Now or Never

by Victoria Denault

  The long narrow road dead-ends at the arena, so as soon as Holden pulls into the large, pothole-filled parking lot and turns right, I demand that poor Sterling turn left and park in between a van and a Hummer.

  “Listen, Winnie, I’m not, like, judging you, but this is not what Lyfts are supposed to be used for,” Sterling lectures.

  I ignore him and lean forward in my seat, peering at Holden through the windshield as he gets out of his truck, walks around to the back and opens his truck bed box and pulls out skates and a stick.

  He’s leaving work to play hockey? That doesn’t make any sense. I wait until he’s disappeared inside, count to ten and then get out. I turn back to Sterling and shoot him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Thanks for indulging me. I will give you that tip.”

  “Okay,” he says, looking leery. “Let me give you a tip. Don’t stalk your boyfriend.”

  “He’s my contractor!” I call, but Sterling has driven off already.

  True to my word, I punch in a twenty-dollar tip in the app and a five-star rating, as I hurry across the parking lot. As I swing open the door and step inside the arena, I’m shocked and yet not shocked by the fact that everything is the same as it was when I was a teenager. Same chipped blue paint on the cinderblock walls, same green doors on the locker rooms, same rinky-dink concession stand tucked into the corner at the far end. I wonder for a fleeting second if Holden’s coming here because he’s going to be renovating it. Lord knows it could use it. But then the ice comes into view and I notice a bunch of pint-size hockey players. There’s also a handful moms in the stands, most of them staring at their phones.

  A whistle blows and three grown men skate across the ice to the center. One of them is Holden. They divide the kids into two groups and start calling out drills. Holden Hendricks is coaching hockey. I raise a hand to my chest and lay it over my heart as I sigh in relief. But why didn’t he want to tell me this? He can’t be embarrassed by this—it’s heartwarming!

  I watch him for about half an hour, sneaking my way into the stands and tucking myself behind a couple of moms so I don’t stand out. The longer I watch him, the more I realize it’s more the just warming my heart to see him out there gliding across the ice and laughing and smiling with the kids. It’s warming other parts too. Because it’s fucking hot. I’ve always thought of Holden as this tough, brooding, hard-ass type but here, with these young kids, he’s lighter. He’s smiling and joking and when one of them gets frustrated and smacks his stick against the boards after he flubs a drill, Holden skates him to a corner, pops off the kid’s helmet, squats down and gives him what looks like a pep talk. The kid skates back to the group with a big smile on his face.

  I know I should sneak back out and call another Lyft, if I haven’t been banned from the service, but I can’t take my eyes off Holden. It’s an indulgence to see him like this and I’ve never been good with moderation when it comes to indulgences. I once ate an entire chocolate cream pie. For breakfast.

  “Duke is developing quite the slap shot,” one mom says to another, pointing to a boy wearing a number three on his jersey.

  “He says Holden taught him a new way to grip his stick that’s helping,” the other mother says in a tight, tense tone. “He acts like Holden is a freaking messiah.”

  “Well, he is doing a great job as a coach,” the first mom counters.

  “If only he did the same bang-up job as a brother,” the other woman bites back and as she glances at her friend, I catch a solid look at her profile. Is that…Bradie?

  I didn’t know Bradie at all when we were kids. I think I saw her maybe twice my entire childhood. She was a few years older than me and she didn’t hang out with all the neighborhood kids like Holden did. She was a bookworm who spent the majority of her summers inside. She hated the beach and the ocean and hockey and all the stuff that we lived for back then.

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” she says. “Duke is failing classes and the rule is if he doesn’t get good grades, he doesn’t get to play. Which is fine because the longer he hangs around his uncle, the bigger his disappointment will be when Holden gets tired of being a good, reliable guy.”

  She must feel the weight of my stare because she glances over her shoulder and I immediately avert my eyes, but it’s too late. She does a double take, tucks her long flat brown hair behind her ear to get a better look and speaks. “I know you.”

