by Aven Ellis
I’m jittery as the announcers continue discussing what to expect this season. They focus on Beckett warming up on the ice in Cleveland while announcers mention the need for him to have another big season like last year. Next, they show Pierre Gaudet on the ice as they comment on his offseason work trying to elevate his game.
The discussion shifts to defensive pairings, and then they focus on Luca. The video shows him stretching in front of the net for warm-ups. He kneels on the ice and bends completely back so his head touches the ice.
Oh my God.
“Oh wow,” Livy says, staring at the screen. “That’s . . . flexible.”
I feel my cheeks heat as my head fills with inappropriate thoughts.
Very sexy thoughts.
That involve more than climbing him.
I clear my throat. “We haven’t slept together yet.”
Aubrey picks up another pizza roll. “Who said anything about sex? I can’t touch my toes, so I was impressed, but apparently you were very impressed, Collins.”
Shit. My face burns red hot. I can feel it in the roots of my hair, I’m so embarrassed.
Both of them begin laughing.
“You’re going to sleep with him in no time,” Livy teases.
“No,” I insist, putting out my hand like a stop sign. “We’re taking it slow. I’m still getting to know him.”
“I think you learned everything you needed to know with that stretch,” Aubrey teases, interrupting my thoughts.
“Stop!” I cry, embarrassed.
Both of them stare at me with knowing expressions, and there’s no way out of this one.
“Okay, fine. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into bed with him the second he comes back.”
I mean, it could be thirty seconds for all I know. I might have undiscovered superhuman self-control.
Livy laughs. “We’ll stop giving you crap, Collins. You know we love you.”
“We do!” Aubrey adds.
“I love you guys, too,” I say, meaning it with all my heart. These girls are my best friends, and if only Taylor were here from Minneapolis, it would be perfect.
“It’s time to watch the game anyway,” Livy says, shifting her attention back to the TV.
As the players head to center ice for face-off, I am filled with pride knowing Luca is having his first season-opening start. It’s a huge step toward achieving his dream, and I can’t imagine how he must feel.
Wait. I do know how he feels. Luca is calm. He is compartmentalizing so he doesn’t get distracted. He will continue as he always has, believing he will stop every shot because he knows he can. If a puck does get past him, he won’t show any emotion. He’ll get right back in the net and move on.
And I can’t wait to see my goalie in action tonight.
~ ~ ~
With less than five minutes left in the game, I still haven’t found my calm.
Chicago is leading 1-0, thanks to a score by Pierre in the second period. Luca has stopped every shot tonight, and I’m amazed by what he can do on the ice. He’s fast, and despite his massive frame, he’s agile in the net. Luca twists his body like a contortionist to make saves. His dedication to hockey has paid off for him, and seeing him in action makes me realize what an amazing athlete he really is.
My anxiety skyrockets anytime the Wildcats circle the net and take repeated shots on goal. At one point, I found myself screaming at Landon to clear the puck, which caused a wee bit of tension between me and Livy. It might be best for me to watch Luca’s games on my own in the future, so I don’t piss off my friends by wanting less pressure on my goal-tending boyfriend.
Boyfriend?
Did I just say that?
Luca’s not my boyfriend.
I mean, we’re dating, but still, dating is different than having a boyfriend.
I pull a Luca and file that thought away so I can focus on the game.
“Pavel Novak is coming up over the line,” the Buffaloes’ announcer continues.
I read in an article on the Buffaloes’ website that Pavel is a defenseman who is returning from a concussion that kept him out for the last two months of the previous season. He’s a young defenseman who played with Luca in Milwaukee for a bit. Concussions have been a problem for him in the past, so hopefully, he can start a new season in full health.
I watch as he goes flying across the ice with the puck. A Wildcat player skates toward him and bam! Pavel is checked into the boards with force. Pavel’s head snaps back, and he crumples to the ice. I gasp.
“Oh, no, not Pavel,” Aubrey whispers.
“He’s not getting up!” Livy cries.
Nausea rises in me. Please let him get up. Please.
“Pavel Novak is checked into the boards by Dimitri Ivanov, and he’s slow to get up,” the announcer continues.
It’s a relief when Pavel finally stands, but it’s immediately apparent that he’s not right. He slowly skates to the bench and is assisted by doctors down the tunnel.
“That is not good,” Aubrey says.
I glance at both of them and realize this is part of being involved with a player. Our boys are playing the game they love, but it’s a very dangerous game.
One that can take as much as it gives.
The Buffaloes change lines, and the Wildcats catch them in the middle of the change. Two forwards go screaming toward the net with no one on Chicago hanging back for defense.
Come on Luca, I think, my adrenaline pumping. You can stop this. You can do it!
“Here they come,” the announcer says, his voice rising in dramatic tension. “Ryan to Matthews . . . Matthews fires . . .”
