Chapter 8 – Beyond the Blue Lin
Breakout pla y
Amelia
As I move around my bathroom, getting ready for the day, I hear my old NHL phone ping and pick it up.
It's Jaxson's daily message that has an automatic reply programmed.
I don't feel guilty because I think his message isn't actually from him.
It's automatic as well. It always arrives at the same time every day and says the same thing.
Jaxson: Morning, Melly. Love you.
Me: Morning, J. You too.
When Jaxson insisted we install that GPS tracking app on our phones, I didn't mind.
I wanted it. It was back before things became strained between us, and I was glad we had that connection.
But after a while, it became obvious it was really there only for him to keep tabs on me.
His signal is always off. The only time it shows his whereabouts is when it flickers on for a few minutes, long enough, I'm sure, to see where I am.
So, I got another phone through CanMobile for when I travel or leave the house.
That one has its own tracking app too, but only my close friends are on it for my safety.
Jaxson doesn't even know it exists. When I go on trips for competitions, I leave the phone connected to him right here on my nightstand.
Actually, it stays there permanently. The only one who really ever uses it now is Jaxson, for his daily obligatory texts.
Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind Jaxson knowing what I'm up to, except he's using this to control me. I don't know what he'd say if he knew I'm still competing, and I don't want to find out. It's just better this way.
Again… no guilt!
My CanMobile phone chimes with a message, and I smile as I read it.
Bash also texts me every morning, but his messages aren't auto-sent.
I know this because we can talk for hours about nothing and everything.
In such a short time, he already feels like someone who sees me.
He asks real questions, actually listens to my answers, and seems genuinely interested.
He's considerate too, always paying attention to my feelings and wants.
Or at least I hope so. I've been fooled before.
Pretty Boy: Morning, Beautiful.
Me: Hey, Pretty Boy.
Pretty Boy: Come on. I think my jawline alone earns me the title of lethally irresistible. Don’t sell me short, Beautiful.
Me: Good thing I'm immune to jawlines. Otherwise, I'd be in real trouble.
Pretty Boy: Ha! Ha! Are you ready for our next 'date'? Meet me at The Sandwich Shop on First and Main, Saturday at 1 pm.
Me: I'll see you there.
When Saturday arrives, Bash and I meet at The Sandwich Shop. It's one of those quaint, old-style Airstream diners.
It resembles a polished tin time capsule from the past dropped into the modern day.
Bright in the midday sun, the corners rounded and curved.
Red neon tubing edges the roofline, glowing softly, even in the daytime, giving it that classic roadside diner vibe.
I smell warm bread and grilled meat even from outside .
There's a roller rink to the right that has been left behind from a bygone era. It still has an old sign with faded stars and missing letters. Although it's still standing, it looks like no one has been inside since the 80s.
Since I get here first, I slide onto a barstool just inside the door and text Bash.
Me: I'm here. This place smells amazing.
Pretty Boy: On my way. Be there soon.
The inside feels linear and surprisingly spacious for the concept.
The bar runs the full length of the room, topped with a retro red Formica-look veneer edged with a band of chrome that catches the light.
Bar stools with shiny red plastic seats and contrasting silver bases line the counter.
It looks like the love child of a classic muscle car and a curvy milkshake machine.
Sleek and sexy. Evoking a vibrant feeling reminiscent of the 1950s, you expect Leather Tuscadero from Happy Days to strut in at any moment.
The floor's red and white checkered pattern is overpowering with all the gaudy colors, but it somehow works and makes the vintage vibe charming .
Behind the counter, the cook flips a sandwich on the flattop and toasts it while a sweet-looking waitress fills the condiment and garnish station with more tomatoes and pickles.
The popular 1950s song, There'll Never Be Anyone Else But You, by Ricky Nelson, plays softly in the background, and I laugh at the irony. I find myself imagining girls with ponytails and poodle skirts dancing in front of that old-school jukebox with boys wearing rolled-up jeans and white T-shirts.