  Inwardly I’m groaning as I slowly bring my eyes back to hers. “Yeah. I’m Winnie Braddock.”

  “Shit! Right!” Bradie smiles. “Your brother used to play with my brother, and now he plays hockey professionally, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Jude plays for the San Francisco Thunder.”

  “Right.” Bradie’s brow furrows. “What are you doing here?”

  “I-I,” I stutter and swallow. “I was in the area, so I just wandered in. Walk down memory lane and everything. I spent a lot of time here as a kid because of Jude.”

  I shift uncomfortably on the hard concrete bench and change the subject. “Your brother is actually renovating our cottage.”

  “Yeah?” Bradie’s eyebrows shoot up. “How’s that going?”

  “Fantastic,” I say. “He’s doing an incredible job. We’re really pleased. He’s professional and the quality of work is top-notch.”

  I feel like I’m passionately reciting a Yelp review, but I don’t care. Something inside me feels the deep need to defend Holden. Bradie is silent for a second as she absorbs what I said and then she nods. “I’m pleasantly surprised to hear that.” She pauses and her eyes narrow. “Aren’t you the girl who punched him?”

  A whistle blows on the ice and we all turn to see what’s going on. The older guy calls the end of practice and my blood runs cold. I have to get out of here before Holden sees me. Although I’m sure his sister will probably mention I was here. Shit. I definitely didn’t think this through. Bradie and her mom friend both stand and start down the stands. I sit there, frozen by a complete lack of any idea of what to do, and of course Holden glances up from center ice where he’s talking to his nephew and of course his eyes land right on me. Of course.

  He looks completely stunned. His nephew skates to the boards, where Bradie is now standing. Holden stays put, staring at me. I bite my bottom lip and give him a little guilty shrug as if to say Yeah I know I’m as surprised as you are that I’m here. He shakes his head. His nephew calls him and as he skates to the boards, I decide it’s time to bolt. I scurry down the concrete risers and am about to disappear down the hall to the front door when he calls my name.

  “Winona!” His tone isn’t angry. It’s actually maybe slightly amused.

  I turn slowly, like a Scooby-Doo criminal being caught by those dastardly kids. Holden is waving me over as Bradie and Duke look on. I slink my way toward them and smile at Bradie. “Hi again.” And then I turn to Duke. “You must be Duke. Hi, I’m Winnie.”

  “Hi, Winnie.” He waves at me, his hand engulfed in a giant hockey glove. “You know my uncle?”

  I nod. “He’s working on my cottage, but I’ve known him since he was just a little bit older than you.”

  “Remember I told you I used to play with Jude Braddock from the San Francisco Thunder?” Holden says to Duke and he nods. “This is one of his sisters.”

  Duke’s brown eyes are the size of hockey pucks and he turns back to me. “Your brother is the coolest hockey player ever. He’s the best in the league. I try to model my game after him. You’re so lucky.”

  Behind him, Holden’s face burst into a goofy grin as I try not to laugh out loud at the cute kid. I am so proud of Jude and I know he deserves to be idolized for his skills and abilities but at the same time, he’s my brother and I used to watch him stick Legos up his nose. “You know next time Jude is in town I can get him to come here and skate with your guys. He can teach you some moves himself if you want.”

  “Hell, yes!”

  “Duke!” Bradie chastises.

  “Sorry, but serious
ly that would make my life,” Duke declares.

  “Go get changed. We need to get you home to start on your schoolwork,” Bradie says sternly and Duke nods, despite being visibly disappointed. He skates off to the other corner of the ice where the tunnel to the changing rooms is located. She then turns to me and smiles. “I appreciate your offer and we may take you up on it one day if you’re serious.”

  “Deadly serious,” I reply and cross my heart. “Jude is all about encouraging young players.”

  “Well, Duke probably won’t be playing at that point. At least not on a team,” Bradie says, and I remember what she was telling her mom friend. “He just tanked another test.”

