Off the Ice (Juniper Falls)

by Julie Cross

  I lay a hand on his chest and try to push him back, but he doesn’t budge. “Bossy much?”

  He grins, looking so sexy and also so much like Tate, like he’s keeping a dozen secrets from the entire world. “You want me. I’m making it happen.”

  My cheeks flush. “That is not what I said.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “You did, too. I heard you loud and clear.”

  “Okay, that’s not what I meant. I corrected myself.”

  “Freudian slip.” He studies the updo on my head, touching the French twist gently, like it’s another piece of clothing to remove. “Don’t be embarrassed. You can blurt out all your random subconscious thoughts…the fantasies, too. Especially the fantasies.”

  I’m trying to be angry, but instead I laugh. “Who are you?”

  He leans in to me, kissing my mouth gently. “The guy who wants you. Probably not the only one.” He pulls away and looks me over. “Not in that dress. But I’m the only one you have plans with, so that makes me special.”

  “Does it?” I take a step back and fold my arms over my chest. I’m stalling. I know I’m stalling. And it’s partly because it’s fun and partly because I do want him and that’s scary. “Why does it feel like you’ve already got my clothes off in your head?”

  Tate nods. “Oh, I do.”

  My face and neck warm again. “You’re one of those people who is completely comfortable walking around in your underwear, aren’t you?”

  Actually, I’ve seen nine-year-old Tate in his underwear. But it occurs to me that I don’t even know what grown-up Tate looks like shirtless.

  He tugs my arms apart and pulls me close again. “Underwear is optional.”

  I press my nose against his shirt and laugh. I can’t help it.

  “Claire, I’m only teasing.” He kisses more bare skin. “Well, more like projecting my feelings onto you. I want you. Okay?”

  For so long, relationships were limited to my imagination. And inside my head, perfect words were always spoken at the perfect time. But I don’t think the words matter as much as I’d thought. It’s the actions. It’s where you’ve been and how you got to this moment. I think he could say just about anything to me and I would know—I would feel—the sentiment behind the words.

  I lift my head to look at him. “Okay.”

  The grin fades, and he stares at me for a beat and then both of us are in motion—kissing, touching…anything we can get our hands on. I slide off his jacket, his tie…he yanks his shirttails from his pants with one hand while gripping my face with the other, slipping his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like sugar cookies.

  I work my fingers through the buttons of his shirt, allowing it to fall open, giving me a clear view of his chest. I have to stop kissing him just so I can stare. Not only because this isn’t the chest of skinny Tate, cannonballing into the public pool, splashing Jody and me while we attempted to get Florida-resident tans in Minnesota. But because this part of his body is full of new marks and scars, stories that I don’t know about. Pieces of Tate Tanley that I have yet to become friends with.

  I place my index finger over his heart, feel the steady but fast drum and then slide it down, over a faded scar and the rippled abs. I slide the shirt off him and toss it into the pile we’ve made of his clothes thus far.

  His gaze shifts to the jacket, shirt, and tie lying several feet away and then back to me. “A bit uneven, don’t you think?”

  The smallest trace of insecurity leaks through his voice. But his fingers skillfully locate the zipper on the back of my dress and tug it down. I’m breathing so fast the room has started to spin all around me, and my pulse is pounding in places I hadn’t realized it could reach.

  The dress falls at my feet in a heap and then my bare skin is against Tate’s and I’m going crazy. Crazy and falling backward, my feet having just been lifted a couple of inches off the ground by Tate. My back hits the cold surface of the blue and white bedspread. Tate slides beside me, one hand traveling from my neck to the space behind my knee until he’s got my leg around him and his mouth is back on mine.

  He leans over me and kisses my neck and slides lower and lower until his lips rest on the bow plastered to the front of my black bra. He reaches around behind me, fingers on the clasp of my bra, and I’m already visualizing the next step, needing it. Jesus Christ, I can’t think.

