Page 103 of My Wife
“Brookking Sound sounds like a nice place.”
“I want you to go there.”
“Maybe someday. It’s probably not too far from Wyoming.”
He chuckles. “It’s like the opposite direction going west to east. But I’d like you there with me. At the end of the month. We have a game in Toronto, so we’ll be somewhat nearby.”
I’m looking into the distance where the glowing orbs seem to meet the stars, but feel warmth on my skin. Liam gazes at me. I turn slightly to face him.
He opens and closes his mouth. If I didn’t know better, I’d say his cheeks darken, but it’s hard to tell out here.
“Jessica?” Liam asks.
“Yes,” I say, but it’s more of an answer to the question I sense he’s asking.
Then his lips land lightly on mine.
I inhale his soapy scent. Feel the sweep of his stubble on my skin. Absorb his warmth.
It’s a brief kiss. Just our mouths brushing. But my heart is pounding. The crush is tumbling, down, down, down like a snowball gaining momentum until it reaches the bottom of the hill. Then, like one of the paper lanterns, it glows, sails into the air, and dances with the stars.
He draws back and the light dims but doesn’t go dark.
What just happened? I don’t ask. Don’t use my words. Neither does he. Maybe because there’s no logical explanation.
After Liam leaves to meet with the team to prepare for the game tomorrow, my fingers press to my mouth where I feel the still-present sensation of his lips on mine, like he left a permanent impression.
27
LIAM
I won’t letmyself think about the kiss, however brief, that Jessica and I shared, and how I memorized the sparkling stars in her eyes. How all I can smell is her cinnamon, spice, and everything nice scent. The way she felt so soft, so close … until after the post-game team meeting.
The match against the Blizzard came down to a tie, resulting in overtime with Beau in the cage, and I give a recaptain—what we call the team captain’s take on the game. That would be me. “Unfortunately, Ronnie Danielson scored on our boy.” I clap Beau on the back.
He grunts and looks like he’s about to bite my hand off.
“Take it easy cowboy. I need that thing. We can’t win ‘em all. And they won’t either because next game, we’ll crush Colorado.”
The guys cheer, but it lacks the usual oomph.
It’s no secret that Badaszek and Vohn are assessing my every word and every move, wondering if I’m worthy of being a captain. I pick apart where we went wrong and ask my teammates how we could have tightened up the play that resulted in the opposing team breaking away with the puck and charging it down to the goal.
They shout out various technical answers.
“Good, but the way we prevent the other team from scoring on us is to play like a well-oiled machine.”
Pierre says, “Here we go. A missive on fine German engineering.”
Having been around my father in the locker room from a young age, I tell him off in Dad’s native tongue, then say, “We have to approach it systematically, but there is also nuance and a relational aspect.”
The guys lean in, probably never having heard me use so many words. Last night when I was telling Jessica about where I grew up, she looked more curious about the fact that I was saying so much than she was about the details.
Could be that she opened a door for me that I’d sealed shut long ago.
At that, I add, “Now, it’s time for us to eat cake.”
Grimaldi asks, “What exactly are we celebrating? That we lost?”
