Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The guys bet that I couldn’t name every Stanley Cup-winning team—since its inception in 1960—in chronological order. As mentioned, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands recently.
I faltered when I got to the 1990s with Dallas and Detroit, second-guessing which came first but ultimately trusted my gut.
If I lost, I had to pay for dinner. If I won, I had to try to make the server with the caramel-colored hair smile. To them, neither outcome worked in my favor, but I have newbie tax to pay to the team, so I took it like a champ.
The Fish Bowl is a regular haunt for hockey players and fans alike. The assortment of guys I came here with to grab grub all claimed they’d never seen her so much as grin.
I didn’t mention I know Heidi and not only have witnessed her smile but have even made her smirk a few times since being back in Cobbiton. In fact, um, I’m intimately acquainted with her lips.
They didn’t recognize that she was Trey Dillard’s ex or a former part of the Ice Kitty performance group for the LA Lions.
The guys hoot when I take Heidi by the hand and lead her to the stage for karaoke. When our palms touch, my skin ignites, but thankfully, the stage lighting is dim.
Our tame and frantic kisses play through my mind. The way she looked so youthful when we were at the park earlier. And how adorable it was when she clammed up while taking my order. I didn’t see any of this coming, but it makes me like her and want her more.
She stops short, digging in her heels. “I’m not going up there.”
“Come on, one song. It’ll be fun.”
“Singing in public is not my kind of fun.”
“But skating or doing flips is?” I ask, referring to both her cheerleading and ice-escapade days.
“It’s not the same.”
“You can lip sync. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”
“Do you mean that you want the guys to think that you’ve charmed me?”
I lean in and whisper, “No, Heidi, I just want to see you smile.”
She leans back. Her expression is unreadable. It was a simple but true thing to say. I’m not sure where it came from, but not a place of pity or even big brother affection. It’s something else, however, I’m not sure what.
“Please?” I ask.
Everyone cheers and hollers for us to get onstage. There’s no going back.
Heidi glances over her shoulder. “No one here is going to let me wait on them until I make a fool of myself, huh?”
“We’ll have fun or laugh trying.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. I’m already dying,” she deadpans .
“How about this? You pick out the song.”
The corner of her lip lifts as if that’s enticing and she goes over to the karaoke machine’s screen and browses.
I lean over her shoulder as she swipes past song options. A piece of her hair, tied in a ponytail, tickles my nose. I inhale her spring and jelly bean scent. Standing this close, warmth cascades between us, which is far better than the Ice Queen treatment I received when I first got to town.
Spending time with Heidi and Bunny this afternoon was so normal, that it highlighted all the ways my life up until this point has been anything but.
My brother and I were ten years apart, and I took care of him. Changed diapers and everything. Practically raised the kid. Everything after that was a storm of chaos and pain. The only thing that made it better, in a very backward way, was getting my butt kicked on the rink until I got so good, I had something to count on—a future to hope for.
I never looked back until now and realize I’ve been missing out.
It’s one thing to set a goal to be a professional hockey player. It’s another to plan long-term, to prepare and build a life that comes after I hang up my skates and retire. Coming back here made me live less in the moment and look more at the long view.
“I’m going to regret this,” Heidi says in a tone that suggests she’ll make sure I do too.
“Please don’t spit in my food to exact revenge,” I say as we step in front of the mic.
“Ready for nothing?” she asks as the first strains of the song sound over the speaker.
I instantly recognize the ABBA tune, “Take a Chance On Me.” The chorus is memorable and catchy, but the lines in between have me tripping over my tongue even though we’re reading them off the screen. The audience sings along which might make this slightly less painful for Heidi . . . and me, even though in my pre-suspension life I was a bit of a showman—comes with the territory of playing defense.
On the next chorus, my arm finds its way around Heidi’s shoulders as we sing our hearts out. Our eyes shine, our smiles beam, and there’s a certain glow between us that I’m vaguely aware of. But the moment I realize it, like catching a snowflake, it disappears from my fingers and I flub a line.
Heidi just looks at me and laughs like this is the most fun she’s had in a long time, possibly ever. She has the same kind of glee in her gaze as when Bunny plays Buckaroo or rocketed down the “Big slide” earlier. It’s innocent and free and happy.
When we get to the end, we’re both close to the microphone. Heidi’s eyes shine, her cheeks are pink, and her smile is bright.
I knew I’d placed a winning bet.
