Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  Aria fought so hard not to roll her eyes it probably looked like a facial tick. “Let’s let him focus. He only has twenty-four hours with the Cup.”

  “You’re right, seggw.” Her mother zipped her lips, gesture and all.

  The outsiders may not speak Mi’kmaq, but the gist of it was clear enough. Hard to look intimidating with your sweet, little, mother following you around, diminishing your authority with childhood endearments. A few smirks passed between the crew, but they were wise enough not to say anything. A grin twitched at the edges of Bear’s mouth, though he fought to squash it.

  I’ll get you later. Engaging now was not an option.

  The photographer took a few more shots then glanced at the film guy. “Okay, what’s next?”

  “I’d like to get some footage of Bear at the cultural center, maybe with Chief Paul if that’d be okay?”

  Aria nodded. Chances had been good she wouldn’t escape the day without at least a picture, at most an interview, but actually being faced with it made her lightheaded. All the warnings from the tribal elders echoed in her ears, their reservations constricting her throat. This is important. This is what I’ve been working for.

  The problem was, as progressive as she’d always been, dedicated to proving that First Nations could blend seamlessly into their native country alongside all other Canadians while proudly embracing their heritage, part of her wasn’t sure. They’d come so far in just the last decade, but the history of fear, misunderstanding, and manipulation made doubt a reflex reaction. Did Bear seriously not feel it, too?

  He cradled the Cup like an infant in his arms and bent his head toward Motz. “I’ll ride with Eddie. It’s a short walk, but there’s a lot of heavy equipment. Aria, could you ride with them?” A nod to the photographer and film guy.

  “Is there room for me to tag along?” Gijú piped up.

  “Of course, Mrs. Paul. The more the merrier.”

  Aria narrowed her eyes at film guy. Just one break. Was that so much to ask?

  Oblivious, the men started off for the SUVs parked around back of the building. Gijú looped her arm through Aria’s, and they brought up the rear. It was hard to stay upset with her mother. “You can’t sweet talk Bear into being your son-in-law. You know that, right? I need to know you know that.”

  “Oh, seggw.”

  “I’m going to need vocal confirmation.”

  Gijú rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to convince him of anything. The man is obviously in love with you. You’re the one I need to work on.”

  “Hold on. I think I might be going deaf. I know I didn’t hear that right.”

  “Aria Paul, when was the last time you let fear be your master?”

  “N—” Never. But Gijú knew that. Was using it. Fierce pride and dogged tenacity were not always Aria’s best qualities, but turning them off wasn’t easy, even knowing she was being baited. And damn it, structured that way, her mother’s argument lit the intended fire. “Okay, you might—might—have a point, but my relationship with Bear is more complicated than going away to university or running for chief. I don’t gamble with my heart.”

  “Love is the only thing worth winning. And it’s not a gamble. It’s earned. Worked for. Bear wants to work for you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me. After the funeral.”

  “He—” Aria cut herself off as they came into earshot of the rest of the group. He what? Why hadn’t either of them told her before? What was she supposed to do with that now? When indignation from the sneakiness of it burned off, it was replaced with an unwelcome, warm, and glowy feeling. He talked to her mother. He was serious. Gijú climbed into film guy’s backseat, and Aria slid in beside her, too distracted to be nervous. Always look for the silver lining. She cleared her throat and lifted her voice. “So, you’ll want to get back on the main road and go down about half a mile. The center is on the left.”

  Film guy gave a thumbs-up. She rubbed her butterfly tattoo and stared out the window.

  Walking the crew and the Cup through the cultural center, Bear had gotten a little choked up. Completely unexpected and a little embarrassing. It’d never occurred to him to do a pre-visit to prepare himself, but there was no way to know it’d hit him that hard. Seeing generations of Bear Mountain’s Mi’kmaq people represented in photographs, artwork, and traditional clothing, reading the plaques from Niskamij’s generation about the Indian Act and how children were forced into abusive boarding schools away from their families … it had tightened his throat and made his eyes gloss over. The stories weren’t new, but experiencing it all packaged together had been overwhelming. A reminder of how far removed he’d gotten from his own people. Aria really had done a good job. Any outsider who went there couldn’t help but leave with a new understanding and appreciation for their history.

