chapter THIRTEEN
It's dark by the time we leave the restaurant and Shane pilots us back to his family's cabin on his snow mobile. He'd insisted on dessert, which is something I hadn't had while eating out since I was a little kid, but it somehow seems perfect -- right -- tonight.
I'm not afraid of the ride back through the forest and up the mountain tonight. I'm still holding tight to Shane but I don't feel the need to close my eyes and pray. I know I'm safe with him.
The snow-packed lanes through the pine trees is especially beautiful with the moonlight and stars brightening the path and I can't look away.
As we get closer to his cabin, I realize -- for the first time all day -- that his friends hadn't joined us on the slopes. I guess that isn't weird though; he'd mentioned that they were all pretty good skiers and a day of bunny slopes and green circle trails probably didn't float their fancy.
Fine by me. They hadn't been all that friendly last night anyway and I'd rather just hang out with Shane by myself. I'm glad I had the day with him; pretty sure tonight's going to be another one with us playing cards or dominoes or whatever the others want to do.
Shane pulls the snow mobile back around the cabin and stops in front of the shed. I climb off and hand him the googles. He looks at me and grins.
"What?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"No, really. What? Is there something on my face?"
He just smiles and brings the snow mobile into the shed, leaving me standing there wiping at my cheeks.
He comes back out, secures the padlock on the two doors and takes my hand as we walk back toward the cabin together.
I hurry straight upstairs to shower and change into warm, thick and -- most importantly -- dry sweatpants. I glance in the bathroom mirror before I jump under the steaming water and see that there's a deep red groove framing my eyes where the goggles had rested, and I realize that's what Shane had been laughing at when I'd taken them off before.
I step into the hot stream of water and let it wash over me as I play over the events of the day, from Shane making bacon and eggs as the sun came up to his patience with me as I stumbled and grumbled my way down the bunny hill.
It's been a perfect day, start to finish, one of the best I can remember having.
And you want to know the weird part about it?
It came when I was living in Wisconsin.
***
I head downstairs dressed in thick sweatpants and a Phoenix Coyotes sweatshirt, hair still wet, half an hour later.
Shane's sitting at the kitchen table with his parents but looks up and smiles when he sees me.
"Natalie!" Mr. Melter follows his son's gaze. "How'd you enjoy your first day on the slopes?"
"It was interesting," I say truthfully. "But I'd do it again."
"Well, that's half the battle," he replies in a hearty voice, a nearly empty mug of beer resting on the table in front of him. Mrs. Stanford grins to herself as she stirs a pot of pasta on the stove.
Shane stands. "Let's go out back," he says to me.
I'm afraid he's going to suggest we sit in the hot tub like we wanted to last night and I'm going to have to tell him that there's no chance I'm about to take off these warm comfy clothes and replace them with a bathing suit.
Instead, I follow him to the opposite end of the deck and down a small flight of steps.
"Leave your shoes here," he tells me, sliding out of his sneakers and kicking them up against the cabin. I slip off my boots and tuck the socks inside them.
"You better have a reason for this," I tell him as my toes sink into the snowy ground, and I'm reasonably sure I'm going to get frostbite and my feet will fall off.
"Relax," he says. "Come on."
We walk a few yards away from the house and the next thing I know, the ground under me isn't cold and snowy anymore but warm and sandy.
"What...?"
"It's our fire pit. Here, sit." He leads me over to a couch nestled in the sand. There's another one opposite it, and two chairs on each side forming something of a circle around a big, well, fire pit.
I curl up onto the couch, freezing, and wishing he'd told me to grab a jacket before we came outside. He grabs some logs from a pile off to the edge of the sand and carries them back over to the cylinder in the middle.
"Do you need help with those?"
He looks over at me and smiles. "I got it."
And he does. Within a few minutes, flames shoot out of the pit and I'm almost instantly warmer.
He reaches into a bench behind the couch and comes back with a blanket that he hands to me.
"Should've done that first," he says as he helps me tuck it under my legs. "Better?"
I nod, my teeth no longer chattering uncontrollably. "This is nice."
"It is," he agrees. "Almost as nice as the hot tub."