I hold my breath as the puck goes sailing toward the net. Luca moves to his right and drops down into the splits with his glove stretched out and snatches the puck mid-flight.
I leap off the couch, and we cheer at the magnificent save.
“Robbery by Luca Ballerini!” the announcer yells. “He stole that goal from Matthews! Unbelievable save!”
My heart pounds as I watch the replay. Luca instinctively reacted to drop into the splits and snatch what was sure to be an automatic goal from the Wildcat player.
The Buffaloes manage to hold on for another two minutes and secure the win. The players form a line to greet Luca, and I watch as he lifts his elaborately designed buffalo mask to reveal an enormous smile lighting up his beautiful face. I find myself blinking back happy tears.
Luca secured the shutout and had one amazing, highlight-reel-worthy save.
Luca made his statement tonight.
He showed the Buffaloes they were wise to put him in the net. Not just for now, but for good. He’s their number one goaltender.
His teammates continue congratulating him, including Beckett, who skates up and affectionately ruffles his hair, smiling broadly at him.
Luca is living his dream.
I’m so proud of him. He sacrificed so much to have this opportunity, and now it’s his.
I can’t wait to congratulate him in person.
All I hope is that it’s sooner, rather than later, before I do.
Chapter 16
Have extreme patience . . .
I’m dizzy with excitement as I step out of a cab and walk up to my building. I’m still reliving the Buffaloes’ win, followed by Luca’s memorable receipt of the first star of the night for his tremendous game in goal.
After earning his star, Luca was interviewed by Solene LeFleur, the new sideline reporter for the Buffaloes. Luca gave credit for the win to the stellar play of the Buffaloes’ defensemen, and when Solene asked about his highlight save, Luca remained modest, saying he knew Tyler Matthews favored a high, right-corner shot and instinct took him there
when fired upon.
In his mind, the shot was simply another save.
Solene asked him good questions that showed she knew the game, and he not only answered eloquently, but he looked hot doing so, with damp, messed-up hair and a sweat-stained T-shirt. When he lifted the collar of his shirt to wipe sweat from his chin, revealing a set of tight abs, my jaw hit the floor.
I swipe my access card to open the front door then bound up the stairs. When I reach the third floor and put my key into the lock, I wonder when I’ll see him again.
I can’t wait. My job requires extreme patience—ha, think waffle truck—but I find myself impatient when it comes to seeing Luca. I texted him as soon as the game was over, congratulating him on his first season-opening win, but I probably won’t hear from him until tomorrow. He flies home tonight then has practice again in the morning.
I lock the door behind me then slip out of my pea coat. I retrieve my phone and flop down on the sofa. I pull up the Total Access Total Sports website and see Luca’s save is the lead story.
Ahh! Luca’s tremendous save is going to be the hockey news of the night. I’m so proud I could burst!
I click the play button, but my phone buzzes, notifying me that I’ve received a new text message:
Best part after the game was seeing your message when I picked up my phone.
Ooh! I smile broadly and quickly type Luca back, which is hard to do because my hands are shaking:
You were INCREDIBLE tonight. I’m so happy for you.
I text back:
I can’t wait to celebrate your success in person with you.
I anxiously chew my lip. I know he wants to see me, so it’s stupid to feel nervous, but I can’t help it.
His response comes rapid fire:
Me too, Cinderella. We’ll come up with a game plan tomorrow. Or should I say trail map? Would that be more equestrian for your liking?
I melt back into the loveseat. I never had a shot of resisting this man, and I no longer want to resist falling for him.
I reply:
We can definitely come up with a trail map. ☺
Luca texts back:
I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Getting on the bus to the airport now.
I’m about to tell him to have a safe flight when another text from him pops up.
I’m going to kiss every beautiful freckle on your face the second I see you.
Ooh!
Once again, thanks to this man, I find myself grateful for every single freckle I have.
And for having Luca in my life.
~ ~ ~
“Good morning,” Aunt Suzanne says cheerfully as I step inside the studio.
“Good morning.” I hang up my coat and head over to my desk. Once again, dread washes over me as I see the red message light on my phone. There’s a chance it could be a vendor . . . or a rational client.
But odds are, I’ll be told to deep-six the waffle truck then screamed at for suggesting keeping the donut wall.
I sink down into my chair. I doubt Luca feels this way about heading to the rink every morning.
Neither would I, if I were walking into a barn.
I take a sip of my pumpkin spice latte, shoving the thought from my head. I draw a breath of air for courage and reach for the phone, but my cell buzzes on my desktop, distracting me.
Oh, a text! I momentarily leave Pamela in red-light purgatory and gratefully reach for my cell. It’s from Taylor:
Is there any chance you can call me?
I frown. That’s not a typical Taylor message. We never talk on the phone, unless we are doing Connectivity Video Connect.
Something is wrong.
I hit the call icon on my cell and wait for her to pick up.
