Puckless (Hockey Heroes Book 1), page 8
Approaching the counter, I glanced at Ryan with a twinkle in my eye and then placed my order. “Hot cocoa for me, please.”
“And a black coffee for me.”
With our orders taken, we found a small table near the window where the frosty panes displayed delicate little snowflakes clinging to the outside surface. I couldn’t take my eyes off Ryan’s face while I tried to shake daydreams of tackling him to the floor under the table.
“Today was amazing,” I said. I tugged off my gloves and reached across the table. “Why am I so happy when I’m with you?”
Ryan echoed my movements and took my hand in his. While his thumb moved in slow, tender circles on my knuckles, he said, “Can’t answer that for you, but I know that I feel the same. Who would have thought a simple snow day could be so much fun? Did we earn a third date?”
“As if I would let you get away without one.” A mischievous grin spread across my face while I raised an eyebrow. “Any ideas?”
Ryan chuckled. “Something indoors.” I smiled at his playful tone. “After all, we do need to escape the winter weather.”
I was lost in his eyes when I took my first sip of hot cocoa. The warm sweetness spread through my body. Finally, I’d met a man who could show me what it meant to have a boyfriend, not merely one night of excitement.
Happy about our day but slightly sad that it was ending, we emerged from the coffee shop, still holding hands. A new dusting of snow had fallen, and each step we took left behind our prints, marking our path. We met our rides home a block away at a bustling intersection.
Looking into Ryan’s eyes, I pleaded, “Promise me we’ll do this again soon.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. “Promise,” he whispered.
Reluctantly, I released him and climbed into the waiting car. Settling into the seat, I fastened the seatbelt and glanced back at him out the rear window.
“Good day, sir?” My driver asked, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“The best,” I replied.
Arriving home, I climbed out of my car and trudged to my front door. Kicking off as much snow as possible, I entered the house and climbed the steps.
I shrugged off my heavy coat inside my apartment, shaking loose any stray snowflakes still clinging to it. The warmth of my place was a welcoming hug. I switched on the lights and smiled at the soft glow as it cast long, dramatic shadows that danced on the walls.
Still feeling a little chill seeping into my bones, I headed to the kitchen. The floor of the old house creaked under my weight. I turned on my electric kettle and waited until a plume of steam rose. Seconds later, I had a hot cup of tea to help me settle into the evening.
I sank into the deep cushions of my living room couch and began to replay the day’s highlights in my mind. The memory of Ryan’s laughter and the warmth of his hands in mine filled my heart.
The sudden ring of my phone jarred me out of my reverie. I glanced at the screen, and a smile spread across my face when I saw Ryan’s name.
“Hey, you,” I answered.
“Hey yourself,” Ryan said, a chuckle underlining his words. “I just wanted to tell you—I had a really great time today.”
“Me too,” I said. It was a simple statement, but it was full of emotion.
“We should do it again soon,” Ryan suggested, his voice softer.
“I’d like that.”
We chatted about this, that, and nothing much for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. I stretched out on the sofa, held my phone in my right hand, and fell asleep dreaming of perfect snow angels and abstract snowmen.
TWELVE
RYAN
“Ryan, hey! Park it over here, Mr. Parker!” Arlo’s voice carried out from the belly of the bar. It was a dim, warm, and familiar place imbued with the comforting hum of customers engaging in spirited conversations. A constellation of Edison bulbs provided soft lighting.
He was halfway through a trip back home to Chicago after two days spent in Minneapolis. I’d asked him to spend the night, but he insisted that he wanted to drive the rest of the way home after our time together.
“Arlo, you incorrigible scoundrel,” I grinned. I loved following our tradition of creative greetings. The rich scents of worn leather and seasoned wood made me smile. It was a comfortable beginning to what promised to be another memorable evening.
