Page 16 of Your Kiss Is On My List

“It’s true. And don’t you forget it. Friends for life.” I hesitate for half a beat and then wrap him up in a hug like I always do, like I always have, and like I’m determined to never give up. No matter how much it makes me hurt with wanting him, wanting so much more than the friendship he’s offering. No matter how much it kills me to let him go without kissing those lips, but I have to. But I relish the overwhelming power and own it for those seconds of contact.

He hugs me back, but I feel the initial tension and let him go, giving him a wave as I trot off back to my new home. Alone.

No, not alone—independent.

Chapter 7

TREY

Thursday night game

“And here he is.” I stand up with my skates half laced and reach out to embrace my best friend and teammate, Nate Garino, as he storms into the locker room. One of the knots of tension along my shoulders unravels and I wrap one arm around his shoulder and thump his back. “You here to watch or play?”

“I’m playing. Just got cleared by my doctor this morning and got here as fast as I could.”

“Is Coach Maroni on board with that or are you going to go rogue and jump on the ice?”

“Fuck you.” He laughs and swings his jumbo goalie bag onto the floor in front of his locker. The rest of the guys give him irreverent shout-outs, slaps on the back, and genuine smiles of relief. The only one not happy is our backup goalie who’s been getting all the playing time for the last three games since before Christmas break. “I’m good as gold,” he shouts his signature line to the locker room at large.

“Wild as a beast,” I yell back. My skates tied, I grab my gloves as the room grunts and then chants. This is an important game against Maine. We’re likely to face them in the Frozen Four if we both stay on top of our games.

I’m ready to take the ice, but I tell the others to go ahead while I hang back and wait for Nate to dress, joining him in the corner of the locker room he commandeers for his equipment. It’s a fucking ordeal. After he gets his socks, pants, and skates on, he kneels on his pads laid on the floor in front of him and starts buckling up.

“I hear a lot happened in my fucking two-week absence,” he says as he works his way up his legs to the top buckle.

“You hear? Who are you talking to?” Annoyance and a frisson of guilt scrape my spine, making me sit up. “And why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were coming today?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I talked to Dooley. I figure he knows all and I hadn’t heard from you.” He shrugs, but there’s no mistaking the accusation in his voice and his eyes when he stops dressing and looks at me expecting an explanation. Fuck. Do I tell him the truth or stick with the story we’ve been telling everyone else?

“I’ve been … preoccupied,” I say. Absolute truth. He nods and then, after a beat of consideration, he grins.

“Tell me about her. How come I’ve never heard of Danielle Innocent before?”

“She was never… we were next-door neighbors. She’s my kid sister’s best friend. We’ve only ever been friends….” I let it hang, unable to add until now, but he does it for me.

“Until now?” A million reasons run through my head why I shouldn’t lie to my best friend, the one guy at SPU I know for certain I’ll stay friends with the rest of my life, who I’ve never lied to—never felt a need to hide anything from. But when the confetti settles, I’m left with nothing but my gut instincts, my heart and soul, forcing me to side with Danielle Innocent.

So I nod and my smile forms all by itself as he slaps my back.

“I’m happy for you, man. I thought after Summer you were going to be a diehard bachelor. Glad you’re with someone—and from what I hear, she’s real special.”

“Special doesn’t cover it,” I admit. He gives a loud whistle and laughs as he resumes dressing.

“I hope you’re not going to turn so lovesick that you lose your focus on hockey. We need you to concentrate for just a few more weeks. Then you can do whatever the hell you want.” I give him the finger and he laughs again. He has a big laugh, the kind that takes over a room and is contagious, makes everyone around him grin whether they’re in on the joke or not. If the stereotypical loud Italian singing pizza chef merged with the stereotypical whiskey drinking witty Irishman, you would get Nate Garino. And underneath it all would be the quickest, most limber goalie in college hockey with a mind even quicker than his stick.

If he has a flaw, it would be that he’s a closed book. He’ll listen to you and drink to your troubles until you both fall down, but he won’t share one word of his own. Maybe he doesn’t have any trouble. But somehow I doubt that’s true since he just got hurt and missed three crucial weeks of the season. And I also happen to know his sister is sick, but I only found that out by accidently overhearing him—I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear. That’s Dooley’s thing.

After he finishes buckling the last strap of his chest pads then pulling his jersey on, he hauls himself to his feet. He walks ahead of me and I watch him lumber out the door in swaying steps with the poundage of equipment not affecting his balance or quickness. Before we step through the plastic to the tunnel where the fans are already rabid like it’s the playoffs, he turns to me.

“You forgot to tell me about Danielle Innocent, but don’t think I’m going to let you get away without telling me the whole fucking story.” He taps my pads with his big-ass stick and we go through. A cheer goes up and the din of the crowd rises as soon as we step onto the ice.

The rush never gets old. The feel of the ice under my skates, the rink full to capacity with Wildbeast fans, and gliding around bumping gloves with my teammates as we warm up for a big game. The adrenaline settles to a stream of focused energy where every breath of cold air is measured and every push of my skates against the ice shoots a bolt of awareness through me, slowing down reality to its smallest pieces.

After we finish our shooting drill, I see the ref bring the whistle to his lips and almost hear it before he blows into it. I’ve already started skating to the bench to regroup, to hear Coach’s last pregame words. The guys surround me and Nate stands at my right shoulder.

“Nate’s going to start at goalie tonight,” he says, surprising everyone except Nate. I can’t say I’m shocked either. I give him a tap with my stick. Coach says a few more words and then we line up at the blue line facing our opposing team. We all stare up at the flag while none other than Summer Philbin belts out the national anthem. It’s not the first time she’s sung at our hockey game, but fuck, she’s the last person I want to see. She reminds me that my pretense with Danielle is just a pretense, that Danielle really isn’t my girlfriend and I ought to keep that in mind.

Or maybe I ought to erase Danielle from my mind altogether and stop scanning the stands for a sighting. I know where her seats are, but I don’t see her.