  “Tate… Wait…” Words fall out of my mouth in a rush. “Maybe we should slow down a little…”

  He lifts his head and looks at me. “I’m not… I mean, I’ve done this—”

  I cover his lips with two fingers, not needing any further details. “But I haven’t.”

  For the briefest second, his eyes widen, and we’re frozen in place, both our heartbeats screaming in the silence.

  The idea that Tate, like Haley’s gossiping friends, thought Luke and I had—

  I shake the thought away. It doesn’t matter. He knows now.

  He gives the tiniest nod, acknowledging that he heard me. And then we’re kissing again, my heart ready to burst out of my chest. I’ve never felt so perfectly content yet so unsettled at the same time. The heat barely works in this apartment and usually, whenever I stay here, I can’t even lie under my thick blankets without three layers of clothing.

  And here I am on top of the covers, and beads of sweat are forming on my neck and back. We could lay in the center of the ice rink next door like this and I’d be perfectly warm. Tate covers my body with his, and warm turns to hot.

  I reach for the buckle of his belt, unfastening and tugging it until the end emerges through the last loop. My gaze follows the trail of hair from his belly button down to the waistband of his pants. When I touch the same trail with my finger, his breath catches, and he watches my thumb hook into his waistband. He takes my hand, brings it to his lips, and then turns me on my back again.

  We kiss forever, pressing against each other until I can’t take it any longer. Until my nerves are ready to explode. He’s whispering my name, saying it in a way that’s become familiar. The tone radiates through me, filled with emotion, with determination, and my heart squeezes.

  He might as well tell me he loves me. That’s what his voice feels like.

  ...

  “Are we meeting up with Jody?” I ask when Tate pulls up to his house. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just that it involved some mutual friends who were waiting on us and it involved going out in the cold again.

  “Not exactly.” He parks the minivan in the driveway, but instead of leading me inside, we head around to the back.

  Down by the lake, I spot Jamie, Leo, and Jody sliding around on the ice in their tennis shoes. “A party?”

  But before he can answer, I catch sight of the patio table, recently cleared of snow. At least a dozen of the good—illegal—fireworks lie on the table, plus duct tape, paper, and pens. “Not a party.” I smile at Tate. “Fireworks and wish-making. Are you trying to change the events of the past? Wish fulfillment for your eleven-year-old self?”

  “Absolutely,” Tate says with a straight face.

  The guys and Jody head over when they see us.

  I settle in to write my wishes, stuck as to what I should write. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Tate is occupied, and then I break my own rules and sneak a peek at his paper.

  1. Raise my ACT score from 29 to 30

  2. Make it to State

  3. Ask Claire to marry me

  Tate looks up at me from the fire pit, a sly grin on his face. He points a finger at me. “I knew you read other people’s wishes. Cheater.”

  “Jesus, Tate.” I cross off his number three.

  I stare at my blank paper again. It’s one thing to play along while everyone else makes wishes but completely different to attempt it myself, even just for show. I should be doing this with my dad. A lump forms in my throat and I discreetly wipe away a couple of tears. A minute later, Tate is beside me, his face filled with concern. “This was supposed to make you happy.�
�

  “It does,” I lie. “I’m just not sure what to write.”

  He studies me for a long moment. “Maybe go for something a little less…tangible. Something broad. Like this…” He takes the pen and writes a new third wish.

  3. Claire

  That gets me to smile. “So I should write ‘Tate’?”

  “Only if it’s true.” He tapes his paper to the firework and tosses it to Jamie. “Fire it off.”

  I put my wishes on hold and turn to watch Tate’s firework. He comes behind me, his arms snaking around my waist, pulling me against him.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers.

  “Hmm.” I lean my head back against his shoulder.

  “Last time we did this,” he says, “I wanted to write a third wish, but I knew you or Jody would see it.”

  “What’s that?”

  He kisses my cheek. “Same as right now. Claire.”

