Page 52 of Put a Rink on It

They aren’t words she hasn’t said before, even before I became “Nero Champion, professional hockey player,” but they’re hitting harder today, smack dab in my solar plexus.

I wrap my arm around her—the whole not touching her thing be damned—and pull her flush against me, careful not to jostle the boxes in my other hand. “Aww, Ships. You say the sweetest things.”

“I say the truest things,” she defends. “They’re sweet because you’re a great guy. I’m lucky to be in your orbit. I’ve known that since college.”

She’s got to stop saying these things. Not because they’re not true, but because the more she praises me, the more I’m liable to do something I shouldn’t. She’s doing me a colossal favor by going along with my crazy plan. The least I can do is respect her and keep my body parts to myself.

“Let’s finish our conversation over pizza.”

“When are you going home to California? This kind of news deserves an in-person conversation.” Marina stuffs a bite of olive pizza into her mouth, her eyes closing as she savors the flavors. I shudder. How she eats those abominable things is beyond me. Thank goodness I never told her I’d eat them and only thought it in my head.

“My parents will be at the LA game next month. It’s the first game after the All-Star break, so we can do dinner before. You can fly out.” It’s crazy how it’s second nature to voice these things without conscious thought. I need to be more realistic. She might not be able to drop everything and fly out to LA on a month’s notice. “Shit, I don’t mean that. What I meant was check your schedule. If it’s manageable, you can fly out. If not, we’ll find another time. Or I can tell them myself.”

Marina contemplates my statements, her face devoid of her opinion. The selfish side of me wants her to say yes. If it were up to me, wherever I was, she’d be. It’s not realistic in the slightest, but reality flew out the window the minute I claimed her as my wife.

After what feels like forever, she finally speaks. “I’ll make it work. I’ll look at flights tonight before you leave.”

Her answer astonishes me, prompting me to ask, “How do you know when it is?”

“Because I know your schedule?”

My eyes bug out. “You do? How? The entire season?”

“No, but for about four to six weeks at a time. It’s one of those things I look at once and it sticks. Can’t explain it.”

“So when did you look at it last?”

She shrugs, taking another bite of pizza. After swallowing, she continues, “When you confirmed you were moving to Hartford.”

“But that was before.”

“Before what?” Her head tilts to the side in contemplation. Like she’s confused.

“Before that.” I point to her ring. “Before my stupid divulgence.”

A tinge of pink creeps onto her cheeks. “Well, yeah. With you being so much closer, I had to compare my schedule to yours, see when I could get to Connecticut. Find a game to bring Lennon to.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” I tuck back into my veggie pizza sans olives, exactly the way I like it.

“I’ve been stalking your game schedule since spring semester freshman year.” Her words are so quiet, I barely hear them.

Her following my schedule isn’t news. Without fail, after every game, she sent a text. If we won and I played well, it was congratulatory. If we won but I played like shit, she’d let me have it. If we lost but deserved to win, she blamed the refs. If it was a deserved loss, she’d find something good to mention so I wouldn’t feel more defeated. She’s been my cheerleader since college, but I didn’t realize she was so on top of my schedule. I figured she took it game by game.

I don’t know why I’m letting this ruffle me. It’s not earth-shattering or life-altering. But it means something bigger, that I’m sure of. I can’t unpack it now. We have a limited time together, and I have a two-hour-plus drive ahead of me to ponder it.

“You’re my biggest fan. Admit it.” I don’t intend for the words to sound so egotistical, but they do.

“Your mom might disagree.”

“My mom doesn’t get it like you do. No one in my family does.” It’s an easier pill to swallow after playing for so long. My family is supportive, but Marina’s in the trenches for my career. Even before we became friendly in college, she was championing me. And I don’t only mean because of my last name.

A slow smile parts her lips. “I’ll wear that badge with honor.”

“Can’t have my fiancée, soon-to-be wife, thinking I’m not the bee’s knees.”

The idiom catches her off guard, her slice of pizza paused halfway to her mouth. “I sometimes forget how ridiculous you can be. If anything, this engagement is going to be a study in Nero Champion’s idiosyncrasies and quirks. I can’t wait.” A humorous laugh expels, cut off by more pizza.

“I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” I deadpan, shoveling the rest of the slice into my mouth. “I should get going soon.”