TWENTY-TWO
Dawson
I’ve had the privilege of meeting all my favorite hockey players. Of course, my dad, my mom, Jude, and Jace are my number ones, but I also encountered a lot of greats. Not only did they play with my dad, but I was able to meet guys like Pavel Datsyuk, Kimmo Timonen, and Peter Forsberg. It’s almost an out-of-body experience getting to interact with people you idolize and enjoy, and I thought nothing could top the moment of meeting Pavel Datsyuk since I have modeled my game after his. That is, until I’m sitting on the floor by a full-size old-school goal, leaning forward on my knees, and watching the girl I am totally obsessed with.
Ambrosia is just…fucking everything.
I have thoroughly enjoyed her voice and her commentary on her podcast, but what I didn’t know was she talks with her hands. Her eyes light up with excitement as she listens to her guests. Her smile, her real one, is unstoppable, and you can tell that she loves everything she is saying. That she is being true to herself, to what her dad built. Her confidence is just as beautiful as she is.
I wish she’d never doubt herself.
Ambrosia’s space is totally her. It’s all vintage hockey equipment, and I spot her dad’s name everywhere. It makes me wish he were here so he could see how amazing she is. I know he’d be so proud and probably give me a hard time for chasing after her. Not that it would matter. I’d tell him the same as I’d tell anyone—Ambrosia is it for me.
The room is a fun teal color with bright spots of yellow and orange. Her chair that she sits and moves in constantly is black, the only thing that isn’t bright. The couch my parents are sitting on is a sunny yellow with fun Latin-style pillows. She has a lot of photos of her growing up and also of her family. The food on the coffee table is in abundance, and Mrs. Mercer has made me four plates so far. Every time I finish one, she makes me another. I finally had to beg her to stop, and she just laughed, patted my cheek, and said something in Spanish that made Ambrosia giggle.
My new goal is learning Spanish.
But as I sit here, eating and watching, I feel…complete.
It’s odd. I’m not saying I’ve been unsettled, because I truly don’t think I have. I love living with Louis, I love my family, and I love school. I have my teammates and two sports I love. I should have felt whole long before sitting here, but that’s not the case. Being here, in her space, watching Ambrosia interact with my parents, is bringing forth feelings I’ve never experienced. Ones I don’t know that I have a word for except…completion.
I don’t want to leave. I want to stay right here and watch her do her thing. I want to ask what her mom said. I want to laugh too. I want to cuddle with her on the couch. I want to share food with her. Fuck, I want it all.
I want her.
This.
Us.
“Let me ask you something,” Ambrosia starts, and I don’t miss the way her eyes cut to me, a sneaky grin pulling at her lips. She’s so pretty. I love her hair down, but I also want to gather it in my hands and pull her head back to cover her mouth with mine. “Some might say that it wasn’t the love for each other that has propelled your careers to where they are. That it might be the fact that you two love to one-up the other. Have a rivalry in everything you do. I’ve seen firsthand Baylor and Jayden argue over office space.”
We all laugh at that, and I don’t miss the look my parents send me.
“Do you truly feel that you found your person, or is it the fact that she challenges you, and you have to be better?”
My dad has this grin on his face that I don’t see often. It’s for my mom. He basically has hearts in his eyes, his lips curved in a knowing, intimate way as he pulls her into the crook of his arm. With his other hand, he tucks her hair behind her ear, fixing her glasses before he says, “Both.” I can’t help but grin. “I am who I am—the man, the husband, the father, the player, and the coach—because this woman right here wouldn’t accept anything less than greatness.” He kisses her nose, and my mom is totally engrossed in everything he says. “I knew from the moment she grabbed a stick, went toe-to-toe with me, her eyes not even on the puck, that I was done for. That no matter what was happening, she would be on my side of the puck, her eyes on me, my heart in her hands. That she would never back down from a challenge, that together, we could build a life that would be everything we ever dreamed of.”
“A life that I’d live a million times over,” Mom says softly. “As long as it’s with you.”
Dad grins, his eyes sparkling. “So yeah, we may still be rivals, but when it comes down to it, we’re on the same team, and we push each other to be great.”
“Exactly. As our eldest son likes to say, arguing is our foreplay.”
I don’t know when, but I stopped watching my parents to watch Ambrosia. Her eyes are bright and glossy. Her hands are locked together on the back of the chair that she is now sitting cross-legged in. I want to try out that chair, of course with her in my lap. Laughter rings around the room, but I’m too focused on her. I watch as she looks at the table where the bouquet of flowers I made sits. Her lips curve up in a beautiful smile, leaving me breathless, before she looks over to me.
I smile, my heart in my throat as her smile morphs into a smirk. I can still feel those sweet, plump lips against my jaw. I crave them to be on mine, but I know I gotta take it slow. She’s letting me in. I can feel it, and I can’t fuck it up. I can’t rush it. It’s in this moment that I know I’d wait forever for this girl.
That everything my dad says about my mom, I feel for Ambrosia. I want to be great for her. I want to impress her. I want her to be proud of me and what I do. I want her at all my games, football and hockey. I want to come home to her, so I can unload my day and she can unload hers. When someone says my name, I want her to be the first to say, “Yeah, that’s my man.”
Because I sure as hell want to say she’s mine.
“Since it’s close to Halloween, I wanted to ask what your favorite Halloween thing to do together is,” Ambrosia asks, drawing my attention to her. I realize they’re wrapping up, and I don’t know how I missed everything.
“Everyone would assume it’d be hockey,” Dad starts.
“And we do,” Mom supplies with a grin.
“But really, we are huge caramel apple people.”
