13. Noah
CHAPTER 13
NOAH
When I arrive at the diner, tucked away in an old brick building on Maple Road in Maple Falls, I’m greeted by its old-school feel. Nothing like the places I’m used to around River City, but exactly like what I find on the outskirts of Leesburg. It’s homey, smells greasy, and I’m pretty sure it has some stories. If these walls could talk, right?
A middle-aged woman wearing a bright pink dress smiles as she grabs a few laminated menus and holds them up. “Table for one?”
“Two, please,” I say, peeking at her name tag: Shirley May. I point to a booth at the back by the window. “Shirley May, can we please have that particular table today?”
When she serves me a smile as warm as a hot apple pie, I know using her name has scored me some bonus points. “Sugar, you can sit anywhere you want.” She then hands me the menus and points. “You go ahead and I’ll bring you over a cup of coffee.”
Pleased with myself, I make my way over to the table and slide into the booth. As Shirley drops off my coffee, the front entrance opens and Willa swans in, something tucked under her arm and heading my way with a smile on her face. And she is gorgeous.
“Hey there,” I say, sliding out of the booth and standing as she settles in. My mother did teach me to be a gentleman. Turning to Shirley, I wave my hand in Willa’s direction. “Another coffee, please?”
Willa nods, and Shirley puts her hands on her hips. “I’ll be right back with it. Also, today’s specials are french toast and … that’s it really.”
As she spins on her heel and flounces away, I slide my coffee over to Willa. “Here. I'll take the next one.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, putting the package on the seat beside her before adding cream and giving it a stir. She takes a sip and sinks back into the cushion. “What a game last night, huh?”
“It’s a new day,” I say, picking up the menu and giving it a look. I already know I’m going to get a loaded omelet with extra crispy bacon and a side of that french toast, but it may as well look like I need to decide. “It wasn’t our finest game, but it was our first one. We now know how we’ll work when we’re out there. We were stiff, but I’m sure tonight is going to be a whole lot better.”
“You sound like a coach.” Willa cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes as if she’s sizing me up. “I should know, I’ve sat in a lot of press events and listened to them talking after a rough game.”
“I keep hearing that,” I murmur, quickly telling her about Zach’s offer and the idea of the camp, but we’re interrupted when Shirley May appears back at our table, dropping off my coffee and ready to take our order. She scribbles madly on a small pad of paper as Willa orders scrambled eggs and toast. But her eyebrows almost shoot off her forehead when I give my list of food needs.
“Hungry?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow as if we’re in on some shared joke. “Eating your feelings after last night’s game?”
My jaw hits the table as she walks away, Willa sitting across from me and biting her lips so she won’t burst out laughing.
“That was not nice,” is all I can manage, chortling to myself. “I feel like Dan wouldn’t get this much grief.”
“He’s the hometown guy, what do you expect?” Willa grins as she picks up her joe and holds it in front of her. There’s a sadness in her eyes I hadn’t noticed before.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she starts to say, but then shakes her head and places her cup back on the table. “Actually, no. I can’t say that. I am not fine. I spoke to my mom this morning.”
I wrap my hands around my cup and lean in closer. “Is she okay?”
“The bank has started official proceedings for foreclosure, and she has ninety days to either begin proceedings herself to declare bankruptcy or, by the grace of all the four-leaf clovers, the bank president has also given her another option.”
“What is that?”
“Catch up on her late payments and pay ahead six months. If the bank sees she’s serious about keeping the business going, they’ll stop the proceedings for now and let her get back to life.” Willa sighs, taking the sip of coffee she so desperately needs.
Instinctively, I reach out and place my hand on her free one and it immediately sends a searing feeling through me. Intimate. More intimate than even kissing her. Maybe because when we’re usually together it’s behind the closed door of one of our hotel rooms, talking, and it’s usually at night after practices. Or it could be because if we do go out in public, she has her camera and is taking candid shots of me to use for the Athletic Edge article, so most folks wouldn’t think anything of it.
Yet here we are, in the bright light of day, having breakfast and holding hands. It feels more natural than anything else has to me in a long time. Probably since I first gripped a hockey stick.
“I like this,” I whisper, letting my thumb and forefinger drift across the soft skin of her wrist. There are lots of soft, vulnerable places on her body I’d like to get to know better. My eyes lower from hers to her lips, following the curve of her neck. There’s a spot there, at the base, that I’d like to make sure I pay attention to one day soon. “I never want to let go of your hand.”
“Maybe you won’t have to.” Her tone may be flirtatious, but a soft pink flush takes over her cheeks as she peers over her shoulder. When she looks back, so much is happening behind those smoldering green eyes of hers. I wonder if she can feel the intense pull in her stomach as much as I can feel the tug in mine?
Clearing her throat, she shakes her head and takes a big breath. “Anyway, even if we are able to get the money together in time, she’ll still need to get on top of things so this doesn’t happen again.”
“Don’t let it get to you right now.” Come on, Noah. You can do better than that. “What I mean is, you just found out. Let the news sink in and then the thoughts and ideas will come. You and your mom will figure it out. You have to trust that.”