  I smile to myself and enjoy the feeling of my insides warming. “So…if you were holding back before, you’re probably holding back now. Surely you want something bigger than another point on your ACT.”

  “And Claire,” he reminds me.

  The firework explodes above us, blue and pink streaking across the sky. “And Claire. But what else?”

  “Honestly?” He snuggles closer, his lips right beside my ear. I nod. “I want to play a game where I’m excited instead of freaked out about screwing up. How do I put that into words?”

  I lift a hand, resting it on his cheek. “I think you just did.”

  “Here’s the thing,” Tate says. “Hockey…it’s not really mine. It’s everyone’s. My loss is the entire town’s loss; it’s like I don’t get a choice.”

  I tilt my head up. “So choose it. Or don’t. Screw everyone else.”

  “Even my dad?” he whispers.

  My entire body tenses. “Especially your dad.”

  When we break apart so I can finish my rocket, Tate is looking at me like…well, like he’s telling the truth about wanting to write Claire down for his third wish when he was eleven. And suddenly I want to go back in time and see that night for what it was. But I can’t make my younger self feel those things for Tate or see him like that. All I can do is let myself feel them now.

  Eventually, after I can’t think of anything else, I wish to be able to make wishes again. Whatever that means. I grab the pen and jot it down, then snap a quick picture with my phone.

  Tate takes the firework from me and I’m rooted to my spot, watching him light it, watching it soar up high. He runs back to me, holding me close again, and the second the green and blue explode in the sky, it occurs to me that I might have ruined the chances of my wish coming true. Especially for my parents. I know they’ve never wished or dreamed about their only child canceling her registration, giving up a big scholarship, to stick around town, serving beer and balancing checkbooks.

  I have to tell them. I have to tell someone.

  My head turns on its own, my lips right beside Tate’s ear. I’m about to come clean with someone. But then the back door opens and Roger steps out. “Any of you interested in some early morning ice fishing? Might be a better place to set off fireworks. No sleeping neighbors.”

  Chapter 33

  –Tate–

  Olivia’s skates come out from under her, and I lunge forward and grab her under the arms, preventing a fall. Roger releases a breath and nods to me. “Ten more minutes, Livi. Then you have to warm up.”

  Teaching a six-year-old to skate is easier said than done.

  I stay closer to the kid while Mike and Roger set up a table and “skin” the fish. We work on widening our rink and spend a couple of minutes out of earshot of Mike and Roger. When we’re closer again, they’re deep into a serious discussion.

  “You did the right thing,” Roger says. “No matter what he promises, it’s not likely he’ll stop bullying you, trying to control your life. He isn’t going to accept you and Jessie and probably not your kid, either.”

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience?” Mike prompts.

  Roger looks out at Olivia and me. I quickly turn my back to them.

  “I am,” Roger says. “My dad…well, let’s just say he wasn’t very nice. But try and convince anyone else of that…”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up, goose bumps pop up all over my arms. I scrub them away with my gloves. It’s not the same for me. My dad isn’t like that, not exactly. Right?

  I’m stuck in this argument with myself until it’s time for Olivia to go sit by the fire. I step inside the ice-fishing cabin Roger inherited from his dad when he died. After putting my boots back on, I’m suffocating from the space and the people inside. Jamie and Leo had the grand idea of riding here on my snowmobile, probably because they were too buzzed to drive a car. I talk Claire into going for a ride with me. Of course this earns many snide remarks and ooohs.

  But really? What are we gonna do? Get naked in the middle of the forest somewhere when it’s a whole five degrees outside?

  “You sure this is safe to drive on the ice?” Claire asks after she’s seated in front of me.

  “An entire cabin is sitting on this ice,” I say, laughing. “You’ve been inside it for hours.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  I point across the lake. “If we cross here and head that way, we can see the frozen waterfalls.”

  Luckily we’re both dressed warm, because the wind is killer riding across the open lake, no trees to block anything. I slow to a stop a little ways from the falls. Claire hops off before me and shakes the snow from her jacket. I take her hand and tug her through the trees. I pull her in front of me and spin her around.

