Chapter 12

My body remembers exactlywhat it's like to kiss Whit. My mind and heart are somewhere else entirely. One lights up like a scoreboard during a barnburner of a hockey match. The other thumps like I've been doing drills for eight hours straight.

I want to give her my all.

My fingers tangle in Whit's hair. Her cheek is soft against mine.

I'm lost in her lips, the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing is somewhere between shallow and heavy, but not regular. It matches the pace of mine perfectly. I'm not sure what to make of this kiss other than it being so right, so perfect.

Her strawberry scent fills my nose and I could drown in it in the best of ways. I slide my hands down her sides to her waist, drawing her toward me, not wanting any space between us—we've already dealt with an almost decade-old misunderstanding, hostility, and confusion.

I want this to be purely us. Alone. Together.

The kiss deepens. Instead of my thoughts traveling elsewhere, they remain right here, words like lips, wonderland, and wonderful highlighted in my mind.

Whit may have once been a rebel, but her kisses are the sweetest and anything but rebellious. She wants this as much as me. My pulse tells me that. Hers too.

She draws away for a second, taking a deep breath. Her gaze lifts to mine through heavy lids and lashes. She tilts her head slightly as if taking me in, processing what's filtering between us, the colors filling in the shades of gray, the gaps between when we were last together and now.

Whatever the question, I know my answer. If it has to do with us, there is only one reply. I mouth the word, Yes.

Whit's lips are puffy and she replies with the same.

Her cheeks warm as we meet once more, expanding and deepening the kiss as our hands explore and our hearts entangle.

We can't settleon a name for Whit's corn cookie waffle chips, but they're delicious. She and Blue are obsessed with getting the recipe right, claiming they must have the sweetness of a corn cookie with the durability of a chip for nacho reasons.

Yes, that's what they said. Nacho reasons. I'm telling you, those two.

They've just finished decorating the house in red, white, and blue flags, banners, and buntings—which Blue calls our holiday because it's "Redd, Whit, and Blue" Day too.

From the kitchen, Whit hollers that they're bringing a batch of the corn cookie waffle chips over to the Gormely's house next door.

Whit and Blue are like mother and daughter which is exactly what I think my sister needed. Not to say that I'm not part of the equation, but I have to admit it's touching to see their connection.

As for the one between Blue and me, it's pretty sweet, but I'm still getting my footing. Until recently, I knew how to do two things: play hockey and have fun. Add family life to the mix and it's taking me some time to recalibrate. Part of me wants to believe that it was what was missing from my life. In a lot of ways that's true. But I don't think I would've been ready or would've chosen this for myself.

For one, I wouldn't have pegged myself as being an even remotely capable father figure. For two, I've never trusted myself to give to anyone, mostly because I didn't think I had much to offer.

Blue and Whit challenge that belief every day.

Since taking custody of my sister, my main goal is for her to know she's loved and to feel secure in the knowledge that she'll be taken care of. Where'd that come from? I have no idea because I never was on the receiving end.

Well, until now. Whit has surprised me in so many ways. She's different from how she used to be, or perhaps she always hid the Little Miss Sweetheart side of herself.

Because I've also been the happy recipient of numerous iterations of the baked goods experiments, I clean up the bowls and utensils. Out the kitchen window above the sink, Blue and Whit stroll down the driveway empty-handed, meaning the drop-off was successful. If memory serves, Mrs. Gormely has a big mouth and can talk a blue streak—that's what Grandma Reid used to say.

I'm looking forward to the start of hockey season, but not to the end of these carefree days of summer, the sun, and life here with Whit and Blue.

Outside, my sister gets on her bike and waves at Whit. Seconds later, the kitchen's screen door opens. The smile Whit wore disappears and her eyes are hard when they land on me.

"We have to talk," she says.

"What's going on?" I peer toward the porch to make sure Blue is still outside because this We have to talk doesn't seem like the kind of conversation had over cookies and milk.

Whit lets out a ragged breath. "Guess we're the talk of the town. Leave it to Mrs. Gormley to know everything. For once, I'm glad I listened to what she had to say. I trusted you. I thought this was real."

Giving my head a shake, my shields go up. "What are you talking about? Of course, this is real."

"James, it's easy enough to put two and two together. You've always been Clancy's best friend first. He can't get married until I have a boyfriend."

"Whitney, that's like saying two plus two is five."

"Add one little detail and yeah, it is."

"And what detail might that be?" My arms cross over my chest.