“Taylor? Are you okay?” I ask anxiously when she answers.
She says nothing for a moment.
“Taylor?”
A sob escapes her throat, and I panic because Taylor is not a crier.
“Collins, my life is shit,” she blurts out. “I don’t know how to fix it!”
Then she bursts into tears.
I’m taken aback. Growing up, Taylor was always the strong one. She was positive and always went after her dreams with gusto, whether it was making the tennis team or becoming salutatorian. Taylor knew she wanted to go to the University of Illinois, study business, and work in fashion merchandising. She had a plan, and it was check marked to a T. Her dream job in Minneapolis was everything she wanted.
So to hear her say her life is shit sends worry coursing through me.
“Taylor, talk to me,” I plead. “Tell me everything.”
I hear her gasping for breath, and my heart breaks. I want nothing more than to wrap her in my arms.
“I hate everything,” she manages to get out. “I miss Chicago. I miss you and Livy. I miss my parents and my brother. I’m lonely here. It’s not home. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it feel like home.”
She speaks rapidly as if everything she has been holding back is bursting out.
“My job is horrible. I work more than sixty hours a week and nobody cares. My boss is a total bitch and does nothing but pick apart my work. I’m reminded at least once a week that a thousand people would kill for my job. This is not what I had planned, Collins. Not at all!”
I’m about to speak when Taylor continues.
“I was ready for a new adventure,” Taylor says. “I was ready to carve a life out for myself in a new city. But it’s nothing like I imagined it would be. Aubrey did it so well when she moved to Chicago, but my experience has been nothing like hers. I’ve failed. I’ve failed to love my job. I’ve failed to make a connection to this city, and I’m stuck. I don’t know what to do to be happy again.”
My throat swells as she begins sobbing again. I’ve never heard Taylor speak like this, ever.
“If I quit my job, I’ll disappoint so many people,” she says. “I’m not supposed to quit anything. It’s not the plan. I’ve never quit a job. I don’t know what to do. I’m so lost.”
“You need to come home,” I say simply. “You’re absolutely miserable. That’s no way to live.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” I encourage. “Your parents love you so much. They would die if they knew you were so upset.”
“That is not adulting,” Taylor counters. “I was voted most likely to succeed. I can’t quit.”
“Since when do you care what people think?” I ask gently. “Is it a success if you feel this way?”
Taylor is silent. I can tell I hit home.
“Listen, why don’t you come visit me? Take a few days off. We’ll talk it over and sort this out. I haven’t seen you in forever, Taylor. I miss you.”
“I doubt they’ll let me off. You know they didn’t let me go back for Livy’s engagement party,” she says, her voice thick with remorse. “I had to do inventory that weekend.”
“Taylor, you need time to sort your head out,” I insist. “Come home next week. We’ll figure this out. I promise you we will.”
She sniffles. “Okay. I love you so much.”
I blink back my own tears. “I love you, too. We’re going to have the best girls’ night out when you get home, okay?”
“That sounds perfect,” Taylor says. “Thank you, Collins. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I hang up and put down my cell.
“Is everything okay with Taylor?” Aunt Suzanne asks me.
I turn my head and see my aunt staring at me with worry on her face. She’s known my friends for a long time now, and I know she’s genuine in her concern, unlike my mother who would recoil from such unpleasant feelings and tell Taylor to turn her frown upside down a
nd insist things aren’t as bad as she thinks they are.
“She’s absolutely miserable,” I say. “She hates Minneapolis, and her job is nothing like she envisioned. For someone who has had her life mapped out since she was sixteen, it’s devastating.”
“Oh, I wish I could tell her this is normal,” Aunt Suzanne says, putting down her pen. “She’s approaching her quarter-life crisis.”
“Quarter-life crisis?” Katie asks, joining the conversation from her desk.
“You graduate from college and think you know everything,” Aunt Suzanne says knowingly. “Then you find out that jobs aren’t what they seem, your dreams change, and you have bills to pay.”
“You can’t afford an apartment like the one on Friends with your besties, either,” Amy adds as she walks across the room with her cup of coffee to join us.
“An apartment? Please. I can’t even afford the Tory Burch handbag I want,” Charlotte quips, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she gets up from her desk. “I have a planning session at Starbucks for the Benedict wedding. Wish me luck. The bride-to-be is convinced she can have everything she found on Pinterest. For $20,000. Ha!”
I smirk. That is one of the biggest problems we face as event planners. People find amazing ideas on Pinterest and want us to make them happen, within budget, of course. Some clients have a hard time when we tell them the real cost of their Pinterest dreams.
“See you all later,” Charlotte says as she sails out the door.
My aunt turns back to me. “I promise you what Taylor is going through is normal. Navigating life post-college can be hard. It’s very stressful.”
I stare at my aunt, impressed by how connected she is to women my age.
“I’ve never heard her struggle like this. Everything has always been easy for Taylor.”
