Page 113 of Ice Ice Maybe
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Challenge accepted. I love you. But fair warning. I love you. You might tire of hearing me say it all the time. I love you.”
I smirked. “There’s no way I’m going to get tired of hearing it.”
“Well then,” Nolan said, his lips tantalizingly close to mine, “prepare yourself for an onslaught of sentiments being thrown your way, Miss Dalton.”
“Bring it on, pretty boy,” I breathed, closing the distance for a kiss that promised much more to come.
Epilogue
Nolan
One Month Later …
The aroma of wood-fired pizza wafted through the air, mingling with the salty breeze off the Bay of Naples in Italy. I sat at a long table with my favorite people in the world, surrounded by the vibrant energy of the Napoli Pizza Village. Fifty of the best local pizzerias lined the waterfront, their stands a gauntlet of culinary temptation.
“I’ve died and gone to pizza heaven,” Tyson declared, his eyes wide as he glanced at the live band on the stage and then took another bite.
Jing playfully elbowed him. “You said that three slices ago.”
“And I will say it again after my fourth and fifth and sixth slices,” he retorted, reaching for another slice. “This is unbelievably scrumptious.”
Watching them interact brought a smile to my face. Ever since Zena and I set them up at Lucha Libre, Tyson and Jing have been inseparable. The way they looked at each other, finishing each other’s sentences and sharing inside jokes, it wasclear they had fallen hard and fast, like Zena and I had. And the best part was, we could go on double-dates together.
I glanced across the table at my parents, who were deep in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, swapping stories and laughing like old friends. I loved that the Daltons did not hesitate for a moment to invite them on this family trip, along with Jing and Tyson. Despite being quite different, my parents with their Midwestern charm and the Daltons with their cosmopolitan flair, they had hit it off immediately. It was as if they’d known each other for years, their contrasting personalities complementing each other perfectly. Watching them all together, I realized that sometimes the most unlikely combinations make for the best experiences, whether in friendships, love, or even on a pizza.
“Do you mind grabbing more napkins?” Zena asked, showing me the pizza sauce on her fingers. “And maybe a bib would be good.”
I chuckled. “Be right back.”
I pushed myself up from the table, my muscles protesting the movement. As I navigated through the bustling crowd of thousands toward the nearest booth, the aroma of freshly baked dough and melting cheese enveloped me. I waved and smiled at a chef who tossed a pizza into the air with practiced ease, each spin and catch a testament to years and tradition of perfecting their craft.
Reaching the napkin dispenser, I grabbed a generous handful, then walked back, each step reminding me of the hockey game in Dallas. My thighs burned, my back ached, and I was pretty sure I had bruises in places I didn’t even know about.
As I approached our table, I saw Zena watching me, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern. Lowering myself back into my seat, I couldn’t suppress a slight wince as my butt hit the chair.
“Here you go,” I said, placing the napkins on the table and hoping my discomfort wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
Zena’s hand was immediately on my arm, her eyes concerned. “I see you’re still feeling some pain.”
I smiled. “It’s a good pain, though.”
My mind drifted back to that surreal hockey game in Dallas. Hopping over the boards for my first shift on the ice, the familiar yet long-absent surge of adrenaline racing through my veins. The chill of the arena air on my face, the weight of the Sea Lions jersey and pads on my shoulders, it all felt like a dream.
I wasn’t delusional. The doctors’ warnings from years ago still echoed in my head, telling me that playing at this level again could do permanent damage. My body wasn’t built for this punishment anymore, not after the multiple surgeries. But for just one game, a few carefully managed shifts? I could handle that. I had to. It was my one shot at tasting that old dream again, come what may.
The first time I was checked into the boards, the impact rattling my bones, I felt truly alive. Every second on the ice was magnificent, from the burn in my legs as I raced down the length of the rink to the satisfying thwack of my stick connecting with the puck.
And then, in the final minute of the game, it happened. The puck found its way to my stick. I saw the opening, took the shot, and watched as it sailed past the goalie’s outstretched glove. The red light flashed, and for a moment, the arena fell silent before erupting in a chorus of boos directed at me from the Dallas fans.
And I loved every second.
I was a star for the briefest of moments.
An impossible dream that had come true.
I had scored the game-winning goal in my one and only NHL game. My teammates mobbed me, their excited shouts drowningout the disappointed crowd. In that moment, I was exactly where I was meant to be.
“Earth to Nolan,” Zena’s voice brought me back to the present. “Were you back at the game again?”