Her eyes land on where my hand grasps hers and she smiles. “Hey, who knows? I’m still trying to find that bird. It could be a case of the Blue Rock Thrush saves the day.” She then pulls her hand from mine, taking her warmth with her, as she snaps her fingers and grabs the brown paper bag off the seat beside her.
“I almost forgot,” she says, a wicked grin playing on those beautiful, kissable, soft pink lips of hers. She dips her hand into the bag and pulls out a tiny item, handing it across the table to me. “For luck.”
When I look to see what she’s placing in my palm, I crack up. “A bird pin?”
“Not just any bird pin,” she says, almost defensive. “ The bird. It’s a Blue Rock Thrush.”
Looking at the tiny gift she’s placed in my hand, a passive warmth fills my insides. I place the pin to my lips and kiss it. “Thank you. I can guarantee I’ll be wearing it for tonight’s game. I can use all the luck I can get.”
Somehow, she’s made birdwatching the most interesting—and sexy—sport I’ve ever witnessed. You bet your britches I’ll be wearing that pin tonight, if for no other reason than to score more time with those lips.
“You know,” I say as I slide the pin into my jacket pocket, “I wish I could help in some way. With your mom.”
“That’s kind,” she responds, dipping her head. “But like you said, we’ll figure it out. Hey, in good news, I have a call today with the reporter working on your story. Your article is the thing to help me get promoted and land steady work. Just keep your fingers crossed that it all works out. Deal?”
I hold my coffee in the air and toast her words. “Deal.”
A second later, Shirley May is back and sliding our plates in front of us. We both tuck into our meals, enjoying the kind of silence usually reserved for old friends.
Which is what I guess we can say we are now.
The arena is electric, the energy from the crowd coursing through me like a second heartbeat and the sound of “Ice Ice Baby” playing in the distance somewhere fills my ears. The roar is deafening, a wall of sound that pulses with every play. This is why I love playing this sport. These moments.
The ice beneath my skates gleams under the harsh lights, a pristine battlefield where I am ready to make my move. My eyes lock on Dan, who is battling hard for control of the puck against two defenders. The boards rattle with each hit, the clatter of sticks and skates blending into the symphony of the arena. Fans jump up, screaming, and are on their feet, their tension palpable as they lean over the rails, eyes wide with hope and nerves.
I can see Dan’s jaw tense as he grits his teeth and manages to wrestle the puck free. Our eyes met for a split second—a silent agreement, a moment of perfect understanding. With a powerful shove, he sends the puck sliding across the ice straight toward me.
The crowd’s noise is like a crescendo, a wave that pushes me forward. I catch the puck on my stick, the smooth glide of the ice beneath me a familiar, comforting sensation. The opposing team scrambles, their defense tightening, but it’s too late. I’m in the zone. This is my happy place.
I weave through them with practiced ease, my movements a blur of precision and power.
As I approach the goal, the noise in the arena swells to a fever pitch. Fans screaming, their voices mingling into a single, urgent chant … and tonight, it’s not for Dan.
The Lumberjacks goalie braces himself, eyes wide with determination and following my every move. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my focus narrowing to a single point: the small, vulnerable space just above the goalie’s glove.
With a final, powerful stroke, I take a breath before sending the puck flying. Time seems to slow as it soars through the air, the entire arena holding its breath. Then, in a flash, the puck slips past the goalie and into the net.
There’s a moment of silence before the entirety of the arena explodes in sound and motion. Fans leap from their seats, shouting and cheering, their joy a palpable force. Teammates rush to me, their faces alight with triumph and relief. As they pile onto me in celebration, I glance around the arena, taking in the jubilant faces, the waving banners, the sheer ecstasy that snaps, pops, crackles, and fills the air .
When I’m free of the pile, I lift my hand and stroke my lucky charm: the pin Willa gave me. I’d made sure to put it on my jersey ahead of the game so I had her with me. I let my eyes scan the crowd hoping to find her in the stands nearby, but I can’t see her.
The team makes their way off the ice, and I follow, high-fiving the guys. Even Cooper cracks a smile as we fist bump. I keep one eye on the crowd, waiting to see if Willa will pop into view, but I stop short when a familiar face I wasn’t expecting appears at the edge of the rink.
“Noah!” Dan waves at me, pulling me away from my target. “Great game. Honestly, Ted may be the Bear, but you’re a beast.”
“Thanks, Dan,” I say, clapping his back as he steps off the ice. “I’ll take the high praise.”
Turning my attention back to the figure who obviously waits for me, I feel a little bit of air deflate from my lungs. She is not the person I want to have here. Not right now. Not tomorrow. Not at all.
I can’t hide the displeasure as I skate up beside her and stop. Of course she’s wearing my jersey. She is my ex, after all.
I look around, surprised she doesn’t have any kind of entourage with her, but continuing my scan of the crowd, I’m not disappointed. When I look beyond her, I see a small crew of her “friends” sitting in the stands, waiting for her. The hangers-on, as she used to call them. People who like to be near famous people, like her.
“Cecilia.” I have no time for this. “I thought you were on a movie set somewhere in Europe. What brings you here?”