"My brother told you about our parents' ultimatum, he asked you to date me, and here we are."

"That's a kind of girl math that I want no part of."

"If you're trying to be funny, save it. This is just as I should've expected. Thanks for nothing. You and Blue can stay here until your place is ready, but I'm going to—" Her chin wobbles and her eyes fill with liquid. She dashes toward the stairs.

"I didn't say I want no part of you," I call after her, but the bedroom door slams.

Hands on my hips I pace in the kitchen. Every part of me wants to holler, to defend my position, to tell her how wrong she is.

But she's not entirely because Clancy did ask me to be her boyfriend. Given our history, I can see why she'd draw that conclusion. My body tense, I want to speed along the ice, slap the puck into the net, and take down an opponent.

Instead, the image of me lying on the couch, surrounded by empty takeout cartons, the television droning in the background, my hair a greasy mess, and my sister finding me in a state of heartbroken despair makes me feel like I have a sandbag in my stomach, rooting me to the spot.

Likely, she's seen worse than that in her short years while living with our father. Baloo settles by my feet with a doggy sigh.

Then I imagine life without Whit's smile, laughter, kisses, and cookies. My heart doesn't thump. It goes cold. Quiet. Lonely.

That is not a life I want.

I'd like to keep the one I have—the one that is full of laughter and love.

Love?

I can't let us have another miscommunication of epic proportions.

All those years ago, I believed she thought our kiss was a mistake.

It wasn't. Not for me.

And the last month or so together has shown me that Whit feels the same. Except right now.

I'd like to be mature and make this right myself, but I need backup. Whit may not take kindly to it at first, but it must be done. First, I send a quick text.

I find Blue outside riding her bike and singing her sweet little heart out. She goes quiet and says, "Why are you wearing your game face?"

"If you can't play nice, play hockey," I mutter.

"And have cookies and milk."

The corner of my lip lifts halfheartedly at the reminder of Whit up in her room. I hate the idea that I made her cry. The old me would've retreated because this feels harder than I want it to, but I'm going to fight for her because my goals in life have shifted slightly. Yes, I want to get as many as I can on the ice, but like getting cross-checked by a defenseman, I'm in angry agony.

I also want this little life we have. Is it too much to ask for both?

"I have to go talk to Clancy."

"And Fancy?"

"Yep. What do you think about a playdate with Macy?"

Blue bounces off her bicycle and jumps up and down. "Yes, yes, yes, please."

I ruffle her hair and then we get in the SUV. She's quiet for a long moment, but probably because I'm gripping the steering wheel like my hockey stick and grinding my teeth a little bit.

Her watchfulness and caution have diminished lately, but I have no doubt she's picking up on the tension that's seized me.

When we pull up to the Lemon's massive house, Macy runs out the door and the girls hug, singing about how they're glued together.

Micah pokes his head out the door. "Looks like they're good to go."

"Thanks, man. I owe you."

"Show up on the ice, give your all, and we're golden."

I nod, appreciative. I was relatively close to some of the guys on the Lions, but I wouldn't trust any of them to take care of my sister and for her to come home without a mohawk, a tattoo, or a wild story that isn't kid-friendly. Don't get me wrong, they're decent guys but don't have family life dialed in.

I've become acquainted with the other guys on the team over the last few weeks, and now have a better feeling about the swap. We've hung out, done some team-building activities, and threw a big retirement party for Neal Sanderson, whose position I took. He and his wife Greta opened a sports coffee joint nearby.

I won't truly know for sure how things will go until preseason practice starts and we're together twenty-four-seven, but there's a family quality among the Knights that was missing from the Lions.

Next stop: Clancy's. I find the loafer on the couch watching hockey highlights. Ordinarily, this would get my attention, but not today. Without preamble, I drag him to his feet and outside.

"What are you doing?" At first, he thinks it's a joke and we're about to go on an adventure. Then he must sense that I mean business because he thrashes around, trying to get loose from my grip.

Back in the day, we'd wrestle and he was a formidable opponent. Now, my steady years of hockey training have him beat.

Kathleen rushes outside, "What's happening?"

"Just borrowing your fiancé, Fancy. I'll have him back soon."

Clancy relaxes slightly as if it crossed his mind that I might leave him in a ditch. Yeah, he's taking the brunt of my anger because if I don't find a way to make things right with his sister, I'm going to be the one on his couch and it won't be a pretty sight.

I shove him in the backseat.

"Do you have to be so violent?"