“Ah, your timing is impeccably catastrophic, as always. Tonight’s libation—the Ginger Snap,” Arlo announced. He slid a glass with liquid the color of a burnt orange sunset across the small table to me. The glass was cold, beads of condensation coating its side as the sharp scent of ginger stung my senses.
“A toast,” I responded, meeting his glass mid-air. “Here’s to an evening of wicked thoughts and surprising revelations.”
“Here, here,” agreed my best friend as our glasses clinked together.
“So, what’s the latest chronicle in the Book of Arlo?”
“No grand tales. I’m dabbling in the realm of ancient typewriters now.” It was only the latest in a long line of quirky interests.
“Of course you are,” I chuckled. I would have followed up most nights with questions, but my thoughts were straying elsewhere, like a ship unmoored from its dock.
“Ryan? Have you gone space-trekking again?” Arlo snapped his fingers near my eyes. “You seem light years away.”
“Apologies, it’s just—Ethan.”
“Ah, your hunky hockey player. Please—elaborate.” Arlo leaned forward and balanced his chin on the palm of his hand.
“We’ve been shooting some clever comments back and forth, and our dates can feel a little like a slapstick stage show sometimes.”
“Sounds like pure Ryan-esque repartee,” Arlo said. He looked directly into my eyes like he was probing for something more.
I continued, “There’s something in the way he looks at me, something fierce—an expression that’s a little like I see in you when you’re trying to solve a Rubik’s cube.”
“Fascinating.” Arlo’s fingers thoughtfully traced the rim of his near-empty Ginger Snap. “And how do you respond to this fiery intensity?”
“It’s exhilarating but a little unnerving, to be honest. I’m a little reluctant to say it, but it feels like I’m on the verge of tumbling headlong down the hill with Ethan.”
“Whoa, hold up there,” Arlo demanded. He wagged a finger at me. “You’re in deep waters with your hockey stud.”
“Deep waters? How so?” I fought to avoid blushing. It felt a little like he caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.
“Don’t play the innocent game with me.” Arlo sank back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared directly at me. “You never talked about Zach this way.”
“Zach?” I snorted at my memories of a fleeting fling from my past. “That was a passing storm,” I insisted.
“Precisely—that battered your island for six months.” Arlo’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Ethan, on the other hand, is a deeper current already. You have to admit that.”
I paused while an intensely emotional wave washed over me. Arlo was my perpetually supportive confidant. He’d never let me down. I pulled myself together and said, “Yes, it’s true. It’s a whole lot more than a crush on Ethan. He’s worming his way deep into my heart.”
Arlo cringed. “Ah—a heartworm analogy. I think he deserves a little better than that.”
We both laughed out loud as Arlo called for another round of drinks.
“So you admit to the depth of feeling,” he grinned with a look of triumph in his eyes. “Let’s look at it—hold it in your hand like you’re examining one of the Crown Jewels. What about Ethan makes you so eager to dive in deep with him?”
I contemplated the question as my second drink arrived. It wasn’t just the banter or Ethan’s combination of a handsome face and impressive body. “I think it’s intangible,” I said, pushing ice cubes around with my straw.
“Wit can light the spark,” Arlo said, “but to keep the fire burning, you must dig deeper and explore your feelings. You’ve always been my compass when I’ve waded into uncharted territories.”
His words resonated deeply. I had helped be a guiding light when he lost himself in a whirlwind of emotions in the past. It was time to let him help me navigate my internal seas.
“You know, I think his ability to see me clearly keeps drawing me in, and he wants to be together. From that day in the locker room when he couldn’t wait for his friend, Nate, to get out of the way, Ethan has made it clear that he wants to be at my side.”
“See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Arlo grinned. He raised his glass in a toast. “To the adventure of self-exploration and acceptance of our feelings.”
I clinked my glass with him while a soft smile played across my lips. “To that,” I agreed.
Arlo had another tricky question to ask. “What do you think the future holds?”
I swallowed hard and decided to bare my soul. “I—I think he might be the one.”
