Page 37 of One Pucking Wish

“Hey! It’s the Beast!” one of the Tampa fans shouts with a bit of a slur as he comes toward me. “I’ve been watching you for like ten years, man! I was going to be an NFL goalie. I would’ve, too, had I not blown out my knee in college.” His words run together.

He and his friends stand beside our group now. He continues, holding a fishbowl in his hand. “Wouldn’t that have been crazy if I were a goalie and we played against you? I bet I’d be even better than you are.”

“Yeah, cool,” I state before taking a step back to leave.

“Wait, man! Can I have a picture with you?” he shrieks.

Turning back toward the group, I plaster on what I hope is a smile. “Fine,” I say.

“Sweet!” He does a little hop and steps toward me. He stumbles and loses his balance, falling forward. Extending my hands, I hold up his chest as he and his neon-colored drink crashes into me. The cool liquid drenches my front.

“Dude, are you kidding right now?” I push him off me and hold his arms until I’m sure he’s not going to fall over.

“Sorry!” he yells.

I look at his friends. “You need to take this one home.” I eye their goofy grins and release a sigh. “Call an Uber. I don’t think any of you should be driving.”

My white T-shirt, now a bright orange, sticks to my chest. Rage at the dumbass laughing hysterically fills me, and I know that’s my cue to get out of here. I’m too tired to deal with idiots.

Without another word, I turn and leave.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

PENELOPE

Gabby has been texting me all day. The RSVPs for Tucker’s wedding are due tomorrow, and I haven’t sent mine in.

You’re going, right?

Everyone is going to be there!

You have to go, Pen!

Why aren’t you answering me?

Who am I going to hang out with at the wedding if you’re not there?

I need my best friend there!!!

Gotta love the three exclamation marks on her last text. She’s always been dramatic, that one. Not to mention, can we still claim our best friend status if we haven’t seen one another in over five years? I’m thinking not.

I haven’t been purposely ignoring her. It’s been a busy day. Road games are always a cluster. I planned on texting her back at that tiki hut bar. In fact, I opened my phone to do so when another text came through. Only this one wasn’t from her.

Jammies on, I lean against the headboard of the hotel bed and stare at my phone.

Nelly… please tell me you’re coming. Haven’t gotten your RSVP yet.

There’s only one person on earth who has ever called me Nelly. The nickname takes me back to the land of nostalgia and heartache.

I haven’t received an actual text from Tucker in a few years. We leave basic comments on social media posts every now and again, and there have been a few DMs on Instagram over the years. They’re never deep, usually generic pleasantries reminding the other that we’re still alive. There’s been no communication via text, so the fact that he reached out to me through my phone number seems much more personal. Add in the name he’s been calling me since third grade, and I’m a deer in headlights. I stare at the message, unable to respond. All I can do is read the two sentences over and over again.

I can hear his voice say the words, Nelly… please tell me you’re coming, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t pull at my heartstrings. I loved Tucker, and I owed everything to him. He was my constant in a world of chaos. He allowed me to be someone other than the daughter of the town drunk. He never made me feel less than and was the perfect boyfriend. Before we were more, he was my best friend. The truth is, I don’t know if I miss Tucker or the idea of him. I’m not certain I even know who he is anymore. He definitely doesn’t know me. I’m not the same girl I was in high school. I’m assuming that after a life in the military and in the eight years since graduation, he’s changed, too.

Nostalgia is a crazy thing. It has me missing a memory that more than likely is no longer real.

Though, when I really stop to think about it, it’s not seeing him that has me hesitating. It’s the thought of him seeing me. What will he think? Part of me wants him to remember the girl I was just like I remember the boy he was—and leave it as that. What if our current realities don’t measure up to our memories? What if he looks at me and questions what he ever saw in me in the first place? It’s stupid because it doesn’t matter. He’s getting married. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of my physical appearance or anything else.

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