Bash shows up a few minutes later in a hoodie and sunglasses, almost as if he's trying to go incognito.
Why would he be hiding?
I frown, then shake my head to dismiss the thought.
He takes the seat next to me and flashes a bright grin.
Heat rises to my cheeks, so I smile back and turn to study the menu.
I already know what I want. The place may appear to be a simple burger-and-fries joint, but it offers far more.
They serve a varied selection that caters to today's trendy foodies.
They have a killer veggie on rye with spicy mayo that I always order, while Bash gets a Reuben, and we split a side of fries. Of course, no meal here would be complete without strawberry shakes .
We eat slowly, talking nonstop. Laughing and teasing, the time passes as we watch the cars drive by outside the large plate-glass window stretching across the entire front of the diner.
I dip a fry in the spicy mayo and offer it to Bash.
He leans in, darting his tongue out to take it, but I pull it back, laughing.
His eyes flash with an unspoken hunger that I realize has nothing to do with the fries.
Slowly licking his lips, he inches closer, his gaze shifting between my eyes and my parted lips.
The fry lies forgotten on the table where I dropped it, as my heart races, a throb of desire pulsing low in my stomach. I feel pulled toward him, my body leaning in on instinct. My eyelids flutter shut as his breath caresses my flushed skin, leaving a trail of heat behind.
He reaches out and gently strokes my cheek, sweeping my hair aside before his hand curves around the back of my neck and moves closer.
"Amelia, my Firebird," he whispers against my lips.
Is he going to kiss me?
The diner door suddenly slams open, the wind crashing it against the wall as a customer enters. Bash and I jump apart, breathless, the spark between us cooled by the sudden blast of cold air.
“Oops, sorry about that,” the man grimaces before heading to a booth.
The moment broken, I touch my lips in disbelief, take a calming breath, and push aside my tangle of feelings. Bash lifts his shake and takes a long drink.
“Bash,” I murmur, “what did you mean when you called me Firebird?”
Pausing mid-bite, he stares at his sandwich as if choosing his words carefully.
"First," he says, seeming steady and cautious, "I didn't break our rules, at least not on purpose. I was watching The Pulse. I'm sure you know that show."
I nod, and he bites his lip before a soft huff of laughter escapes.
"I saw your highlight reel," he admits. "Then, I went down a full-on rabbit hole.
Competition after competition. Some older ones.
Your recent ones. Your progress stuns me.
That event in Nice was incredible. In that red skate dress…
" He lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes flicking back and forth between my own.
"You didn't look like a girl trying to impress judges.
I watched you lift your head back and fall into the music.
You were br eathtaking. A real firebird, the Phoenix they called you.
Wild, bright, impossible to look away from. "
My breath hitches.
"I know we talk," he continues, voice low, "but watching that made me realize how much you keep to yourself.
I didn't know you have Raynaud's, but some of the clips mentioned it.
The pain you push through must be unreal.
Everything you've endured. Your condition.
Your injury. Him!" The last word is sharp with anger he can't hide.
"You carry all of that and you still rise.
Every. Single. Time." He reaches out and touches my chin, guiding my eyes back to him.
"You burn hotter because you refuse to go out.
You didn't disappear. You weren't destroyed.
From your devastation, you are reborn. You burn to ashes, then you come back stronger.
That. Right there. That's what I see when I look at you. "
“You're on the road to the Olympics, Amelia. You're not skating for anyone but yourself now, because you love it. When you skate, when you speak, when you simply breathe, your fire blinds everyone around you. No one is left untouched."
He hesitates, then adds so softly I barely hear him, "I don't think he ever understood the kind of fire he had in you. "
Before I can respond, he leans in and presses the lightest kiss to my lips, almost nothing. Warmth sears through my soul, and a lightness washes over me in a way I haven't experienced in a long time. I am seen and treasured.
As he returns to eating, I notice the nervous bounce of his leg under the table.