  “Holy…” Claire’s voice trails off.

  Only a few feet away sits what looks like a canyon now because the waterfalls are frozen. Hanging from the canyon edges are the biggest icicles I’ve ever seen. They reach all the way to the bottom of the canyon where mounds and mounds of snow have gathered.

  Claire moves closer, leaning down to get a better look. “I feel like we could jump and land in a pile of fluffy clouds.”

  I hook an arm around her waist, holding her in place. “Lots of sharp rocks hiding in those fluffy clouds.”

  She turns around to face me. “You okay? You look, I don’t know, spooked or something.”

  “I’m gonna miss you.” My eyes close and I touch my forehead to hers. “When do you leave?”

  With Claire in my arms, it’s easy for me to feel her body stiffen. I open my eyes, expecting her to look stressed or maybe frustrated because that’s how I feel. But I don’t expect her to completely break down.

  Which is what happens.

  Tears stream down her cheeks. She ducks her head, pressing her face against my jacket.

  “Claire… Hey…?” I take her face and lift it up again, forcing her to look at me. “What? What’s wrong?”

  She shakes her head and then squeezes her eyes shut. More tears tumble out. “I did something…bad. Really bad.”

  “What?” I demand. When she doesn’t answer, I prompt her again. “Just tell me.”

  I back up until I’m close enough to a tree I can lean against, and then I bring Claire with me.

  She takes a breath, trying and failing to compose herself, then a string of apologies follows. “My dad was on a ventilator… I didn’t know if he would…” She chokes up again. “…And then the bills, I couldn’t just leave them.”

  Okay, what? Did she make a deal with the devil? Borrow money from a mobster?

  “I canceled my registration for winter term,” she says all in one breath. “I haven’t told my parents. I did it without their knowing. I haven’t told anyone.”

  Relief rushes over me. I rest my hands on her face. “It’s okay. This can’t be the end of the world. So you reregister.”

  “I tried to make some extra money to cover it but even with all the catering and parties, there’s no way we can pay the tuition. And I don’t know
about my scholarship. They probably gave it to someone else. Why wouldn’t they? I didn’t even talk to financial aid, I just hit cancel. I wanted to fix everything for them…”

  She starts crying again, and this time I let her press her face against my jacket. I don’t say anything for a while, just stand there running a hand over her hair.

  “Tate, you don’t know what it was like for me. When I got that phone call from my mom and I was hours away. I can’t do that again. Ever.”

  I squeeze her tighter, press my face against her hair to block out the cold. Roger was right, this is even harder for Claire than I realized.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whisper. “You’ll tell them soon, and it’ll be okay.”

  As I say those words, I keep my fingers crossed that I’m right. Claire’s parents love her; they want her to be happy. She doesn’t have to be in college for that to happen.

  Now I know why she didn’t want to write down her wishes. Probably she’s wished for lead roles and solos in the past, things that don’t happen to people who stay around here. And she feels guilty for wanting anything that doesn’t keep her here helping them.

  “I know you,” I tell her. “You did what you had to. What you’re doing for your family, it’s pretty amazing. You gave up so much to be here.”

  She takes a deep breath, lifts her head. “That’s the problem. My parents don’t want me to make sacrifices for them. They want me to just take off and not worry about them, but how can I do that when they’ve given me everything?”

  There’s nothing else I can say to reassure her. Instead I dry her cheeks with my jacket sleeve and then kiss her, long and slow and with as much distraction as I can offer. It isn’t until our tongues and hands are tangled together that I really allow myself to process the idea that Claire isn’t leaving.

  Chapter 34

  –Claire–

  I walk with Tate over to the ice rink, hoping my face is finally rid of the red puffiness from my lengthy sob fest in the forest. Tate holds my hand tight in his until we’re right outside the locker room. He gently nudges me until my back touches the wall and our mouths are only an inch or two apart.