  Speaking of the warrior princess, she’d explained every exhibit and answered every question like a seasoned media vet, not so much as flinching when the camera started rolling. In a way, she’d been prepping her whole life for it. A community leader since her teens, there was no one better for Chief. She deserved the role, and the reserve deserved her. Who was he to take her away? She even fit in on the makeshift hockey rink alongside the kids from the reserve currently battling to “win the Cup.”

  A hard check brought him back to the moment and knocked him on his ass. Aria grinned over her shoulder at him before skating away and firing a shot that went straight into the back of the net, her black bicycle shorts flashing as her dress lifted in the breeze. Most women probably didn’t get dressed with the possibility of a pick-up hockey game in mind, but Ari wasn’t most women. A glance at Brian the film guy confirmed his delayed fear. It had indeed been caught on camera. Reserve kids on both teams laughed and whooped, but it was hard to blame them. No one took Big Bear Thompson down on the ice, even though they were currently on the asphalt patch that served as a basketball court and roller hockey rink. Ari was … special. She had a knack for surprising him. It didn’t appear that anyone else was surprised, though, as they lined up to high-five her.

  He laughed. “Hey guys … you know that means we lost, right?”

  The kids on his team waved it off and rallied around their chief. She joked with them, congratulated them all. They looked at her with pride and hope. Attachment. She belongs here. But it was more complicated than that. She belongs with me.

  Edwin brought out the Cup, and everyone on and around the court gasped in chorus. He handed it to Aria, and after an initial wobble, she held it steady and let the kids on her team lift the top half of it. They cheered and hoisted it up while cameras flashed, and a memory pushed to the surface. The night he’d won the Cup with the Rage, after the confetti fell and the crowd started to leave, guys had their families come out to take pictures. They’d posed with their wives and children, the younger guys with their girlfriends and parents. Right then, more than anything, he’d wanted Aria by his side. That’d been it—the defining moment. The wake-up slap in the face putting the last eight years in perspective.

  After a minute or two of pictures, Ollie—today in a red jersey—brought out a jug of carbonated fruit punch—the color of the Cajun Rage—and filled the bowl of the Cup before passing out straws to the victors. No lie—stupid as it was—it stung a little not to get a straw.

  Once the excitement died down, Bear posed for a few more pictures then pulled Aria aside and lowered his lips to her ear. “You know I let you win, right?”

  Her posture went rigid—whether from indignation or arousal, it was hard to tell, but it was dangerous to assume the latter. Woman was still wearing skates, and he wasn’t wearing a jock strap. She clicked her tongue. “It’s sad you need to believe that. You’re just lucky I wasn’t playing for the Spartans a few weeks ago.”

  His ego wanted to deny that, but she sort of had a point. “All right, hot shot.”

  “So, where to next? It’s only noon, and the potlatch isn’t for another two hours.�
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  “After Edwin gives the Cup a spit polish, I thought we could take it to Smith’s and put a mountain of ice cream in it. Two spoons.”

  “When you say spit polish, you don’t mean literal saliva, right? Edwin seems like an okay guy, but he has an almost unnatural relationship with that thing. I think I saw him whispering to it.”

  Bear barked a laugh and glanced at the Cup Keeper, who was at the moment breaking out his spray bottle and that white cloth he always kept in his coat pocket. Why white? ‘To catch every molecule of refuse.’ He then proceeded to scrub and polish every inch of the Cup until it shined like the day it was made. Bear grinned. “Yeah, he’s … unique. Gotta hand it to the guy, though. He knows more about hockey history than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “High praise.”

  “He deserves it. Man’s a walking encyclopedia. Seriously, ask him anything.”

  “Hey Edwin,” Aria called over her shoulder. “Who won the Hart in 1933?”

