Page 12

A Love Song to Myself

Aleks

My first summer in Chicago passes like a fever dream.

Instead of a vacation filled with hiking and bonfires and game nights with my foster siblings, I’m thrown into orientation with my new team, as well as getting to know my new home and surroundings. Training camp doesn’t begin until September, but that doesn’t mean I’m not practicing every day on my own. Mr. Conaway gets me set up at a local rink with private practice times along with a few of my other teammates, and together we spend at least three days a week there.

Before I moved, the school counselor warned me about culture shock. She encouraged me to talk to my mom when I felt homesick, to be aware of signs of depression or anxiety.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that all the signs of depression had been present in my life since I could remember.

I suppose I do feel a little bit of culture shock. Chicago is different from Berne in nearly every way. But between getting settled at the Conaway house and familiarizing myself with the USHL and how my team will work, I don’t give myself much time to dwell on any of it.

Any extra time I do have, I try to spend with Mia.

“How about, ‘ You light me on fire, you awaken my heart. I feel you running through me… like a really good fart.’ ”

“Aleks!”

Mia splashes me from where she’s clinging to the side of her parents’ pool, her slim body supported by a foam noodle under the water. It’s sunny and hot and we have nowhere to be today. She has a notebook spread out on the travertine tile, a pen in her hand, and a pair of sunglasses sliding down her nose.

“What? I think that’s the most romantic line ever created.”

“And I think you’re disgusting.”

“You got something better?”

She tilts her head up, mouth pulling to the side as she taps her chin with her pen. I’m wading through the water with it cresting just above my shoulders, unable to take my eyes off her.

It’s been this way since the first time I saw her sitting at the kitchen island.

She was shy the first couple of weeks I was here, her cheeks always flushing when I’d talk to her. She would answer my questions with one-word answers — which was fine, because I’m not much of a talker, either.

But the more time we spent together, the more her sass came out.

And the more I liked being around her.

She’s kind in a way I’m not used to — not performative or self-seeking, but natural. She’s helped me with my English when I say something not quite right. She’s pulled out her yearbook to explain the school to me before I attend in the fall, pointing out people she gets along with as well as those to stay away from. She’s helped me fit in when her parents host dinner parties, showing me how to dress and which fork to eat with first.

Sometimes, I like to joke with her, to rag on her a bit just to see her get all worked up.

Most times, I like to stare at her, to watch her as she watches the world.

She’s cute. I’ve known that since the first time I saw her. But the more time I spend with her, the more I find myself thinking of other adjectives to describe her.

Funny.

Talented.

Creative.

Kind.

Sexy.

I know I shouldn’t be thinking that last one, but I can’t help it — especially in times like this, when she’s wearing nothing but a light blue triangle swim top and string bikini bottoms to match. It brings out the blue in her eyes, the color blazing against her tan skin.

“ ‘You light me on fire, you awaken my heart. But your grip on my hand made me nervous from the start. You know you can’t tame me, and yet you still try.’” She closes her eyes, searching for the next words as she hums along to the beat she’s created to match the lyrics. She repeats them a few times, seeking, waiting.

Then, her eyes shoot open and lock on mine.

“‘This body may belong to you, but this soul is still mine.’”

I smirk, swallowing when I hear her sing those words about her body being mine. I know she’s not singing to me, but that doesn’t keep me from wondering what it would be like if she was. “You sure this is a love song?”

“A love song to myself.”

“I like it.”

She grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Write that down.”

Mia does so feverishly, and then she drops the pen to the page and turns to face me. Sliding off the pool noodle, she sinks into the water, emerging moments later with a smile as she swipes water from her face. It’s a hot day, but the breeze off the lake sends a chill over the pool as Mia cracks one eye open and then the next.

“Thanks for listening to me figure all this out,” she says, waving a hand toward the notebook. “I’m sure it’s silly to you.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because,” she says, waving her hand again. “I don’t know, it’s all lovey dovey and cheesy and stuff.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Downplay your creativity. Make fun of your art.”

Her eyes widen a bit, her smile fading.

“You’ve got something, Mia,” I say, wading toward her. I make gentle waves with each step I take, waves that crash on her skin. “Something special. Something real and vulnerable.”