"Ah, the bug has bitten! This one is swift and brutal,” Arlo exclaimed. “It does happen—even to the best of us. However, please remember, dear friend, that love is a journey, not a race. Take one step at a time.”
“Thanks for the wise words.” I needed them, and Ethan probably did, too. “I just—um—he’s a star, at least in his own world—what if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not the one for him?”
Arlo gripped my hand in the center of the table. “No talking like that allowed—you’re Ryan Parker. You’ve got this. If the hockey hunk can’t see what an amazing catch you are, then he doesn’t deserve you—case closed. That said—I suspect he feels the same.”
“Really?” Hope blossomed deep in my chest.
“Absolutely,” he confirmed. “Now, go speak your heart out. Genuine, open conversation is the foundation of a strong bond.”
“Alright, yeah—I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’ve got this,” he repeated. “Remember, I’m always here for you.”
That night, I left the bar with a light, happy heart. Ethan and I still had a long journey ahead of us, but for the first time, I believed in the possibility of a long-term future together. With Arlo’s unwavering support, I knew I was ready to walk the path with my new boyfriend hand-in-hand.
THIRTEEN
ETHAN
“Good morning, Betty!” A familiar greeting echoed through my favorite diner. It was Ryan’s cheerful voice. He scanned the restaurant’s tomato-red booths and black and white checkerboard tile floor before spotting me.
I waved my hands in the air from our favorite corner spot. The comfortable sounds of a diner during the mid-morning rush swirled around me. The familiar scents of freshly-brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. Ryan slid into the booth across from me, looking as handsome as ever.
“Wait—you can’t sit yet.”
He tilted his head to the right, and a look of confusion spread over his face, but he followed my lead and stood. I wrapped him up in a quick hug while we both glanced around, still a little wary about who might guess the embrace was more than just friendly.
“Ahh—nice,” Ryan said as he sat again. “Are you ready for a big day?” he asked, pointing at my duffel bag on the floor.
“Yep—road tripping again, but you know it’s one of the necessary evils. It’s the hockey life.” We’d arranged to grab a quick bite together before my bus left to shorten our time apart by a few hours. I’d always taken the trips out of town in stride, but now that I was dating Ryan, it was different. The thought of being apart from him felt like an invisible cord tightening around my chest.
Our favorite server, Betty, approached the table with her pen poised over a notepad. “Two coffees, please,” Ryan ordered. He pointed at me. “And make his pitch black like an oil slick.”
I chuckled. “Add the lumberjack special—make it three eggs, sunny-side up, instead of two, and double the bacon and sausage.”
Ryan’s jaw dropped. “Are you folding some of that up and packing it away for later?”
“I can’t slide around on the ice on an empty stomach, can I? This is rocket fuel.”
“And for me, just avocado toast and a bowl of fresh fruit,” Ryan said.
“Avocado toast? Are you sure you’re not Biedler in disguise? He eats avocados on everything. I was worried he would dunk it in his coffee the other day.”
Ryan leaned partway across the table. “Unlike you, Mr. Muscleman, I have to battle a bit to maintain my physique.” He followed the comment with a hearty laugh, and I happily joined him.
“Did I mention that I dropped the Madison Mitts team profile?”
My eyes opened wide. “No—what’s up? The guys are treating you okay, aren’t they?”
“I got a little concerned that my relationship with—um—the team captain might color my work a bit.”
I faked looking around. “Team captain—who’s that?”
“I hope you don’t forget—they’re counting on you.”
“I understand why you’d back out of the article, and I don’t think the guys will much care. They said you were pretty easy on them, but your editor? What did she say?”
Ryan shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal, and she gave me a new assignment.”
“What is that?”
He waved his hands in spooky gestures. “Top secret—at least for now.”
Through the steam of our coffees, I looked at Ryan’s jade-green eyes and found it hard to look away.
“Why don’t you tell me about your NHL dreams, Ethan? Are they as strong as ever?”
