vinyl booths, loads of hockey memorabilia covering every available surface, a menu filled with all things corn and potato-related, and a lively, family-friendly atmosphere that turns hockey-rough after hours.
After we finish ordering, Pierre says, “So, Juniper, huh?”
I was hoping to discuss my position on the team, but since walking in here, I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
She’d love this place if she hasn’t already visited.
It’s a hockey fan haven. Okay, that’s a lie about me only thinking about her for the last ten minutes.
She took up residence in my mind hours ago. No, months. Make that years.
Hasn’t left. Never will.
Don’t want her to.
The guys discuss the game tomorrow. While I should listen, Pierre seems interested in the Mikey-Junie saga, so I tell him about our engagement and how it fell apart.
“I believed that even with our family’s hatred for each other, we could overcome ... but alas. We’re just too different.” I let out a long sigh.
Pierre chuckles at my dramatization.
“Or too stubborn,” Redd says from across the table.
I didn’t realize he was listening.
They’re all rapt as if they heard the entire sob story.
“Sounds as if she went broody like a chicken,” Redd says.
Pierre says, “Cruz is a city guy. He doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
I get the gist.
“So you believe in true love?” Hayden asks.
“I did.” I do. At least as far as Junie is concerned.
“But not anymore?” Beau asks, startling me. I didn’t even notice he was here, which is hard to do since the guy is a mountain.
His question hangs in the air like something important hinges on it.
“You still love her?” he presses.
I shake my head and nod. “The problem is she hates me.” I know it’s not true, but she’d never admit it.
“But you still have feelings,” Federer says as if he’s familiar with unrequited love.
I shrug.
“You do,” Hayden says, slapping the table.
Redd cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “We’ve got a live one.”
No one in the restaurant turns because they probably didn’t hear over the din, but I don’t get the big deal.
“Why would I so much as like someone who despises me?” I ask, keeping my defenses up.
“I saw you two at the demo project last week,” Hayden says. “She doesn’t despise you.”
“Just wait and see,” Redd says.
“I’ve been waiting fourteen months,” I mutter.
“How do you feel when she’s around other men?” Redd asks.
My expression must betray me.
“Murderous,” Grady says, answering on my behalf.
“How about you with other women? Have you dated? Found someone else?” Hayden asks.
I shake my head slowly. “Not even close.”
He claps his hands. “We’re going to help you win her over.”
I should tell them I’ll pass, but curiosity gets the better of me. Must be a result of Burt Reynolds rubbing off on me.
Team huddle style, they gather us in.
“Okay, so what you need to do is be her secret admirer,” Hudson says.
“That might freak her out.”
“Trust me.” Hudson smirks.
Pierre adds, “Don't wear a shirt around her.”
Grady follows up, “Make her dinner.”
Then Beau says, “Lightly touch her shoulder when you say goodbye.”
They laugh at that one, even though he somehow must’ve wooed Margo, which defies all logic given their differing personalities.
“I don’t know, guys.”
“If you don’t listen to us, Badaszek will get involved.” Redd’s tone suggests this is a warning.
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
Pierre explains, “He fancies himself a matchmaker on the DL. The down low. It’s his secret side hustle.”
I look around, confused as if I’ve entered an alternate universe. “Where am I?”
“The Fish Bowl, bro. Cobbiton, Nebraska,” Hayden says.
If I click my heels, I don’t think I’ll get home.
But home just walked in the door, swiping her bangs out of her eyes.
I want so badly to slam it in Hayden’s face if only to save myself from what’s sure to happen because I’m a sucker.
I know this and should fight tooth and nail not to let Junie back into my life.
We’re bad for each other. So bad we’re good.
She wears two French braids. She used to practice on my brothers and me when she was in beauty school. Charlie purposely grew his hair long for this purpose. The three of us younger ones all had crushes on her.
I touch mine now. She was the last one to cut it. Her butterscotch brown gaze lands on me as if we’re connected by an invisible string.
“Is that the hater?” Grady asks, tipping his head toward Junie.
“How’d you know?”
“She has eyes for you.”
Like a pie cooling on the counter, I know that I can’t have a slice until Ma says it’s okay. That means hands-off. But it’s hard to resist temptation. My pulse does laps merely knowing she’s at a nearby table.
Hayden cups his hands around his mouth and says a long, drawn-out, “Boo. She’s wearing a Kings jersey.”
“Purely for Cruz’s benefit,” Beau says as if he’s well-versed in the language of love, or in this case, hate.
“Junie isn’t a jersey chaser, but she loves hockey,” I say.
“And you. Make sure she has yours on tomorrow night.” Redd chuckles.
I puff an exhale. “That would be like trying to wrestle a wet cat.”
But I will. If not this game, later. Whatever it takes.