Page 12 of Hockey Halloween

Delia

This is a stupid decision. Possibly my worst ever.

Returning to the hockey house after the incident two years ago. No matter how many times my friend Liliana Fairley-Ferguson has invited me to come with her, I’ve turned her down. I can’t show my face here.

Or I thought I couldn’t.

The difference tonight is it’s a Halloween party, and the invite came directly from a hockey player. One who wasn’t—thankfully—living here the night of the incident.

Xavier Laitmon.

He’s in my Social and Emotional Development class, and we’re lab partners.

He grew up local to Havenwood, Vermont, where Aspenridge is.

I don’t know the exact town, but he’s made it clear his home life wasn’t the best, and living in the hockey house this year has been a privilege.

I don’t remember how the topic came up, but I got the sense he appreciated me listening.

Maybe he was having a bad day or something.

For whatever reason, I learned a lot about him that day.

More so than I had learned the entire last semester when we first met in an elective.

It was a lecture class, so we didn’t interact much, not that I didn’t know he was there, though I’m sure he didn’t know I was.

Even with Liliana’s help to elevate my appearance into someone cooler over the past two years, he’s way out of my league.

Not only is he a hockey legend on campus—with the stats to back it up—but he’s handsome as all heck.

And he knows it. He’s also smarter than he lets people believe, something I noticed last year and continues to impress me this semester.

He’s been trying to get me to come to a party all semester, but he sweetened the pot this time with the costume party. It didn’t seem like a pity invite, either, which is why I said yes in the moment, hoping he’d forget he even invited me.

But he kept asking, almost every time we had class and during every lab. Since I had already committed, I felt bad backing out, even when the thought of showing my face here again makes me feel like I have to vomit.

Certain I could find a costume that would conceal my identity, I started Googling ideas and stumbled across one for “identity thief,” which I thought was brilliant.

It was easy to make, and the mask would hide my identity enough.

It was Liliana’s idea to use the players’ last names as my “stolen” identities.

She thought they’d get a kick out of it.

Now, here I am, standing across the street from the old Victorian with the oversized front porch held up with columns, the wide, stone steps leading inside, in my costume, working up the courage to go in.

I’m not holding my breath that Xavier’s waiting for me particularly, nor that he’d miss me if I were a no-show.

Sure, he’d ask about it in class, pester me why I didn’t show up, wonder why I left him hanging.

He’d probably use those exact words. I stifle my giggle at hearing them coming from his mouth.

“Weidman, you coming in?”

I glance over at where the voice came from, more nerves taking over when I realize my costume isn’t concealing my identity at all if Xavier could identify me from across the street.

I’m saved by having to answer him when Liliana appears at my side.

She wears a hockey jersey—shocking. The girl’s in love with the game and one of the former players on the team.

Oh, and her dad’s the coach. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the past two years since being assigned to the same child psychology class our sophomore year.

“You made it. I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Her eyes zip up and down my costume, a smile spreading across her lips. She loops her arm in mine and walks us across the street. Without waiting for me to be ready. “Great job on the costume. They’re going to love it.”

“Xavier already spotted me. As me.” My voice pitches higher the closer we get to the door. And the man standing guard. Even in messy, brown overalls and a dirty, light blue thermal shirt underneath detracts nothing from his handsomeness or his hockey-honed muscles.

Not that I’ve noticed his good looks.

Or his muscles.

Or the way his hair is longer during hockey season as compared to spring semester.

Nope, not even a little.

My palms sweat for a different reason, and I’m overthinking this idea even harder.

“The man invited you to the party. He wants you here.”

“What if it’s to humiliate me? Get me wasted so I end up like last time?” A full-body shudder runs through me. Once was embarrassing enough. I’m not stupid enough to drink too much tonight, but I’ve also developed more of a tolerance for alcohol since that fateful night.

Liliana pulls me to the side, instructing the people walking behind us on the sidewalk to go around. She puts her hands on my shoulders. “He didn’t, Deal. It’s been two years. I doubt he knows what happened. If it’s not related to hockey, most everything goes in one ear and out the other.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You know I am. And besides, he’s already seen you. No turning back now.” She yelps. “And he’s, um, heading this way.”