  “Eddie Shore,” he responded without hesitation or a pause in his cleaning. “Shore also won it in ’35, ‘36, and ’38, the most of any defenseman. So far, only the Great One and Mr. Hockey have won it five times or more.”

  It took a few seconds for Aria’s parted lips to close. She glanced back to Bear. “Okay, you’re right.”

  “I have a feeling I won’t hear that phrase from you maybe ever again, so could you repeat it once more for me?”

  She gave him a shove that rolled him back a few feet, and he laughed.

  “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

  “Ice cream at Smith’s. And then?”

  “And then…” He glided back to her and lowered his voice. “I thought maybe we could visit Niskamij. Just you and me?”

  Any remaining snark evaporated from her face, replaced with solemn respect, and she nodded once.

  9

  Ice cream at Smith’s had been a bigger ordeal than Bear had anticipated, but Aria had expected no less. Two spoons turned into seven by the time their families had scooted in, but considering the amount of ice cream that fit in the bowl of the Cup, she and Bear never would have finished it on their own anyway. Besides, Jesse dropping an icy spoonful of maple pecan down the back of Bear’s shirt and the spazzy dancing that followed were well worth it. Telling the photographer and film crew they had to take a break and couldn’t come to the cemetery was tough for two reasons: one, they’d wanted to capture the whole day and didn’t want to miss an opportunity to highlight the reserve’s culture. Two, the idea of the media wandering around, left to their own devices for an hour made her nauseated. Ollie hadn’t been thrilled to get saddled with the babysitting job, but he’d forgive her. Someday.

  The soft earth of the forest floor made almost no sound as she walked alongside Bear. Edwin had nearly popped the vein in his forehead when they’d asked for an hour’s privacy with the Cup, but he’d respected the sacred nature of their visit. Still, it wouldn’t be a surprise to find him peeking through the trees. They’d invited Nukumi, but the walk was too long for her. Jesse had begged off for suspiciously generic reasons and apparently strong-armed her parents into doing the same. Aria’s mother hadn’t bothered with an excuse. A twinkle in her eye, she’d smiled and said, “Take some time for just the two of you.”

  Any annoyance at their families’ meddling faded away as they stepped under the wrought iron cemetery sign and into the clearing, a well-manicured field home to generations of the reserve’s deceased. The graves were marked with iron carvings of their names as well as painted wooden signs depicting something about each person. It was easy to find Niskamij. They’d only been there a week before, and his sign bore a tall black bear and a small butterfly that matched her tattoo. She’d painted it upon his request, had gotten his approval before he’d passed. He’d denied that it was a depiction of she and his grandson, had claimed that it represented his strong, proud nature and the softer side he reserved for his family. She hadn’t believed him then but pretended to. Now, staring at it with Bear standing so close the heat from his body washed over hers, the truth was clear. Wiley old man. Had he anticipated this actual moment? Most likely.

  Planned or not, the power of it made her chest tight. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together hard, locked her knees. This was not her moment, not the time to get lost in her own emotions.

  Bear set the Cup to the side of the grave sign, one hand resting on the rim. Tough as he was, the slight sway in his posture said it was for balance. “Hey, Niskamij.” His voice rumbled low, showed the strain it took to speak. “I’m glad you knew—before—that I’d won. I just wish I could have shown this to you. I’m sure you can see it now, but you know what I mean. You always supported me. You were my biggest fan, but the first to keep me humble. I may not have appreciated that when I was little—hell, not even when I left—but I do now.” He glanced at her sideways, his gaze thoughtful, piercing.

  Almost beyond her control, she reached out, curled her fingers into the palm of his free hand. No matter what had happened in the past, no matter how cloudy their present or impossible their future, if he was hurting, she wouldn’t deny him comfort. Couldn’t. It was instinctual, a part of the fabric that made her who she was. Deeper than that. A part of their fabric. They’d been bound, were bound, always would be in some way or another. As much as she’d run from that, every passing day showed the truth of it.