I stop when I’m just a foot away from her, when her body is close enough for me to feel the heat of it even under the water.

“I’m just a girl with a guitar,” she breathes quietly.

Her eyes fall to my lips, and my heart hammers hard in my chest.

“And I’m just a boy with a stick,” I say, daring to move an inch closer. “But I bet we can rule the world one day, Strings. I bet everyone will know our names.”

“You’re so cocky.” The words slide out of her in a whisper.

“I’ll be confident enough for the both of us until you catch on.”

“What if I never do?”

The muscle in my jaw clicks as I tentatively reach toward her, and before I know what I’m doing, my hand floats forward, finding her under the water.

It’s the first time I’ve touched her.

I can’t ignore the electricity that zips up my fingertips, my hand, my arm, all the way to my unsteady heartbeat in my chest. I hope I’m playing it cool as I run my knuckles down Mia’s arm, hope I look cocky like she said and not like the scared kid I really am.

Mia inhales a shallow sip of air when I brush against her skin, and I follow the line of chills that erupt from that spot all the way up to her collarbone.

“I’ll find a way to make you see,” I promise, and this time, when I take another step, our bodies are flush together.

I can barely speak now.

“You… Mia, you…”

I wonder if she can feel my erection.

I wonder if she’ll push me away and gasp in horror and call me a creep.

But she doesn’t.

She breathes harder, her chest rising and falling, her eyes locked on my mouth now.

“What?” she asks on a breath, gaze snapping up to mine before she’s watching my lips once more.

You’re beautiful.

You’re sexy.

You drive me wild.

You make me feel something I’ve never felt before.

But I don’t get to finish my sentence, because the sliding glass door opens, and Mia and I break apart like we’ve been caught red handed at a crime scene.

Mia jets over to her notebook, pretending like she just had a lyric idea and scribbling it onto the page. I blow out a long breath and sink to the bottom of the pool, trying to calm myself.

When I re-emerge, I’m staring up through a watery haze at where Mr. Conaway is blocking the sun.

“Aleks,” he says, his voice deep and commanding. “Why don’t you towel off and come to my study? I’d like to have a chat.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, already swimming toward the stairs.

He turns and leaves, stopping by long enough to bend to the edge of the pool and plant a kiss on Mia’s forehead. I think he says something about the song she’s writing, but I can’t be sure over the ringing in my ears.

I towel off quickly, wrapping the thick fabric around my waist to hide my current situation.

My eyes find Mia’s briefly before I’m ducking inside.

The air conditioning is too cold after being in the pool and the sunshine. I shiver as I pad through the house to Mr. Conaway’s study, and when I enter it, he nods toward the door, wordlessly telling me to shut it behind me.

“Have a seat,” he says, waving his hand over the chair on the other side of his desk.

“I’m still a bit wet.”

“Sit, son.”

I don’t protest this time. I plop down in the leather chair, my back ramrod straight, hands in my lap. I almost laugh at how I was just called cocky by Mia less than five minutes ago, and now, I’m shaking like a leaf in her father’s office.

I already have more respect for this man than any other I’ve ever met.

I never knew my father. In a way, I’m glad for that. I don’t think I would have liked him.

My coaches tended to be the kind of men who demanded my respect without doing anything to earn it, as if their title alone was all that was required. I hated that kind of attitude. It made me buck like a wild horse against their reins.

But Charlie Conaway had taken me into his home. He had help from the team, sure, but he went above and beyond that. He listened to me when I spoke. He watched me when I practiced. He offered help when I asked and stayed silent when I didn’t. He fed me, and clothed me, and showed me what it was to be a man just by living his day-to-day life.

I love how he cares for his business, for his wife, for his daughter, for this home. I love that he cares for me even though I’ve only been here a couple of months.

But as he steeples his fingers and sits back in his chair with his eyes assessing me, I realize the real measure of my respect for him doesn’t rest in love.

It exists in fear.

I am as scared of this man as I am inspired by him, and that is a true testament to his power.

“I want to tell you that I’m proud of you,” he starts.

I don’t know why, but those words make my nose sting, and I sniff against the sensation. I feel my chest tightening. I realize no one has said that to me other than my foster mom.