I grunt.

After engaging the child safety locks so he doesn't escape, my anger simmers. I'd like to direct it all at him, but that's not quite fair either. We're both guilty of not being completely upfront. We should've mentioned what Clancy said to me about being Whit's boyfriend. Made it a joke and then she'd have confidence that what developed between us is true.

Clancy perches between the two front seats. "Time to tell me what this is about."

For years, I feared that if he found out about the kiss his sister and I shared he'd hire a hitman and have me eliminated from existence—he once threatened Jaren Elten, the Red Hawks' high school football team's offensive lineman with that line if he so much as looked at Whit again. Then again, it was during our Italian mafia movie phase.

But I'm not taking any risks if he wants to strangle me from the backseat when I tell him about Whit and me. Best for us to be on solid ground.

When I pull up to the farmhouse, thankfully, Whit's car is still in the driveway.

I feel like I'm racing back onto the ice after being benched in the penalty box. I open the door for Clancy. Half expecting him to rush me for the unnecessary roughness, I step back, prepared for a ground brawl.

He grinds out, "Is this about?—?"

"It's about Whit and me. In high school, I respectfully kept my distance. Mostly. We were best friends. She was your sister, making her off-limits. Since coming back to town, it's fair to say that we've developed feelings for each other."

He tilts his head slightly as if the words do not compute.

"We have to talk to her."

"I'm not clear on why we have to talk to her." Annoyed, his lips turn down.

"Remember what you asked me to do?"

His expression drops as if contemplating making a run for it. "Oh. She found out?"

The farmhouse door flies open. Whit exits, looking stormy. "Both of you, off my property now."

Clancy staggers backward. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Plenty." Whit's eyes are bleary. Her cheeks stained with tears. But her mouth is set in a way that makes me think that perhaps I should"ve been worried about someone other than Clancy all that time.

He points to the house. "My best friend just abducted me. Do you think I could grab a glass of water?"

She huffs and balls her fists, but relents and we go into the kitchen. The sweet and buttery scent is so at odds with the mixture of anger and sadness in her expression. I want to fix this. I have to.

Whitney is a force to be reckoned with. I'm glad she doesn't play hockey because she'd be the enforcer for sure.

"Actually, it's about what I did. Or didn't do," I say, mustering up some courage.

Nostrils flared, she cocks a hip and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"When we first got to Nebraska, Blue and I had lunch with Clancy and Kathleen. He told me about how your parents said they can't get married until you have a boyfriend."

"Nice. Just rub it in, why don't you?"

I shake my head. "That's not it at all. There was no scheme. Clancy, what did I say in response?"

He leans toward me, and in a low voice says, "My sister looks upset. Are you sure this is going to make her feel better?"

She can hear him though and says, "You have three seconds, Clancy. I have a bull in the paddock this week and I know how to use it."

He steps back slightly. "Alright, alright. Redd said, ‘Tame that shrew? Not on my life.'"

She sucks in a breath as if measuring the truth in her brother's voice...and the meaning of my rejection of the fake boyfriend proposal. "You called me a shrew?"

Clancy shrugs sheepishly. "You call me an old goat."

Intervening before there's a brawl on the kitchen floor, I ask, Clancy, "What else did you offer?"

He grumbles. "With Kathleen's financial assistance, I said we'd sponsor the Red Hawk hockey team to make Redd's penalty punishment easier. He declined."

She glances at me because she knows being given the funds needed would've saved me a lot of headache with the team. If this were a court of law, I feel like this would substantiate my claim that everything between her and me has been real.

But there's more. To Clancy, I say, "During the senior year camping trip, Whit and I kissed. We were young and dumb?—"

He seethes, fists forming. "You got that right."

"Says the guy who proposed I fake date his sister. Anyway, lacking the maturity to talk things through and to be honest with each other, I was afraid of ruining our friendship, we agreed it was a mistake." I glance up at Whit. "But it wasn't. Not at all."

Clancy makes a face like he chugged lemon juice, vinegar, and milk—it was a dare in eighth grade.

Turning to Whit, I add, "When we kissed earlier, yesterday, and all the times before that, it wasn't fake. What's developed between us this last month was very real and had nothing to do with Clancy asking me to be your fake boyfriend so he could get married. I didn't tell you because it wasn't relevant. I thought it was a prank before I heard it from your parents. However, I'm sorry you doubted us."

She looks away, refusing to believe me.

I hang my head, feeling like the ice dropped out from beneath me.