  “So you’re pulling him out? For sure?” Holden asks and the dread is dripping off his voice. It occurs to me suddenly that his nephew is why he’s coaching. And right now as Bradie says yes he looks like someone just sucked the life out of him. My heart clenches.

  “What subject is he struggling with?” I ask.

  “Math mostly. Although his social studies grade isn’t great either.”

  “I could tutor him,” I say without even thinking about it. Bradie and Holden both let their jaws drop. “I’m a certified teacher in Canada and I spent the last year and half tutoring grade school kids at an acclaimed after-school program in San Francisco. You can call them for references.”

  Bradie’s expression goes from stunned to cold. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified, but honestly, I can barely keep a roof over our head. No matter what you charge, I can’t afford you.”

  “I’ll pay,” Holden volunteers but I shake my head.

  “I’m not charging,” I say firmly. Bradie opens her mouth to object but I raise my hand to stop her. “Look, I just lost my dad after watching him suffer through a brutal illness. I’m just trying to take baby steps back into the real world. If you let me tutor Duke, it will be doing me a favor too, so I don’t just sit at home watching Holden work and wallowing. It will make me feel good to help him. He seems like a good kid.”

  Bradie’s face instantly softens and she reaches out and touches my arm gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” I manage a weak smile. “So let me tutor Duke. I can do it twice a week for an hour. We’ll work around hockey practices. It can’t hurt.”

  “No, it definitely can’t,” Bradie agrees and smiles. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” I give her my email so she can send me his current curriculum. She hugs me as Duke appears with some other boys walking toward us on the outside of the rink, hauling their giant equipment bags. “I’ll see you later.”

  I turn to leave, but Holden reaches over the boards and touches my shoulder. I turn to look at him and he’s got this really intense expression I have never seen before. “I’m driving you home.”

  It’s old Holden, all demanding and gruff, and I feel heat build between my legs. “I can take an Uber.”

  “I’m driving you.”

  I nod.

  Bradie and Duke are halfway to the front door, walking with her friend from earlier and her son, when she turns back. “Wait a minute…you didn’t answer me earlier. Are you the one who punched Holden when you were teenagers?”

  Holden groans.

  “Yup!” I smile guiltily.

  “What?” her mom friend gasps.

  “Trust me, he probably deserved it,” Bradie tells her friend.

  “I did,” Holden mumbles, but I don’t think they can hear him.

  “Holden was a completely different person then,” I tell her.

  The mom friend still looks kind of horrified, but she nods and leaves, Bradie and Duke following along with her. I turn back to Holden. That weird intense look on his face has deepened. “I’ll be two minutes. Don’t move.”

  I watch him shoot across the ice and head off down the tunnel toward the locker rooms. I wander to the entrance doors and stare out at the emptying parking lot. By the time I hear footsteps behind me, there are only two trucks left in the darkening parking lot—his and the rink manager’s I assume. I glance over my shoulder to find Holden right behind me. He reaches up, cups both my shoulders and turns me around. The feel of his hands on me makes that warmth inside me grow hotter.

  And then, without a word, he covers my mouth with his in a hungry kiss. I wrap my hands around his waist, my finger curling around the fabric of the back of his shirt, and he tangles his hands in my hair as his tongue slips into my mouth. I welcome him with a whimper. He presses his whole body against me, and the glass door rattles as my back hits it and he rolls his hips, grinding his hardness against my belly. I tug harder on his shirt, struggling to overcome the urge to just pull it off his body right here. The need to feel his skin against mine is blinding.

  “Take me home. Please,” I beg against his lips. He grunts a yes and, holding my hand firmly in his, pulls me through the front doors and to his car.

  The ride home is excruciating. All I want to do is strip him naked, run my lips and tongue over every part of him and then ride him into oblivion, but I have to wait. He’s staring straight ahead the whole ride and pushing the speed limit, clearly as eager as I am to get home. I move my hand to his thigh and let it ride up, skimming over his strong, hard muscles until I land on his rock-hard cock. I press my palm gently into it and rub him through his jeans. His jaw flexes under his scruffy beard and his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

  “Winnie…” He hisses my name as a warning. A warning of what? That if I don’t stop he’ll pull over and take me on the side of the road? Like that’s something I don’t want? I squeeze him again.

