Page 87 of Thrown for a Loop
He takes a bite of his dinner and watches me, thoughtful. “When we were young, I noticed all the ways you and I were the same. That’sallI noticed, though, and it kept me from understanding a few things about you.”
“Like what?” I breathe.
He busies himself with his food for a second. “I was forced to grow up fast. No mom, and a dad who resented me. I made all my own decisions from too young an age. But things were just theopposite for you—nobody ever let you make your own choices. You were too valuable.”
“I had to win medals. Make everybody proud.”
He nods, slowly, his blue eyes bottomless. “I faulted you for not pushing back at your mother. I wanted you to fight back. But on some level I was jealous that someone cared enough for you to pay attention in the first place.”
I put down my fork and just stare at him for a moment. The Chase I knew at eighteen seemed impossibly confident. He hid his pain from me so well that I never really saw it. “My mother’s love was… complicated. But I never doubted it was there. Lately I’m not as sure.”
“She’s… yeah.” He clears his throat. “I just want you to know that I wouldn’t have cut all contact if I thought I had a choice. And then afterward…” He looks away. “My life got messy, Zoe. I lost that phone, and your number, too. And then it just seemed permanent. So I apologize if I left you hanging at a bad moment. I convinced myself you probably didn’t care all that much.”
I take a sip of water to compose myself. “Well, thank you. I cared a great deal. But I promise I won’t keep bringing it up. I won’t throw it in your face whenever your camel spin is off cycle.”
He smiles suddenly. Just for me. “I do appreciate that. Because my skating is a problem.”
It’s a potent smile. I force some oxygen into my lungs and smile back at him. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“Practice, I guess.” He picks his phone up off the table. “Let’s make a schedule, or else we’ll just get sucked into the hockey vortex.”
“Right. Okay.” I pick up my phone, too.
As we eat, we go over the calendar, and I note all the dates when a practice is feasible—when neither of us is out of town, and it’s notgame night. There are only five of these unicorn days, so we agree to hit them all.
Then I steer the conversation around to the trickier bits. “What about the choreography? Should we scrap ‘Wicked Game’?”
He cuts a bite of enchilada with his fork. “I’m not sure changing the music will make the skating better. I had a thought about the soundtrack, though. Can we use a different recording of the song?”
“I guess? Do those exist?”
“Sure they do. Let me play something for you. A friend of mine made it.” After a few taps on his phone, he hitsplayon a song.
I get goose bumps as soon as I hear the opening guitar chords. It’s “Wicked Game,” except the guitar isn’t Chris Isaak’s light twang. A ragged electric guitar chord rips through my chest. Artful distortion gives the music a whole new texture. And when the vocalist comes in, I get chills. It’s a female voice with a rich, deep sound that reminds me of Lorde.
And she’s so, so interesting. I find myself leaning forward to hear how each new phrase spins out.
For the next four minutes, I finish my dinner without tasting it. I’m too absorbed in the song, right until the sad ending. “Wow,” I whisper into the silence. “That’s amazing.”
Chase gives me a big unguarded smile. “I know, right? And it would make Shara so happy if we used this recording. I even wondered if she could perform it live. If we’re going to make a spectacle of this damn thing, why not go big? It would take some of the focus off us.”
Oh.And now I’m wondering who “Shara” is to him. Then again, I almost married him off to his personal chef, so maybe I need to chill out.
“I mean… if you hate this idea…” he says.
“No, I don’t,” I say quickly. “And you know this person?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “She’s Emerson’s sister.”
“Oh.” Emerson is a fourth-line winger. “Okay. Then tell Veena your idea about the live performance. She’d be the one who has to figure out where to put a musician and how the sound system works and all that.”
“Fine.” He sits back in his chair. “You’re sure you’re okay with this direction, though?”
Trust me, I’m not.But I’m not willing to admit how painful it’s going to be to relive my teenage heartbreak. “I’ll be fine.”
He plays with his fork. “It occurred to me that if we can’t figure out how to skate it again, we could tell Sailor that your bad knee can’t take it.”
“Chase Johnathan Merritt—are you suggesting Ilieto management?”