Somehow, we exit the stage the same way we entered, hand in hand. Heidi looks down and then quickly lets go as everyone applauds our performance.
Someone gives me a high five. Another claps me on the back. A guy wearing sunglasses says, “Not too shabby for a hockey player.” A woman with big hair adds, “That’s going to be your wedding dance song!”
Heidi shrinks and then disappears into the crowd as the next person takes the stage for karaoke night. The guys congratulate me. About an hour later, after talking hockey and receiving stern orders not to be late for practice—which means be early—they still saddle me with the tab.
I linger, thinking Derek might swing by for a game of pool. When he doesn’t, and the rest of the patrons filter out, I’m still finishing my drink. Heidi and the other servers bustle around, likely eager to close up .
Various hockey games play on the televisions situated around the pub and music plays low, all the karaoke volunteers spent.
I’m not quite sure why I’m still here, other than I can be. Up until I left Cobbiton, anytime I remained stationary too long in this town, I’d start to feel twitchy. It was like I feared the past might catch up to me or the future might handcuff me to the spot and I’d never escape.
But now, it feels different. I can be here without looking for exits, strategizing how I’ll break out, or otherwise say goodbye to this place for good.
Life in Cobbiton was a prison sentence until now. I can’t put my finger on what changed, other than that I grew up and matured, but it’s a welcome feeling . . . and being described as a hometown hero, rather than the loser who was suspended, feels good.
Even better than that, though, is Heidi approaching me, hands full of dirty glasses.
“Don’t tell me you can’t pay the bill and are going to see if you can wash dishes?” she asks.
I tip my head toward the table and say, “The money and tip are on the table. I was reminiscing.”
“I thought you hated it here?”
I didn’t expect her to have noticed that. “Past tense. Cobbiton isn’t so bad.”
“You always had one eye on the door.”
I nod because she’s right. “Funny how life put us both back here. Humbling.”
“Irritating.”
My phone beeps at the same time hers vibrates in her apron.
Derek’s name flashes on my screen and guilt thickens in my throat. He gave me the I’m the big brother and I will beat you down look when we were at his place and it slipped out that I’d given Heidi a ride home from the Ice Palace. It’s not like I was keeping it a secret. Was she? Then again, that night he insisted I follow her home in case his Dad’s old Dodge broke down.
I open the text to find a video of Heidi and me on the karaoke stage.
She stares at a similar video on her phone but from a slightly different angle. “Looks like our performance was entertaining.”
Heidi’s phone vibrates again and mine blows up with messages. I try to keep up with them.
She shoves her phone into her apron. “I guess it’s gone viral.”
“Your brother said you have the golden touch.”
She opens and closes her mouth as if reflexively inclined to disagree, but then stops herself. She holds up a finger and then says, “For the record, I didn’t do anything special. We were just singing.”
As I watch the video on my phone, it’s obvious that’s not true. We weren’t just singing. That snowflake melting moment wasn’t in my head. The flashes of our gazes, the way we leaned close, sang in harmony, and then joined hands and bowed at the end was total chemistry.
I felt it then, but not now because Heidi stomps off, apparently regretting our duet . . . or just continuing to try to convince herself that she hates me.
Hurrying after her, I say, “I’m not sure whether to apologize or thank you.”
“The whole thing was dumb.” The ketchup bottles clang as she gathers them.
“Yes, but there’s no denying that it makes people happy.”
“Grady—” Her eyebrows pinch together as if I’m not making it easy for her to continue to fake hate me .
“Have you thought about my social media comeback campaign?”
“Yes. No.”
My spirits sink. “Yes, you’ve thought about it and it’s a no?”
“I’ve sort of thought about it, but I can only do so much multitasking. I have to finish closing so everyone can go home.” She gestures to the dining room.
“I’ll help.” I pitch in, turning over chairs, sweeping up popcorn, and restocking the server station with napkins while keeping up with Heidi.
I say, “Cara’s notes indicate that they want social media trends, pizzazz, corn.”
“Do you know how dangerous it is while skating when the Zamboni misses kernels?”
Brow furrowed with confusion, I say, “The Lions’ fans didn’t throw corn cobs.”
“No, they threw underwear. And, I’m afraid I have a pair in my pant leg.”
I go still. “What?”
“For my entire shift, I’ve had a piece of laundry—could be a sock, a pair of underwear, who knows what—lodged in my pant leg thanks to a combination of how snug these pants are and static cling.”