  Bear’s hand closed around hers and held tight along with his gaze. Everything he’d wanted to say, everything she hadn’t wanted to hear was expressed in that look, and those damned tears she’d kept in check rolled down her cheeks. I forgive you. Really this time, and from the bottom of her soul because the release of it left her breathless. She nodded once and squeezed his hand. Clean slate. It didn’t mean she could promise anything else, but at least, in this moment, he wasn’t asking for more.

  He knelt and sat back on his legs. The grass was soft, she so followed suit, and it felt good to touch the earth. More connected. Speaking of which, he hadn’t let go of her. She didn’t pull away. It felt like praying together, and that opened another door to her spirit. To Niskamij … and to Bear. The press of their palms was like an open gateway between them, and the effort to keep her walls up was too much. They fell and took with them her role as observer. It was her moment, too. She traced her fingertips over the warm, wooden sign, followed her own brushstrokes. “You knew more than we ever realized, didn’t you?” The breeze picked up again, and she smiled. “I miss you.”

  Bear’s shoulder bumped hers, and his thumb slid over the back of her hand. The gesture was its own response. You have me. Except she only had him for another two months, and then New Orleans would have him. Along with all of its female population. But this wasn’t a place for jealousy or anxiety. In fact, it was hard to hold onto those feelings surrounded by the serene beauty of the field and its border of ancient trees. It was hard to imagine anywhere beyond the reach of the forest, and part of her didn’t want to. They’d grown up walking these woods together, could navigate them blindfolded. Who needed anything else?

  Bear pulled the Cup to lean against him, cradled it like he was afraid it was feeling left out. The corner of her mouth twitched in an almost-smile in spite of herself. He needed more than this. More than the reserve. More than her. And while she might not understand that, how could she blame him? Once upon a time, she’d ventured out for a degree, but while her feet had left Bear Mountain, her heart never had. Hard to live without those pesky things, so she’d come back, and it’d confirmed what she’d always known. I belong here. But Bear didn’t, and it would be selfish to make him feel bad about that.

  “I’m ready to earn it.” Bear’s low voice broke the silence, but the statement didn’t seem directed at her.

  “Earn what?”

  “He knows.” Bear cocked his head toward the grave. “And you will. I hope.”

  She wrinkled her brows. His statement was vague but the intention behind it clear enough with the way his dark
gaze locked onto hers. It would be so easy to fall. She was already halfway there, had always been at least halfway. The temptation to keep falling was intense to the point where resisting felt like walking against hurricane force winds. But there didn’t appear to be a future where they could stay together and both get what they wanted. What they needed. Didn’t he see that? “Bear…”

  “Beat you up the tree.”

  “What?”

  In answer, he sprinted for the old maple in the center of the field—the one tree that had been allowed to stay decades back when this spot had been chosen for the cemetery. A symbol of life and connection with the dead. The roots reached underground and the leaves stretched toward the sun. They’d snuck here alone and climbed it every chance they got. It was a shady, quiet place to pass summer afternoons and made it seem like they were the only two people in the world. His sudden urge to race her up was most likely just a way to avoid another of her reality checks. Her competitive streak wasn’t concerned with technicalities like that.

  In five seconds, she’d nearly collided with him at the base of the tree. Two seconds after that, she grabbed the first branch she could reach and swung her legs up around it. Good thing for the bicycle shorts because her skirt slid up around her hips. The rough bark scraped the underside of her knee as she muscled herself upright, but it was worth the look of shocked defeat on Bear’s devilishly sculpted face as he straightened himself on a branch a second too late.

  “That’s not fair. You’re descended from monkeys or something.”

  She grinned. “Popular theory says we all are. Where’s your animal instinct?”

  Wrong choice of words. Before she could blink, he stood and angled over to her branch then straddled it, facing her. They were perfectly aligned and as close as two people could be while maintaining a torturously thin layer of clothes. With the tree trunk at her back, and Bear molded to her front, there was nowhere to go and nowhere else she’d rather be. How does this keep happening?