“You’ve really settled in,” he continues. “You’re taking your rink practice time seriously, you help out here around the house, you’ve been respectful of my family and of the staff at the rink. I know you’ve only met your coach a few times and that the team will take some getting used to, but the fact that you’ve acclimated so well in a new country… it’s truly remarkable. You are a good kid, Aleks. You will be a great man.”

I blink, unsure why my heart is racing even as he piles on the compliments. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods, leaning farther back in his chair with his eyes on me. “You and Mia seem to get along well.”

And suddenly, I know exactly why my heart is racing.

“Yes, sir,” I confirm, not sure what else to say. This feels like a trap.

“She’s a wonderful girl, my Mia,” he says, a distant smile on his lips. “Always has been. From the moment she was born, she’s brought light into our family, into any room she walks into. When she first started singing and asked for a guitar, her mother and I suffered through her living room talent shows with worried grimaces. She was terrible,” he says with a laugh. “But by God, she just got better and better. Her music instructors were blown away by her progress, and now… well, I think we all know she’s special.”

He grows quiet, so I clear my throat and say again, “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Conaway is quiet for a while, and then he leans forward, placing his elbows on his desk and staring intently at me. “Son, I’m glad you and Mia are friends. I think you’re good for her, and I think she’s good for you, too. But I need to make one thing very clear.”

I swallow what feels like a sandpaper-covered wine cork in my throat.

“That is my little girl, Aleks,” he says, his voice lower now. “She is my world. And I am only going to say this to you one time. Under absolutely no circumstances are you to do anything inappropriate with her. I want you two to be friends, but that’s where the line is drawn. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Suddenly, all my ‘ yes sirs’ have dried up.

I just stare at him, silent.

I don’t want to understand what he’s saying, even though I do.

I don’t want to agree to what I know he’s going to ask me to.

“I remember what it was like to be your age. I know the things you’re feeling, the urges…”

I want to crawl inside myself and escape this conversation.

“I know Mia is a beautiful young lady, and there may be temptations. But… she has things she wants to accomplish, Aleks. Just like you do. I am trusting you to live under the same roof with her and that you will work just as hard as I do to keep her safe.”

He sighs when I still don’t say anything, scrubbing a hand over his jaw and looking out the window at the big blue lake. When he draws his attention back to me, his gaze is harder.

“She is off limits to you, Aleks. I do not want you to be anything more than her friend. And if I find out that you cross that line, in any capacity, I will not stand for it. I will revoke my role in your billeting situation. I will ask you to leave my home.”

I know without asking that this is not a threat.

It is a promise.

“I don’t want to do that, Aleks. I like you. I believe in you. I want to be there for you, to support you all the way to the NHL and long after. I… I know you’ve had a rough start at life, but I can tell you right now, after seeing you play for just a month — you have a bright future ahead of you.” He pauses. “But so does she. And I won’t have that ruined by her getting her heart broken, or, God forbid, getting pregnant.”

My neck is on fire now. I can’t look him in the eyes, so I drop my gaze to my lap.

I want to ask him so many things.

I want to argue.

What if I really like her, and she really likes me? What if we won’t hurt each other?

What if we could be good together?

But I know without testing those waters that they are treacherous.

This man, this father — he is not opening a floor for discussion. He is laying down the law.

And I respect him enough to honor it, even if it fucking stings.

“I understand, sir,” I finally croak.

Mr. Conaway lets out a long breath. “Good.”

He stands then, rounding the desk and clapping a hand hard on my shoulder. He squeezes, waiting until I look up at him.

“She’s like your sister now, Aleks. Protect her — and I will protect you.”

I nod, looking back at my fingers curled in my lap. They’re pruny from the pool and still buzzing from how it felt to touch Mia.

I realize right then that I will never get to touch her again.

“Now, enough of this serious talk,” Mr. Conaway says. He grins, clapping me on the back and prompting me to stand with him. “What do you say you and I grill some steaks tonight?”

Just like that, the conversation is closed, the expectations clear, the lines drawn.

When I’m excused from his office, I don’t go back to the pool.

I go to my room.

I try, and fail, to forget what it felt like to touch Mia, to have her close enough to kiss.

And I know this will be the first test of my strength as a man.