Page 114 of Put a Rink on It

When I had a great day, he’d celebrate whatever win it was, big or small, as if it were his own.

When I needed a sounding board, he was there to listen and offer advice as needed.

When I needed a good metaphorical kick in the butt, he never backed down from being that person for me.

He’s my person.

My Cristina Yang in male form.

Or maybe he’s Meredith Grey and I’m Cristina. As long as we’re there for each other, it doesn’t matter who’s who.

As long as he’s there.

A slap on my leg ends my wallowing. “Get off the couch, put on some going-out clothes, and get in my car.” Juliet’s grin is a mismatch to her harsh words.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Ma,” she yells.

“Marina, Juliet’s in charge of you for the afternoon. Do as she says,” Ma calls back from the kitchen.

My mouth drops open, and Juliet winks. “Come on. We’re going to the farmhouse to bake cookies with Tate’s friends and the kids as an after-school treat.”

“I don’t like baking.” The lie tumbles out, untethered to the actual truth. Apparently, lying is becoming a trait of mine.

“Neither does Lennon, and you don’t hear her complaining.”

My gaze zips around the living room, proving a point. “She’s not even here.”

“Five minutes. New clothes, teeth and hair brushed, and let’s go. Tate has wine.”

“That would have been a better place to start.” I drag myself off the couch, folding up the blanket I’ve commandeered for the past few days, and head to “my” room to follow Juliet’s directions.

Ten minutes later, I’m buckled in the front seat of Ettie’s car.

“You should go home. Talk to him. Maybe he’s miserable, too.”

“He played fine in yesterday’s game.”

“And? Don’t make that mean he’s not miserable. So he pulled himself together for his job. Who’s to say his coach didn’t read him the riot act if he didn’t?”

I consider her thoughts and don’t have a logical comeback. “Stop being so wise and making sense of my nonsense,” I scold.

“When do I ever get to be the big sister? Never. This is great.” Her smile brightens the car.

“Never because you’re the younger sister, duh,” I grumble. She backs out of the driveway, but instead of turning toward Walsh and Tate’s house, she goes left. “This isn’t the way to the farmhouse.”

“We’ve got one stop first.”

“Super. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

We’re stopped at a stop sign, no other cars in sight. “It’s been a long time since I got a front-seat ticket to your life, Marina.” She lays a hand on my thigh and squeezes. “I’m sorry you’re miserable, but you’ll talk to him and work it out.”

“And if it doesn’t?” I voice the question I don’t want an answer to, but needs to be asked, the one playing on a loop through my mind the last several days.

“Then you’ll find the man you’re meant to be with, the one who loves you and wants to raise a family with you. The one you never saw coming. Like Hunter.” Her eyes dance when she says his name.

“What if I want that man to be Nero?”