A horde of butterflies takes flight in my abdomen. “What do you mean he’s coming this way?” I grit out.

She doesn’t answer before Xavier emerges in my peripheral vision. He addresses Liliana. “Fairley-Ferguson, you’re missing your other half.”

“He’s on his way. Said something about more beer.” She shrugs, her hands drop from my shoulders, and she scoots away. I’m left with Xavier and the way his narrowed gaze ogles my costume.

Up close scrutiny reveals the mess on his pants seems like dried pumpkin guts and seeds. Weird.

He snaps his fingers. “An identity thief. Clever.” He plucks the index card with his last name off the shirt. “You have to earn this one.” He shoves it in the back pocket of his overalls. I should be more upset at the way he stole it, but I can’t find fault with him.

“This is your costume?” With nerves palpitating through me, it comes out more accusatory than I’d like.

“Needed a breather.”

“From a costume?” I ask incredulously. “What is it?”

His gaze shifts to the left and down, embarrassed by whatever it is. He exhales sharply before returning his head up. “I lost a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Yeah, with my roommates. They got to pick my costume.”

His cloak of vulnerability intrigues me. He’s let it slip through his mask of cockiness a handful of times, but he’s more exposed right now. He seems less like the hockey player and tough guy he portrays and more like a child who’s about to be reprimanded.

“Can I see it?” I’m not sure who the question surprises more—me or Xavier. The nerves dissipated, and despite having to go inside the house to see his costume, I have to know what it is.

“You can’t laugh,” he states, a seriousness in his tone.

“Sure. I won’t,” I promise. Though if it’s terrible, I’m not sure how I’ll contain it. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” The possibilities of what it could be are endless.

Inappropriate.

Juvenile.

Sexy.

The last one sends a shiver up my spine. I’m not sure Xavier could be more sexy if he tried. Though a g-string and an oiled up torso a la Magic Mike might do it .

I’ve never seen his bare torso, but I’ve seen the way he wears fitted T-shirts. And I’ve seen him on the ice and in a suit. In clothes, the man’s body is a piece of art. My imagination runs wild with what he looks like without his clothes.

The image of him as Magic Mike parades across my mind, and I’m lost about what he’s saying.

“I guess I can show you.”

Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls gently.

I go easily, the feel of his fingers on my bare skin sending jolts of electricity zapping through my entire body, not only where we’re connected.

The touch is gentle, and I allow him to guide me up the stairs onto the porch and through the door into the entryway of the house.

Halloween decorations assault my vision.

Skeletons, black and orange banners, white spider webs, and even carved pumpkins adorn the entryway. Scary music enhances the vibe.

For a moment, I forget I’m standing in a house where hockey players live. In the house where I embarrassed myself two years ago. It’s like I’m instead transported to Salem.

I spin around, taking in the view from every angle, my eyes needing to see every decoration. “Wow,” I breathe. “Wasn’t expecting this.”

“This is nothing. You should see the game room.”

I’m conscious of the fact that his hand is still around my wrist, that he hasn’t let me go even as I move around taking in the sights.

He breaks the spell with, “Want a beer? It’s Halloween-themed.”

I tear my eyes away from the decor and meet Xavier’s gaze. Do I want a beer? Delia from two years ago says, “Hell no.” But if I’m ever going to fully get over this fear and prove to myself it was a onetime fluke, a rookie mistake, then I have to accept at least one. One I can handle.

“Okay, sure,” I say, much to Xavier’s amusement.

He finagles his fingers so instead of holding my wrist, our pinkies loop together. The gesture is subtle yet somehow sweet. This side of Xavier isn’t expected nor someone I’m acquainted with, yet it’s refreshing. My guard lowers further. Long as I don’t get drunk, tonight won’t be a huge bust.

Oh, and I still haven’t seen his costume.

“Don’t forget I want to see your costume.”

We arrive in the kitchen where a bunch of the hockey players congregate. Xavier drops my hand like it’s on fire, the glimpse of the guy he showed me vanishing under a mask of hardened granite.

I can’t tell if it’s my question about the costume or the other players’ presence causing the shift. Whatever it is, I don’t think I’m going to like it.