Page 9

CHAPTER

NINE

Fable

I throw my phone on the side of the bed, away from where I have wrapped myself in a blanket like a burrito. The last forty-eight hours have been a total mindfuck, but here I am.

I didn’t run like I want to.

Instead, I confirmed with the movers back in Chicago that they’ve packed up my apartment and will be delivering my things to a storage unit. I spent the day hiring a property management company to lease my apartment for the year—or maybe longer, depending on how I feel after this year. I know I’ll leave Thistlebrook once the year is up, but I don’t know if I’ll return to Chicago. Maybe I’ll travel a bit. Maybe fixing up figure skating programs can be my new thing, instead of coaching.

I’m not deciding that now, even though my brain wants me to and then it wants me to decorate my planner with pretty Post-it notes and stickers. That alone should overwhelm me, the need to plan a new adventure, but to my surprise, it doesn’t. I actually wrapped up things at the rink I worked at without much thought. It sucks that I won’t get to say bye to the kids I’ve been training, but I made sure to get ahold of the second- best instructor and have him take my clients. I sent each of my older girls a DM on Instagram and messaged the parents of the younger kids, asking for a moment of their time.

Tomorrow, I’ll FaceTime with them.

Today, I’m done with the phone.

I can’t believe I’m really moving here.

For a whole-ass year.

To run a business with someone who obviously doesn’t want me around.

I close my eyes and snuggle deeper in my blanket burrito, ignoring the need for food since getting up out of my cocoon is the last thing I want to do. I think the best idea is to rot here for another day, and then I’ll face Jett. The letter my grandfather left me is on repeat in my head, and I can’t help but wonder what Jett’s letter said. Was it along the same lines as mine? I could blame the letter for the hostile way Jett is acting, but I think the shock of everything did that for him.

I honestly don’t understand his animosity toward me. We ended on decent terms; he followed his dreams, and I did the same. I mean, I was hurt he left me, but I understood as best as my eighteen-year-old heart could. After loads of therapy, I somewhat get it now at almost-forty. While we were great together, skating with me didn’t offer him a full ride to college.

I had nothing to keep him at my side.

Just the memory of him walking away has me wanting to rot for three more days, and then I’ll face him.

Apparently my grandmother has other plans.

“Get up.” Kitty’s voice is sharp, no room for discussion, and the sound of it has me peeking up at her.

When a pink hockey jersey lands on my face, I push it away to find Kitty in the doorway, her own pink Beer League Belles jersey on with her hair up in a high ponytail. She has a pink bow at the base, wearing pink leggings and a pair of black cowboy boots. On her arm is her cross-stitching bag, and the only reason I know that is because I had to fetch it out of the car for her this morning.

She’s ready to go, and I don’t know why she isn’t rotting herself.

I give her an incredulous look. “What in the world? Where are you going?”

“ We are going to the game. Belles are home tonight, so that’s why we’re wearing pink.”

“It’s Saturday, not Wednesday.” I guffaw at my joke, but she just stares at me. I roll my eyes. “Kitty, I’m not going anywhere.”

She just looks at me as if I haven’t spoken a word. As if my wanting to stay home is something she can’t comprehend. The fact that she didn’t even laugh at my Mean Girls joke is a problem all on its own. Instead, she tells me, “But you are. Come on.”

Without a backward glance, she turns and leaves. I cuddle deeper in my burrito, in complete awe of the woman who raised me. How is she ready to go to a hockey game? Everything has changed, and a huge presence is missing from this household. The absence of my grandfather allows my parents to walk around like they own the place, not that Kitty has allowed them to come near me.

For the most part, she’s let me wallow, but apparently my time is up. I just want to snuggle in my blanket and forget the world exists. The last thing I want to do is face Jett. He’s the captain of the Belles, and with how he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to run the business with me, I’m good where I am.

I wonder if she’ll leave without me.

I should have known better, because ten minutes later, I hear her call up, “Fable Winter, if I’m up and moving after losing the love of my life who asked you to take care of me, then you can do your duty and get yourself out of that bed and come on.”

Damn, she middle-named my ass. I didn’t even want this duty. I don’t want to be here. Or go anywhere. “Sorry! Fable is in her blanket burrito. Try again tomorrow.”

“If I come up there, I’ll steal that blanket.”

I heard that a lot growing up, and I can’t help but grin. She had a basket of my blankets she’d steal, and I couldn’t get them back unless I did something for her. She knew to go for my favorites, and before she could take them, I’d do what she asked. I had that young person’s social battery then and was ready to face the world. Now, my social battery is all dented and drains very quickly. Being around people exhausts me. But Kitty, she has always been such a social butterfly. “Let me rot, please.”

Without her giving a verbal response, I hear her coming up the stairs. I can’t help the giggle I let out. She’s so silly. I’m in my—shudder—late thirties; what is she going to do to me?

I’ll tell you what she does—she takes the edge of my blanket and uses her free leg to kick me in my back as she pulls my blanket. I roll like a damn pig in the mud and land flat on my ass on the floor.

