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She makes me nervous.
Lily.
The tiny tornado of clumsy chaos with the biggest dimples that set my heart racing.
I’m glad she was in the wrong seminar the other week at the conference center, stopping me in my tracks and almost breaking my nose. It was a beautifully disastrous moment of fate. Painful as fuck, but totally worth it.
I’m convinced I wasn’t just there to undertake a leadership management course Coach signed me up for. I’m certain I was there to find her.
But I didn’t see her again. And trust me, I’ve been looking.
And then, I found her out of the blue, in the Ice Hot Coffeehouse when I decided to grab a coffee before practice. I don’t usually like eating or drinking before drills, because it makes me feel like my stomach’s a laundry machine. However, I haven’t been getting much sleep lately, lying awake at night worrying about the season starting, so I desperately needed a caffeine pick me up.
My dad was a huge believer in working your ass off to get what you want, and while I believe that too, I also believe in accidental encounters; much like the one between Lily, me, and that harder than hell wooden door.
Arching my neck back, I eye the indigo-blue sky, dropping my shoulders an inch or two to relieve the tension in my muscles.
The pressure of making this year a success is getting to me. Not just this year, but every year I play for the team. I’m already exhausted just thinking about my demanding game schedule that’s about to hit me. I’m not alone; the rest of the team feels the same way, which helps a little, I suppose. As a team, we’re determined, driven, and buzzing to get started. We’ll unite and be the best we can be.
When I called my mom last night to do our weekly check-in, I admitted how I was feeling. I was skeptical when she reassured me that Dad felt the same way at the beginning of every season, because he always looked so composed and confident; completely sure of himself. She promised me that I could have it all. I could juggle practice, stay in touch with family, keep fit, and maintain a social life, and then she pointed out that I need to stop stressing and cut myself some slack. She was sincere in the delivery of her advice, and I know it’s because she worries about me.
“The fans and team love you, Ash. You won the Stanley Cup last year.” Her comforting words drifted down the phone. “Try to have some fun, sweetheart. You’ve got this.”
It’s on days like today, when my body and brain are tired, that I wish my dad was still here to talk to.
He was the greatest NHL player to have ever played, scoring the most goals, assists, and points in league history. My father was a legend, competing in the Winter Olympics, winning gold medals, the respect of his fellow teammates, and sports awards by the bucket load. On and off the ice, my father was a great man. They raised the bar when they made him; donating to charities, pushing to have every game televised, and raising the profile of all the players on his team by landing interviews with the nation’s top celebrity broadcasters. He put ice hockey, and the Eagles, on the map.
Playing for the same team as my dad is what I have dreamed about since I was four years old. My dad was my hero and had me in skates as soon as I could walk.
Now he’s gone.
At least he got to see me graduate high school and be drafted to the Eagles. He was so proud of me when he watched me play my first game with them, wearing his team colors.
A punch of grief hits me low in my gut.
Two years in since he slipped away in his sleep from a brain aneurysm, and the pain remains. Some days, deep sadness, shock, and numbness makes me physically unable to eat or sleep. I know my mom didn’t need to say it, but she knows that it’s not just my busy schedule and practice that are causing me to lose the much-needed shuteye; it’s grief. Although at least I get four hours of sleep a night now, unlike the one or two hours I did when he first died.
With time, it is getting easier, and I mostly have good days rather than bad, which Mom says is a positive step.
And she’s never wrong about anything, so I hope she’s right about this.
I pull the collar of my jacket up around my neck to keep the cold out as the tinkle of the bell above the door of the coffeehouse breaks the silence of the quiet sidewalk.
With all the grace of an angel, the indoor light behind her creates a soft yellow halo around her as she steps out into the dark of night. I swear she floats toward me wearing the brightest smart ass little grin and an immaculate, wide collared, white woolen coat with oversize black buttons.
Sweet and innocent in all the best possible ways, she steals the breath from my lungs when she says, “I can’t believe you came.”
Fuck yeah, I came. I couldn’t wait to see her again.
She’s the only woman I’ve been attracted to in the last two years, and I’m desperate to find out everything about her and why my body reacts to her in a way that’s foreign to me.
“I’m a man of my word.” I move toward my truck and point at it. “Get in, I’ll drive you home.” I don’t mean to sound so gruff. “Sorry.” I turn back around and soften my tone. “I would like to take you home.” I try again.
Rooted to the spot, she calls out to me “I usually walk home with Kourtney and her boyfriend.”
At that exact moment, her work buddy, the same girl from earlier, steps out the doorway as if she’s been waiting to intervene. “See you tomorrow, Lily. Text me when you get home.” She winks then walks off hand in hand with her boyfriend.
Unlocking the door to my truck, I turn to the side, opening the passenger door for her. “Please,” I ask, sounding needy.