Although he tries to act unaffected by our kiss, his body betrays him.
His fingers brush repeatedly along the back of his neck, and I catch a faint, rapid pulse at his temple.
His breaths are just a fraction faster, and every so often, he rubs his chest. Beneath the calm, controlled exterior, he's almost vibrating, and seeing it sends a thrill through me.
I'm speechless. My skin hums from our brief contact.
I touch my lips again, feeling the ghost of his kiss lingering there.
A confused ache stirs beneath my chest as my mind and body war in a tangle of emotions.
I'm in a situation I didn't choose, reminded of promises made and broken, and boundaries not just blurred but utterly annihilated.
Yet, Bash, a near stranger, seems to understand me and my heart better than my husband ever has .
Sure, Bash crossed a line just now, but he backed away just as quickly, leaving me with a strange sense of loss I don't fully understand.
I look at him, staring unblinkingly at his empty plate, and wonder what he's thinking. Then he glances up, smiles like nothing just happened, and says, “So, Firebird, are you ready for the second part of our date?”
A startled laugh escapes me, and I nod. “Sure.”
“Let's go,” he says, laying down cash to cover the check and opening the door for me.
A short drive later, we arrive at a gated frozen pond.
“Are we going to ice skate?” I ask eagerly, barely able to contain my excitement.
He glances over and smiles at me. “What else would our second-best date be but what you enjoy doing most?”
“But I didn't bring my skates.”
He reaches over the back seat and retrieves a familiar teal box for the brand of skates I prefer.
“A gift for you,” he smiles, popping that cursed dimple.
I open it to find not only my favorite brand of performance skates, but my exact size.
“How did you know? ”
“That last post-competition interview you did in Oslo, Norway, a sports journalist asked.”
I remember the petite blonde reporter who had admired my skates and asked about the brand and size. Still on a high from making the podium finish, I'd gushed that it was my favorite brand.
“See,” Bash brags as he points to the box, “I pay attention to you, Amelia.”
His words cause a sharp pang in my chest as my thoughts shift to Jaxson. Does Jaxson still pay attention to me? Or am I as long forgotten by him as I appear to be? Why do I even think about him?
I turn and head to the bench next to the pond just as a lone tear tracks down my cheek. I swiftly wipe it away and chide myself for letting Jaxson intrude on such a lovely day.
Sitting down, I put on my new skates and notice that my name is embroidered on the side in my favorite color of pink.
Tracing my finger across it, I glance at Bash, who is busy putting his skates on, and I wonder at how in tune he is with me in such a short time.
Does he know pink is my favorite color? What else does he know about me?
I hesitate for a moment before asking, “Why do you call me Amelia instead of trying to shorten it to a nickname like Ja… like everyone else?” Jaxson's the one who shortened my name, and now everyone knows me as Melly.
He looks up with soft eyes and a sly smile. “Because Amelia, your name is unique and beautiful, just like you.” He turns back to his skates, pulling his pants legs down as he stands. "Besides, my nickname for you is Firebird, and don't forget it."
I smile at him, feeling more seen and appreciated than ever. Aside from that fleeting kiss, he's never given me a reason to worry about anything inappropriate. Always a perfect gentleman. It feels empowering to be more than just an object to slake someone's lust.
The next few hours glide by on the ice. Bash and I decide to choreograph a dance routine, syncing our movements to the playlist he queues up.
We blend our individual styles and movements into a seamless performance.
He proves to be a surprisingly graceful skater, matching me move for move and adding his own artistry.
Together, we craft something sensual and perfectly ours.
Later, as Bash drops me off at the diner where I left my car, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek.
He smiles down at me. “What was that for? ”
“Everything,” I breathe softly. “For a great time and a beautiful pair of skates. Thank you. You're really something, Bash.”
As I turn and get in my car, I hear him whisper. “You are, too, Firebird. I'll make sure you know it soon.”