I stare up at her, and she grins as she folds my blanket with ease. “Oh, look. You’re up. Let’s go.”

I watch her retreating back in shock.

Man, I hope I’m just like her when I grow up.

My need to rot is replaced by the need to skate once we enter the Ice Thistle.

I somehow had forgotten how much peace this place brings me. It was where I ran to hide when my parents overwhelmed me, asking me to be more than I could be. This is my place to skate, to exist as myself.

It’s my home.

Together, Kitty and I head toward our destination. The south rink is where rec league hockey is played. It’s been that way since I was old enough to skate. It’s where everyone learns to skate, but also where adult men come to play like they’re in the NHL and not a beer league in the South. The entrance to the south rink holds the Beer League Cups for each league. Think the amazing and beautifully designed Stanley Cup, but made of beer cans with plaques for the teams that won hot-glued to each can. There is a cup for each league—C League being for beginner adults, B League for intermediate, and then A League for the wash-ups who didn’t make it pro and are living out their glory days beating the shit out of one another before seeing one another at work the next day.

Tonight is an A League game, which is why the parking lot is full and the lobby is buzzing. Our town turns out for their local heroes—and, of course, for the gossip. As I walk in with Kitty, her hand tucked into my arm, I carry our blankets. Everyone stops and waves, wishes Kitty well, and then looks me over. I’m unsure if they’re staring at me because I looked like a busted can of biscuits when I was running toward Grandpa’s funeral or because I haven’t been here in years.

Either way, my skin tingles.

I hate the way this town stares at me. I feel like, because of how my parents hold themselves, feigning perfection as they run the town and help Smokey Bear prevent forest fires, I have to do the same. I know if I don’t keep up the appearance they do, they’ll come down on me. I don’t know why I’m still scared of that at my age, but I am. I hate it too. It’s exhausting trying to be their perfect version of me.

Because holding in all this crazy is a full-time job.

When we reach the doors to the south rink, I notice that someone has made a memorial for Grandpa. A huge photo of him with the cup above his head while he roars with excitement meets me, leaving me breathless. It’s from two years ago, and he looks so damn happy. So damn healthy. How is he gone? Tears burn my eyes as I look over at Kitty, whose eyes mirror mine. I know the jersey that Kitty wears is the one he wore since it’s got a tinge of yellow from years of sweat. While the one she gave me is pristine just like her. Flowers have been placed around his photo, sweet notes from friends and some from his clients. It’s very beautiful and thoughtful.

She leans into me and smiles. “That’s nice. I’m sure JT is responsible.”

Probably. I don’t say that, though, not when I’m still so annoyed with him. I can’t believe how he stormed off, how he hasn’t even reached out to me. I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to run this building with me. It’s obvious the figure skating program is nonexistent. When I was here, the pro shop was half figure skating equipment and half hockey. With one look, I can tell it’s all hockey now. I don’t know what happened, but I want to fix it.

This is my home, and it should be the home of the next Olympic hopeful.

“Want me to show you around?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I shake my head, patting her hand. “I’ll explore on Monday when I come in to meet with Jett.”

She meets my gaze. “Has he reached out?”

“Not at all.”

“Stubborn fool,” she mutters as we head in.

When we enter, a game is finishing up between my old private school, The Rink Rulers, and the town’s public school, Blades of Knowledge. Our town takes its team names seriously, and I’m pretty sure if you don’t have a cool name, you can’t play. It’s been like that since Grandpa opened the place.

I notice a few of my old teachers, who were young when I went to Thistlebrook Prep, on the rink like they’re playing game seven of the play-offs. I catch a few of their gazes, and Lord, I hope they don’t want to talk to me.

“I thought we were here for the Belles?” I ask with a sharp look at Kitty.

“They’re next.”

“You made it seem like we were late.”

She flashes me a grin, and I roll my eyes. She ignores me with ease as we head to the table she, Bea, Hazel and Maggie have that sits right behind the goal that the home team shoots on twice. They’ve had this table for as long as Bea has sponsored her teams. She has a team in all the leagues, and she doesn’t play around. She recruits people from other towns, and she’ll steal players from other teams like she’s a manager in the NHL. She’s insane but a damn good time.

When she sees us, she hops up off her chair, way too nimble for someone her age, before she wraps her arms around me, her pink hair getting caught in my lashes. I try to get it out as she kisses my cheek. “Fable, darling. How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

She exhales hard. “Would be better if someone’s grandpa and husband weren’t throwing curve balls.”

“Who you telling?” Kitty mutters, shaking her head. “Is he okay?”

Bea exhales hard. “He’s something.” She pats my face. “I know you don’t want to be here. I’m sorry.”

“But thank you,” Hazel adds then, kissing my cheek. “It means a lot to us that you didn’t just leave when you could. Even if Jett was an ass.”

Maggie kisses my cheek, squeezing my hands. “I know he seems like a bit of a jerk, but he really isn’t. He’s such a good boy.”

