Page 1 of Valentine's Kisses
The Story of Us
By Harper Michaels
“Art is our memory of love. The most an artist can do through their work is say, let me show you what I have seen, what I have loved, and perhaps you will see it and love it too.”
-Annie Bevan,Art Quotes
Prologue
My Old Life and My New…
I never expected to want anything in my life except to win the Stanley Cup again. Look at me now…-Flynn
Flynn
There’s something soothing about the whooshing sound of the blades across the ice. At least to me. It reminds me of my childhood skating at the local pond in Westbrook, Tennessee, when we would have a good freeze. It reminds me of my years spent playing the sport I loved.
When I first retired, the sound was painful to me. It reminded me of the joy I once felt on that frozen surface. But now, it calms me. It centers me.
I hear a shout and look up at the players on the ice. Hunter Warren is shoving someone again. I smile. His playing style is the same as mine used to be. Shove ‘em all out of the way and play hard as hell, baby. That’s the way to do it. Get the puck to the goal. That’s all that matters. He’s there to make sure his team gets a score. It’s a rough sport and that’s the only way to play it. I miss the open hostility of it, the swagger of my opponents until I smashed them up against the wall. There’s something so honest about this brutal sport.
I remember vividly what it was like to be Hunter’s age. To be so sure of myself, so confident that I knew just how to make the plays and get the job done. Until my injury sidelined me, I was confident on and off the ice.
The coach yells at the guys and I watch a few of them skate off to the side. I cock my head and study them, taking in the new equipment my money has been able to afford them.
I never intended to donate money to the hockey team here, but when I arrived to interview for a teaching position, I was shocked at the disastrous state the hockey arena was in. It was falling apart, and the athlete’s gear wasn’t any better. It seems hockey isn’t prioritized here in South Georgia. Football is king and hockey is a minor entity. I swore that wouldn’t happen on my watch. I wanted to bring the love of this entertaining sport to everyone here.
I changed all that mediocrity into something special with my money.
I sigh and stand. My stomach rolls with nerves. Time to teach my first class here. I never thought I could or would be a professor, let alone a professor of art.
I pass by the old gazebo on my way to the art building. It’s covered in hanging moss, but the white exterior still manages to shine in the sunlight. There’s something almost eerie about it. I’ve heard the legends. This school has a ton of history. I invested a lot of time in learning it before I came here.
I think about the legend of love lost and found. Hah, I’ve never had anyone love me like that. I glance over at the gazebo again. Can you even imagine what that would be like? To find someone who wanted to spend forever with you… I shake my head. I’ve barely spent more than one night with a woman, much less a lifetime.
No, love is not what I need. Doing a good job here is all that matters. Love is just a funny myth…
Chapter One
Panic Attacks and Hottie Heroes…
Sometimes the scars inside me are so much more painful than the ones that show on my skin. -Gabrielle
Gabrielle
I can do this. I can totally do this. I can enter this building without having an anxiety attack.But I can already feel the panic clawing at the back of my throat, scratching to be free. Panic rips at my insides.
I glance around, taking in the people scurrying to their classes. On the outside, I probably look like one of them, but inside the new Crestwood University sweatshirt I’m wearing my heart hammers away and my skin prickles with fear and apprehension.Maybe I can’t do this.
I sway, suddenly feeling sick and clammy and ready to let my inside panic take over my other functions. I stumble backward and hit a hard surface.
“Whoa, steady there,” a deep, comforting voice says, and a large hand grips my upper arm. “Let’s get you somewhere to sit.”
I let the strong hand lead me to a bench. I blink hard and try to regain my composure.How freakin’ embarrassing.I can’t even make it to my first class here without having a breakdown. And now this stranger has to rescue me. “Put your head down.Take deep breaths.” I gulp in a calming breath as the voice instructs me to. The voice continues, “That’s right. In, out, in, out. Now, you’ve got it.”
I can feel my senses rushing back. The first to return is my sense of smell. Whoever my rescuer is, he smells nice. Like aftershave and something else manly…pine? I don’t know. Whatever it is, breathing in the smell of it helps me come back to myself.
His hand rubs up and down my arm in a gesture of comfort. “There you go. You’re coming back.”