My urge to help is strong but entirely uncertain, along with the laughter building inside. “Um, maybe visit the bathroom?”
“I haven’t had a chance all night.” Her shoulders drop as she exhales, exhausted.
“I can handle these salt and pepper shakers. You go take off your pants.” My cheeks instantly blaze. “That sounded wrong. I did not say that. Do not tell your brother I said that.”
As Heidi hurries off, I glance around to make sure he didn’t appear like a ghostly goon, ready to pound me.
Derek and I have been friends for most of our lives. After everything that went down with Trey, the notion of any man entertaining anything except for ’til death do we part with his sister is totally off limits. Even that is questionable, with emphasis on the death part.
Plus, despite Heidi’s hockey player prejudice, which is somewhat understandable, she deserves a man who is kind, caring, steady, and present. Not to toot my own horn, but I feel confident in the first three. The last one trips me up. I’ll be traveling for games, making me often absent—like my father and, ultimately, my mother. I’ve broken the mold in so many ways, but I worry that’s where it ends. There were only so many coins in my pocket and I’ve spent them all.
Something small and soft hits me in the chest. I catch it before it drops to the floor which is still somehow sticky with soda and popcorn even though someone mopped. I’m holding a tiny pink sock with little sticky hearts on the bottom. Holding it up, I’ve never seen something so adorable.
Heidi says, “Thankfully, it was one of Bunny’s socks, all balled up.”
“Glad you still have your underwear on,” I blurt.
Heidi’s eyes widen and once more, I’m afraid her brother lurks nearby, but it’s just the two of us. Actually, we’re the last people at the pub.
She flicks off the lights except for one by the door.
“Another night at the Fish Bowl in the books.” Heidi dusts off her hands and locks up.
We step outside. As spring kicks out the last of the winter chill, the air is moist and slightly warm.
After being in the pub for the better part of the night, my voice sounds extra loud when I say, “You don’t usually work nights.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I need all the sleep I can get to keep up with a twenty-three-month-old. ”
“That means Bunny’s birthday is soon.”
“She was born on Easter, but since it shifts around every year, it’s off by a few days.”
“You’re an amazing mom, Heidi.”
She leans against the building’s brick wall as if needing support to remain standing. “If you’re measuring me against my mom, I don’t even come close.”
“Give yourself some credit. But no, I’m measuring you against mine.” I realize that might sound offensive if she knew my mother, but it’s because they’re both single moms.
“I’ve never heard you talk about her. Figured you were raised by feral cats in a cornfield.”
I chuckle. “Close enough.”
Much like when we were in my truck on the ride back from the Ice Palace that first time, silence sits between us. It welcomes us to stay or go our separate ways. I’d prefer the former even though I know it could get me into a world of trouble with Heidi’s brother.
“Let me walk you to your car,” I say.
She starts to the parking lot. “Such a gentleman.”
“See? Not all hockey players are bad.”
“That’s still up for debate.” We stop in front of her white 4Runner.
“I’ll take some credit, too.” I’m about to list my reasons when Heidi’s phone vibrates repeatedly in her pocket.
She checks it. “Ugh. Another video of us doing karaoke. I guess there’s no escaping you.”
“I suppose not.” My voice comes out a bit lower than I expect.
Her gaze flicks to mine. Once more, her eyes shine and the corners of her lips play with a smile.
It’s the kind that causes a flare inside. “It’s a small town.”
“Sure is. Everyone knows everyone’s business.” She lets out a breathy sigh.
“Mrs. Gormely is probably watching us right now.”
“Nah. She’s fast asleep, dreaming about unee-corns.”
Heidi laughs. “That would be Bunny.”
“Plus, everybody doesn’t know everything,” I say vaguely because that everybody includes me. I’m not quite sure what my feelings for Heidi mean, but something inside sparks.
We move closer together.
A smile slides across Heidi’s face and she wiggles her nose.
That trips the wire.
First, I kiss her there.
Next, she kisses my jaw.
We play connect the dots until our lips meet.
Then my hands circle her waist. Hers wrap around my neck.
My pulse perks up while her chest heaves with each breath as the kiss deepens, making me forget yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
Then a thought that’s been chasing me catches up. It’s a two-hundred-pound thought. Light brown hair. Freckles. Built like a brick wall.
If Derek finds out about this, I’m dead.
But like checking the opposition on the ice, I don’t let anything stop me from giving Heidi what she deserves.
All of me in this kiss.