He threw a fit like a little boy, that’s for sure, but I keep that to myself. “As badly as I don’t want to be here, I can’t leave this chick.” I hook a thumb toward Kitty. “Legally or figuratively.”

I want to say that I’m staying for Kitty, but the truth is, I can’t take anything from Jett. The pure distress in his eyes when Jami said everything would be given to my dad left me breathless. I felt like my soul would be ripped from my body if I allowed that to happen. I couldn’t hurt Jett like that. I didn’t have to be here to know that the Ice Thistle is what it is because of Jett. I can’t take that from him.

But I can help him make it better.

If he lets me.

My comment has them all laughing as they settle in their seats. Since I don’t have a chair at this table, I go get one, something I’ve been doing my whole life. Always trying to fit in where I don’t belong. I watch as they all unload their cross-stitching rings and then their thread. I lean on my elbows as the Rink Rulers and Blades of Knowledge shake hands to signal the end of the game.

Bea leans into Kitty. “Williams, the goalie from Penalty Box Prophets, hurt his groin, so he’s out for the next game.”

My sweet, God-loving grandmother pumps her fist. “Good. We should win tonight, and then it’ll be us and the Pastry Puckers for the first round, right?”

Bea grins widely. “Yup, we should make it to the finals pretty easily, but those Prophets will be a problem.”

I sigh deeply, leaning on my hand as I finger her thread, bored. Maybe I should pick up cross-stitching. “You really shouldn’t bet against the good Lord.”

They both wave me off. “They’re cheating. Drinking holy water in the locker rooms or something.”

Hazel snickers as Maggie rolls her eyes. Though, she does lean in, her voice low. “I heard Brother Eric was sleeping around with Sister Milly again.” She taps her nose, her eyes all-knowing. “She went over to drop off some brownies and didn’t leave for three hours.”

Bea clucks her tongue as she lifts her cooler up onto the table. “She must have been touched by God for how she’s getting him between her legs with those dry-ass brownies.”

“The brownies were trash, so he went for her cookie,” Kitty snickers, and I can’t help but snort at that. The women cackle, and I can only laugh along.

These four are a mess.

Bea hands everyone a bottle of Michelob Ultra, and I make a face. She winks at me. “We gotta keep our figures, darling.”

I can’t with these women. I nurse my beer as the Beer League Belles and the Pucklic Officials hit the ice. I notice that a bunch of guys I went to school with are out there, and of course, they’re playing for the town council’s team. Public figures work together and play together in this town. As much as I tell myself not to, I seek out Jett. A habit that not even twenty years away from him can break.

I used to make all the excuses in the world to go over to the east rink, where he’d practice with his school’s team when we were younger. I’d sit at the top of the bleachers and watch, hoping no one noticed me. Even then, he towered over everyone and dominated the ice. He was so lean and fast, but now, he’s huge and mouthwatering. The pink of his jersey and helmet makes his dark hair look darker. His shoulders are wide, massive, as he shoots with ease, leaning more on his right leg than his left. I know it’s the one he hurt back in college, and he relearned to shoot from his other leg. Grandpa was so proud of him when he did.

I was too, not that I got to tell him.

So many times in my life, I wanted to reach out to him but never could. I couldn’t decide why that was, but as I watch him now, I wonder if it would have made the distance between us worse.

Because being here, watching him, I find that I’ve missed him.

Desperately.

Never the wiser, Jett plays effortlessly with the puck, as if he is meant to do nothing but that. His blade moves along the ice, shifting the puck side to side before shooting and scoring on the empty net. He tucks his glove in his arm and then runs his free hand along his jaw as he nods to a fellow player. His dark eyes have a glint of excitement in them, and I miss that look.

As I watch him skate, I notice that he still moves with the grace that caught the eye of the coaches who had come to find someone for me to skate with. I don’t know why everyone was so dead set on me skating with a partner. I did just fine as a solo skater. It’s not as if I ever asked, though, probably because I really wanted to skate with Jett.

Since it’s on my mind, I ask, “Why did you have me skate pairs, Kitty?”

Everyone looks up from where they’re stabbing fabric with a needle. These four women went everywhere with us, supported us. Wore our faces on shirts. Kitty doesn’t seem surprised by my question, probably because I usually just ask random things whenever they pop into my head.

“The competition for individual had a bunch of veterans, so we figured your first time at the Games should be with a partner.”

“Makes sense,” I say, remembering being told I wouldn’t be able to hang with some of the seasoned pros. I think everyone knew that my anxiety was too much, too. I don’t think I would have made it those four years if it hadn’t been for Jett. He calmed my mind and helped me focus only on him and the feel of the ice beneath our skates.

“Jett and you skated so beautifully together,” Maggie muses, giving me a small, sweet smile. “I wish it hadn’t ended.”

“Me too,” Hazel says, watching her grandson. “He smiled more then.”

Now, all of us are watching him, and he has a gruff look on his face. It wasn’t like that when we were younger. He was always quick to flash anyone a smile. Especially me. While I don’t know what they’re thinking, I only have one thing on my mind.

I’ve missed his smile.