Page 32 of Return To You

I glance toward the bleachers absentmindedly, looking for someone who hasn’t been there for me in over a decade.

And I freeze as she slowly steps down.

And looks over my shoulder.

“Ready, Tracy?” Grace smiles.

eight

Grace

He is spectacular. He’s all I fantasized about, except better. Saying that he takes my breath away doesn’t even begin to describe it. My heart threatens to fly out of my ribcage, my legs refuse to function, my hands are clammy and my vision blurred.

What is Ethan doing here? Am I hallucinating?

I mean, it’s not entirely impossible. I’ve been fantasizing so much about Ethan, I wouldn’t be surprised if my crazy brain made him up entirely. I don’t even know how I went through a normal conversation with him yesterday at the farm. It was like I was watching myself act like a perfectly sane person.

“Is this Coach Randall’s camp?” I asked Suzy Parker at the reception, when I got here a few minutes ago.

She smiled. “Coach had an emergency, but he found a replacement. Are you here for Tracy? Her mom said you’d come.”

I nodded.

“Go right in!” she said. “Quite some training he’s doing there.”

I usually try to stay away from the Arena. Chris plays here, so I do go on occasion, but not if I can avoid it.

So many memories of Ethan are tied to this place. To hockey. We didn’t always have an Arena, or a team. We got one thanks to Ethan. He was spotted by a rich tourist skating on the lake, and one thing leading to another, a year later we had a brand spanking new arena. The first game, Ethan racked up several key assists and scored three goals.

After the game, he gave me his puck.

I treasured it like anything that came from Ethan. Three years later, Ethan took us to Nationals. We traveled to Massachusetts for that. It seemed the whole town was there. When he came out in all his glory—he was already glorious back then—he pulled out the puck he’d scored the first goal with and gave it to me.

I saw stars. Felt butterflies in my belly. My stupid grin didn’t leave me for the next twenty-four hours.

Ethan had given me his puck. Again.

That had to mean something, right?

It didn’t matter that he’d ruffled my hair like I was a little kid (I was still a little kid, at the time). It didn’t matter that he didn’t sign it (what did I need that for?). What mattered, was that he’d said, “You’re my good luck charm, Gracie Bear.”

And I believed him.

He was only being nice; I see that now. It took me a long time to peel apart this crazy attraction—infatuation, call it what you want—I’d had for Ethan.

It was my fault I fell so hard for him and hurt so bad when he broke my heart.

I’d been building up to him throughout my entire life, without anyone or anything to tell me to stop making shit up.

He’d done nothing but treat me like a family friend, his sister’s bestie. Well, for most of the time. Then, things took another turn. At least in my mind they did. In his? I didn’t mean a thing to him.

I should have known that.

I did know it.

I should have understood the consequences.

I see it now. I can’t hold him accountable for what happened.

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