As if on cue, his friends come out of the house then and immediately climb into the steaming water at the other end of the deck.
"I knew they'd do that," he goes on. "That's why I thought this would be better."
"It's great."
Neither of us says anything for a few minutes as I get lost in watching the yellows, oranges and reds of the flame licking at the darkness of the night sky.
"Do you really think I can do this?" I ask quietly, not taking my eyes off the fire.
"The hockey thing?" he replies. "Of course. You're already on the team."
I love that he immediately knows I'm talking about hockey. "Not just that. Starting. Taking Erica's spot."
"Yeah, I think you can," he says, and I finally look at him.
"I don't know."
"What's with all this?" he asks. "You never said you didn't think you could before."
I shrug. "It just seems ridiculous, that's all. She's been a goalie forever and I've been one for, what, two months?"
"Talent is talent," he replies.
"She might have more."
"Yeah, or she might not."
"I don't even have any allies on the team. They're all on her side."
"You don't know that," he says. "And you'll make friends."
"Yeah, or maybe not," I shoot back, and he grins.
"Who wouldn't love you, Nat?"
I blush and look down at my hands. "This is all so different to me," I say quietly. "I just don't want to blow it."
"Look, remember when I told you what happened to me that night at the draft?"
"For the pros?"
He nods. "Yeah, that one. That was the worst night of my life. I can't think of failing at something more than I failed at hockey then."
I open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head and holds up his hand.
"Wait," he says. "Just hear me out on this, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
"When you play hockey the way that I did, you play it to make it the pros. That's just the way it was for me. And then I didn't do it. So if there's anyone that knows what it's like to work for something and then fail at it in the worst way possible, it's me. For days after that, the talk wasn't about who went with the first pick or why the Blue Lizards had a terrible draft. It was all about why Shane Stanford didn't get selected. What did he do wrong? Is he not the goal-scoring threat we thought he was? Did the media get wrong? Why didn't someone just take a chance on this kid? It was everywhere, Nat."
He shakes his head and takes a deep breath but I keep quiet.
"So," he continues. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it does no good to beat yourself up and constantly wonder whether you're good enough because someone will always tell you differently. It took me a long time to realize it after that draft, but now I know I'm good enough to play in the pros. If those thirty general managers don't see it, well, that's their problem. But I believe in me, and that's the best that I can do."
"But aren't you scared you won't make it?"
"Of course," he replies. "I'd have to be crazy not to be. This is my last shot at my dream. When I was a baby, the mobile that hung over my crib had hockey sticks and pucks and goals. By the time I was in kindergarten, I had posters of all the greats on my walls. Hockey was never not an option for me."
"What if it doesn't work out?"
"Then I come up with a new dream," he replies. "Or figure out a new way to keep this one." He shrugs. "There are lots of professional leagues overseas. Maybe I could go play in Europe for a couple seasons and then sign a contract here." He shrugs. "I'll still have a history degree from Wisconsin. Maybe I do something with that and coach hockey. I kind of just found out that I love doing it." I can't help but smile at that. "I guess what I'm saying is that I know now that I've done everything I can to make this part of my dream happen, and if it doesn't, that isn't on me."
I nod. "Yeah, that makes sense."
"Didn't mean to get all cheesy on you."
I smile at him as he scoots closer to me on the couch to slip under the blanket that I definitely hadn't been sharing.
"I like it," I say. "I like knowing about things like this with you."
"I don't think you need to worry much about starting," he tells me. "You're good enough but you never know how loyal a coach is to her returning players. You made the team. I hope you're proud of that, at least."
"I know," I say. "And I am. But I want a new challenge."
"We've still got time to get you there. But for right now, we're still on vacation. No need to go back to the real world just yet, right?"
I bite the bottom of my lip. "No, I guess there isn't."
"Glad you agree," he says before he leans in to kiss me, one hand mixing up in my hair, the other resting lightly on my knee beneath the blanket.
And suddenly, I'm not sure if I'm hotter because of the fire burning next to me or because of the feeling of Shane's lips pressing down onto mine.
Cinderella in Skates
Carly Syms's books
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