  We’re on the long, narrow main road that leads into our town. It’s lined on both sides with century-old pines, which is where Ocean Pines got half its name. The area is technically parkland, but other than a few bird-watching tourists and kids looking for a place to drink in the summer, it’s always empty. When I rub him slowly for a third time he yanks the wheel to the left, cutting across the double line and pulling the truck into the edge of the trees, off the street. He jams it in park, unclips his seat belt and lunges across the cab to kiss me again.

  “You push every damn button, good or bad, that I’ve ever had,” he growls against my throat, his beard scratching my skin and sending prickles of pleasure through my body.

  “I’m just returning the favor,” I say and dip my head to join our lips.

  If our last kiss was hungry, this one is starving. He reaches around me and unclips my seat belt and then, yanks me closer. I do one better and climb right into his lap, never breaking the kiss.

  We’re tugging and yanking at each other’s clothes like desperate, wild animals. I manage to get his shirt off and he gets mine up enough that he can pull down my bra and wrap those perfect lips around my nipples. But then as I fumble with the belt on his jeans and bang a knee against the console next to me, I realize that anything more in the confines of this front seat is impossible. Holden is a big boy—in every way—and I’m too tall for this too.

  He must have the same thoughts as he tugs on the back of my leggings and accidentally punches the horn. He pulls his mouth from my breasts and tips his head back to look at me. His silver-blue eyes are wild. “Fuck this.”

  He reaches for the door handle and pushes open the door with one hand wrapping the other around my back. He starts to turn, getting out of the car with me still sitting on him so I wrap my legs around his back. He places his free hand on top of my head pushing it down a little. “Watch your head.”

  He swings his legs out, stands up and starts walking. The setting sun isn’t penetrating the thick overhang of pines much and so everything around us is dark and the air cool. The pine needles crunch underneath his work boots and I close my eyes and kiss my way up the side of his neck, his jugular pumping wildly beneath my lips. Then suddenly the sound under his feet grows solid. I look down. He’s on the small, covered footbridge that runs over a tiny ravine about fifty feet into the forest.

  It�
�s even darker in here and it smells like wet wood planks and damp pine needles. His lips glance over my jaw. “I’m going to fuck you right here.”

  He lowers us to his knees. I unhook my legs from his waist and kneel in front of him as he quickly unfastens his belt and jeans. I push my leggings down my thighs along with my thong. “No,” I tell him kissing his collarbone lightly before nipping it. “I’m going to fuck you right here.”

  I grab his shoulders and push him back. He falls back onto his bare ass as I get one leg out of my leggings and climb into his lap again. His wide, strong hands spread out across my back just below my bra and he bites a nipple through the thin cotton fabric. It causes me to arch my back and push my bare pussy into his bare shaft. If lightning clapped across the sky right now it would be less electric than the current that runs through me from that intimate touch.

  I grab his head in my hands and join our lips again, my tongue sweeping into his mouth, colliding with his. I pull my hips up and lower myself onto him. He tenses as soon as my entrance finds his tip. But I refuse to break the kiss and let him warn me. I know what I’m doing. I hold his head in place, keeping my lips to his and lower myself completely over him. But he grabs my hips before I can start to ride him.

  His light eyes are clouded with lust but serious just the same. “Winnie. Protection.”

  “IUD,” I whisper and run my hand gently across the side of his face, letting the beard tickle my palm. I lean forward and kiss the side of his jaw just below his earlobe. “And I don’t need protection from you.”

  His grip on my hips relaxes, and I start to move. God, he feels incredible. This is incredible. His hands and lips roam my body as I roll my hips and move up and down, finding the perfect rhythm. As our releases build, he starts whispering to me, his lips against the crook of my neck.