Page 75 of You, Again
“Did you see that shot?” Mary-Kate spun in a circle, her eyes as wide as her toothy grin.
Vinnie dropped his stick, threw his arms in the air, and broke into the signature wild man celebratory maneuver that a sports reporter had fondly called the Kimbo—a combo air guitar, one-legged crouched skate followed by a fist pump.
Once upon a time, his manic antics had electrified arenas, driving fans to their feet to cheer for the dynamic D-man who’d put his heart and soul into the game and left it all out on the ice. Nowadays, it made our niece laugh, the kind of joyful sound that rang bright and clear on a cold, gray afternoon.
“Are you kidding me?” Vinnie finally replied, his cheeks pink from the chill. “That was awesome! Who’s kickin’ Fallbrook’s ass next weekend?”
“We are!” Mary-Kate slapped his hand in an enthusiastic high five, waving when she spotted me on the deck. “Hey, Uncle Nol, did you see that? I made a corner shot from the snowbank. That’s like half the rink!”
“Amazing! I brought you a little something to warm up.” I held up the thermos. “You two have been out here for a while. I thought you might need a refreshment.”
She skated over, pulling her gloves off. “Thank you. Is it okay if I make peppermint tea instead? After I help pick up the pucks.”
“Don’t worry about cleanup. I got it,” Vinnie said, tugging at the pink ball on her knit hat. “Make your tea and while you’re at it, decorate the tree for us.”
Mary-Kate snickered, kneeling to untie her skates and stuff her feet into the boots she’d left by the deck. “By myself? No way, it’s huge. I’ll organize the ornaments now, though. My dad will be here in an hour. He can help too.”
She was gone before either of us could respond. I set the thermos down and waited for the back door to click shut, then wrapped my arms around Vinnie’s neck and kissed him breathless.
He fluttered his eyelashes as if coming out of a trance. “What was that for?”
“For being the best guncle ever. And the best boyfriend too,” I gushed.
“Almost-husband,” he corrected.
True.
So, what was that all about? Well, Vinnie proposed in Paris on a bench overlooking the Seine in October and of course, I said yes. He wanted to commemorate the occasion by carving our initials…I said no to that one. Technically, we were secretly engaged at that point. He’d also asked me to marry him in the parking lot at St. Finbarr’s in August on what he called our official one-year anniversary.
A proposal in a weed-infested lot on a mosquito-infested, hot summer night shouldn’t have been romantic in the slightest, but it was.
Vinnie had brought candles, had lain a blanket on the steps under the arch and secured the edges with the finest “crystally” rocks he’d found in the creek. He’d cut the vines away from the wall to reveal his old artwork, gotten down on one knee, and said something utterly romantic like, “I want to marry you, Nol. Say yes and I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy. And the faster you agree, the sooner we can get outta here. These motherfucking mosquitos are eating me alive.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”
Somehow, he’d talked me into helping him carve our names and the date into the wall while I’d grumbled that we’d spend our first night as an engaged couple in the pokey for trespassing and vandalism.
“Nah, we’re good. I bought this place from the church. I have an architect coming by later this month to draw up plans for the youth center, sports and fitness facility—kind of an annex to the rink. I finally talked Ronnie into remodeling the El Rink, but it’s never going to be big enough for the programs we want to run. I own the land next door too,” he’d said, gesturing to the empty field in the distance. “We’ll build there and make the church into a bookstore. For the kid. And no, I won’t make a habit of defacing the brick, but I’m definitely leaving this art right where it is. For posterity and shit.”
I lifted my champagne flute and tapped it against his, my smile threatening to split my face in half. “To posterity and shit.”
That was so Vinnie—my accidentally romantic hero. The man who’d come home to sort through the past before dealing with his future was the first to admit his life had taken a series of unexpected turns since he’d announced his retirement from the NHL a year and a half ago.
He came out as bisexual, relocated to Elmwood for good, became joint owner of the Elmwood Rink, broke ground on the youth center, started the girls’ twelve and under league, got Mary-Kate to join that team, and agreed to be head coach of the juniors club team. His goal was to put Elmwood on the map as a hockey town powerhouse. I had a feeling it was going to happen.
Next summer, Elmwood would open the first-ever five-week organized hockey camp for teens coached by some of the biggest names in the NHL, including his good friend, Trunk Thoreau.
It was a wild fantasy come to life. Something my father wouldn’t have thought possible. However, Vinnie saw things differently. This town had fostered him and given him wings that led him to a career and wealth beyond his wildest dreams. He figured that it was only right to give back. And the town was flourishing as a result.
The Black Horse Inn was always at full capacity, the diner was booked well in advance, and there was almost always a line outside Henderson’s Bakery and Rise and Grind. It was almost scary to think what it would be like during summer when families came to stay for weeks on end. But we’d prepare as best we could and deal with the crowds in July.
We had a June wedding to plan first.
We both hoped to keep our ceremony smallish, but our guest list included at least a dozen NHL players and their dates, a certain supermodel, a bunch of my friends from LA, and basically the entire town. There was talk ofPeopledoing a spread, because let’s be real, the great Kimbo marrying a man was big news.
I didn’t think Vinnie had known what to expect when he put out a brief video statement announcing that he had no intention of un-retiring, and that while he was at it, he might as well come out too. He was bi, in a relationship with a man, and in love. That was that.
But it wasn’t that simple.