“Is this on or off the record,” I asked.
“Pure personal curiosity, but I do wonder how your answer would be different.”
“More detail, maybe.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I think I told you I’d always been into ice skating because of Mom, but then a friend’s Dad suggested that I try hockey when I was thirteen and getting too big for jumps on skates. I got my first stick, and I slapped my first puck. I feel like I’ve lived hockey ever since.”
“What do you like best about it?”
I rubbed my thumb on the edge of the table. “It might make me sound a little shallow, but I think it’s the sound of the crowd—that roar when I score a goal. It’s a high nothing else can match.”
“Performing for an audience—it’s an Ethan Underwood thing,” Ryan said.
I laughed. “I guess so, and then there’s the challenge of making it to the NHL.”
“And you’re closer than ever, aren’t you?” Ryan’s words made the dream sound possible.
“I might be if I keep up the pace,” I always tried to play down the NHL dream because it all sounded overwhelming if it ever came true.
“What about you?” I asked. “Your passion for sports journalism—what keeps that fire burning? You told me how it started, but that was years ago.”
“The thrill of the chase,” Ryan said with a twinkle of amusement lighting up his eyes. “Unraveling a story, dissecting facts, providing an insight into the world of sports. Also, I love trying to figure out enigmatic athletes like you. Not to mention how unique players like Marek and Biedler are.”
“Me, enigmatic?” I did my best to play innocent.
“You’re harder to crack than a walnut, Ethan. There’s more to you than hockey, and then there’s the playful guy who loves building snow people.”
“I’ll take that all as a compliment.”
The conversation took a turn as I confessed one of my darkest fears, the shadowy corners of my dream. “It’s easy to dream about the future, but then I also worry about how my body will hold up. I’ve been on the wrong side of some nasty body checks. I’ve suffered from twisted ankles, wrenched shoulders—you know, the fun stuff.”
Ryan’s eyes showed concern. “Bad?”
“Mostly minor. But there’s always that lingering fear, you know. One wrong fall and it could all be over,” I confessed.
“Listen, Ethan,” Ryan’s voice softened to a whisper. He extended his hand and placed it on top of mine. The action sent a warm sensation surging through me. “You’re an exceptional player. Don’t let fear sideline you.”
“Thank you.” My voice was shaky, showing the intensity of my concern. “And you? Are there things you worry about in your work?” I asked.
“The temptation to compromise integrity is probably the hardest,” Ryan said. “There is so much pressure to draw attention to what you write. Sensationalizing things is tempting, but I won’t trade my ethics for clickbait.”
A broad smile filled my face. Ryan was a man of integrity, which only made me want him more.
“To integrity,” I said, raising my coffee cup, a toast to a shared goal.
“Integrity,” he echoed, his cup chiming against mine.
A few short minutes later, our breakfast arrived. Our server delivered me a breakfast mountain—scrambled eggs flecked with black pepper, plump sausage links glistening with fat, crisp bacon, golden-crusted hash browns, and slices of toast with melting butter. The table almost needed sideboards to hold the feast. In contrast, Ryan’s meal was a modest plate with a piece of avocado toast accompanied by a bowl of cut fruit.
“Good lord, Ethan,” Ryan laughed, his eyes twinkling as he looked at my food. “Are you sure you can stomach that breakfast Everest?”
“Hey, the road trip demands a full tank,” I shot back as I attacked my meal with gusto. “Skaters need their calories.”
As the meal progressed, the conversation deepened. Between mouthfuls of buttered toast, I reminisced about my childhood spent under the vigilant care of a single mother who worked two jobs for our survival.
“Everything I needed, Mom provided,” I explained.” Her sacrifices paved my way here.”
Ryan nodded and looked at me thoughtfully over the rim of his coffee mug. “My folks were the same about providing everything, and they buried themselves in their jobs, climbing corporate mountains. Still, they never let me forget they loved me, even when they weren’t around so much.”
