Chapter Forty-Two
–Haley–
Four minutes and twenty-two seconds. That’s how long Fletch played during the scrimmage. Hardly shit. Jamie’s words, not mine. I texted him the moment the third period ended (final score 1-0, Otters). But God, he looked great. And I don’t mean his abs, which unfortunately remained concealed by all those ridiculous safety pads. I saw Fletch play during our midnight game, and he seemed good then, but damn, I didn’t know he had all that in him. The assist to Cole was unbelievably placed. I nearly strangled Bakowski for not saying anything to Fletch and then pulling him out right after.
I’m wringing my hands now, staring out at the empty rink, wondering what Fletch is thinking, where his head is at. If Bakowski is going to tell him “Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather devote my time to developing younger players than a late-blooming senior.”
“Hey, I’m gonna head across the parking lot and check on the bar,” Claire says, startling me. “Are you sticking around?”
I glance up at the stands—only a couple dozen people remain—and then over my shoulder at the entrance to the locker room where the team disappeared twenty minutes ago. So far, I haven’t seen any guys exit.
I turn to Claire. “Should I go? Is it pathetic to wait around?”
As if on cue, Fletch exits the locker room, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair wet from the shower. I’m about to chicken out and make a run for it, but before I do, he spots me from the lobby. Our eyes lock, and I draw in a breath, holding it. His face is blank, unreadable, but there’s disappointment in his eyes.
My insides clench, cold dread spreads over my limbs. He’s done. With this. With me.
But slowly, his body turns, and he takes a step toward me. The defeat in his eyes vanishes, and he plants his feet right in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I see Claire turn quickly and head for the side entrance of the rink.
“Hey…” I say to Fletch, unsure what else to offer besides that. Unsure where we stand.
A smile spreads across his face, his fingers lifting to brush gently across my cheek, and all my worries and doubts scoot right out the door behind Claire.
“Hey,” he says. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
Without any hesitation or any checking to see who might be around to watch us, he leans down and kisses me. I’m so relieved I almost cry, but after pulling apart, it’s obvious that the defeat I saw moments ago is still there, not on his face but in the way he stands, in the weight he seems to be holding on his shoulders. He’s glad I’m here, but things definitely didn’t go how he wanted them to today.
I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tight. “You were amazing,” I whisper right next to his ear. “Bakowski is an idiot for not playing you more.”
Warm, strong arms wrap around me, and I feel his mouth rest against my temple.
“Thanks,” Fletch says, holding me tighter. “You’re the perfect person for me to spend the rest of the day with. Want to get out of here?”
Warm fuzzy feelings flood my insides, but I try not to let them get too big inside my head. Try not to let them mean more than they should. But it’s hard not to. “Yes, whatever you want to do, I’m in.”
“Fletcher Scott?” an unfamiliar voice says from behind me.
We break apart, and both Fletch and I turn to face an older man I don’t recognize. And I know everyone in town. My face heats up, and I put even more distance between me and Fletch, but soon I feel Fletch’s fingertips tickle the inside of my palm, and then his fingers lace through mine.
For some reason, I never pictured Fletch as a hand holder. Maybe to lead me through a crowd. Or to a dark dressing room at the club. But not just because.
“Great game today,” the man says. “That little guy Longmeadow has facing off is something else, huh?”
I glance at Fletch, and when he doesn’t respond, I give his hand a squeeze. All he does is offer a polite nod.
“But not as fast as you,” the guy continues.
Confusion fills Fletch’s face. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
I was thinking the same thing, but I’d never just blurt that out.
“You’re fast,” he repeats, ignoring Fletch’s question. “Bakowski might be a top high school coach in this state, but he isn’t always the best judge of talent. A bit one-dimensional, if you ask me.”
I’m confused now, too, but Fletch seems to loosen up hearing that last part.
“One-dimensional as in wanting only giants for defenders?” Fletch says.
The guy releases a short laugh. “How tall are you, son?”
“Five ten,” Fletch says right away, and then after earning an eyebrow lift from Mystery Guy, he says, “Five nine.”
“A third of my team is your size, some of them smaller.”
“Yeah?” Fletch says. “What team is that? Girls’ Varsity at Longmeadow?”
The man reaches into his jacket and holds out a business card. I read it quickly before it’s in Fletch’s free hand.
SCANLAN CARUSO
NAHL TEAM MANAGER
DULUTH EAGLES
“NAHL?” I say under my breath.
Fletch stares at the card then looks up at the man. “Junior hockey?”
“Tier two,” Coach Caruso says. “And I’d like you to come try out with us. If what I saw today is any indication of your potential, then I want you on my team. ’Course, I’m willing to wait for February if you want to finish out the high school season…”
“In February?” Fletch says. He looks stunned now. “Even though I’d still be in—”
“High school,” Coach Caruso finishes. “Yep, we’ll make it work. I’ve got a couple guys who are only sixteen starting with me this season. Some are as old as twenty.” He waits a beat for Fletch to say something, and when he doesn’t, he adds, “Talk it over with your family and get back to me either way.”
“Yeah, um, sure,” Fletch says, stumbling on the words a bit. “Thanks.”
We both stand there watching Coach Caruso exit the rink, and then I turn to face Fletch, dying to know his real reaction.
“Did that just happen?” he says, still stunned.
I nod slowly, a smile spreading across my face. “It definitely happened.”
Fletch leans against the rink wall and tugs our linked hands, pulling me closer to him. “I think you might be good luck.”
“Of course I am.” My insides warm again. “What do you want to do today? Go home and tell your dad and gramps about this Caruso guy?”
He glances over his shoulder at the empty rink and then rests both hands on my face. “The whole rink to ourselves, that’s hard to resist…” He kisses me gently on the mouth. “I think we need a rematch from our last race. Got any skates lying around?”
“Maybe.” I loop my arms around his neck. “But only if I’m allowed to knock you over and end up on top of you again.”
“I’m counting on it.” He kisses me, longer and slower this time, and while my eyes are still closed, the taste of him still lingering, he whispers, “I love you.”
My eyes fly open, and Fletch looks even more shocked than he had a minute ago with Coach Caruso’s proposition. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“Mean it?” I prompt, blood rushing to my cheeks. “You got caught up in…in…”
He cups my face, closes his eyes, and releases a breath. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.” He opens his eyes to look at me, the defeat from earlier turned to determination. “But I meant it.”
I nod, more than a little stunned myself. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He releases a short nervous laugh. “I guess it could be worse.”
“I mean, okay as in that’s…that’s good. Really good.” I rest my head against his shoulder. “I thought after the game that maybe you were going to tell me that this was all too much.”
“Haley…” Fletch says in a way that makes my heart flutter. “We’re not that fragile. I’m sorry if I made it feel that way. All these moments we’ve had…it hasn’t broken us down, it’s made things stronger, more secure. Harder to live without.”
This time I can’t exactly stop a few tears from falling. He’s kind of perfect. Even when he isn’t. “Okay,” I say again. “I love you, too.”
His mouth collides with mine, and now that no one is around, this kiss is more hungry. More…everything.
The summer romance that wasn’t supposed to happen might actually be here to stay. And I couldn’t be happier about that.