Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)(9)

The arena has emptied out.

It’s completely silent, only him and me.

I remember the first time I ever saw him. He was playing hockey that day too, but so much has changed between then and now.

Now, he’s the one person I’ve actively worked to avoid since moving here. The one person who almost kept me from taking the internship in the first place, simply because I knew he lived in this city.

My heart flutters like it used to before I remember everything that happened.

Because I may have loved Rio DeLuca once, but I don’t anymore.





Chapter 3


Rio


Age 12

“You need to keep working on your balance,” my dad says, helping me up from yet another fall. He makes sure I’m steady on my rollerblades before letting go of my arms.

“My coach said—” The wheels of my skates fly out from under me before I can finish my sentence.

I fall right on my elbow, but my dad made me put on my pads before coming out to practice so the impact doesn’t hurt that bad, and I try to get up as quickly as possible so I can keep practicing with him. He works a lot but will help me practice a couple of times a week and I do my best to impress him each time.

With my hands on his arm, he helps me wheel from the driveway to the grass where I drop onto my butt to sit.

“My coach said the dance classes I’m taking are helping with my coordination.”

He chuckles. “I bet they are. Hey, I got to go help your mom with dinner, so let’s call it a night for the skates.” He bends to make himself eye level with me as he unclips my rollerblades. “Are you still enjoying hockey? Because if you’re not having fun, we can try football or baseball or even soccer. There are a lot of other sports where you wouldn’t have to skate, you know.”

“No, I like it. I think I’m getting better. I want to keep playing.”

He unhooks my helmet, tossing it to the grass. “Okay. Then we’ll keep playing. Be inside and washed up for dinner soon, yeah?”

My dad ruffles my messy hair before jogging into the house to help my mom.

He’s always helping her. He’s always kissing her or dancing with her in the kitchen. It’s pretty gross, but all my friends say I have the best parents, and I totally agree with them. They met when they were my age, which is so weird to think about.

Pulling my feet out of my rollerblades, I unfasten my elbow and knee pads. I grab my hockey stick and gather my pucks in a pile in the middle of my driveway. The net is centered in front of our garage where I always practice. The garage door is peppered with plenty of dings and dents from my missed shots, but I’m getting a little better at making them in the net.

With my socks on, I shoot, but it goes wide, bouncing off the hanging light on the front of the house.

Thankfully, it doesn’t break. My mom would be pissed. She’s already upset that the garage door got dented, but she also didn’t tell me to stop practicing either.

I wish I had a friend on my street who I could play defense against, or they could play goalie while I shoot, but there are no other kids around here.

Everyone on our block has lived here forever. That’s just how it works in this part of Boston. Our house is the same house my nonna grew up in. She raised my mom here, and now I live here. I’ve had the same neighbors my whole life. Some have kids in high school and others are having babies now, but no one is my age.

Last night at dinner I asked my parents if our new neighbors had kids, and my mom said she wasn’t ready to think about someone moving into Cecilia’s house yet, so the conversation ended there.

Cecilia was my nonna’s best friend and had always lived in the house right next to mine, but she died a couple of months ago and her family didn’t want to live there, so they sold it.

I didn’t bring it up again at dinner, but when I went to bed last night, I prayed that my new neighbors would have a kid my age.

I work on the stickhandling drill we learned at practice this week, moving the puck back and forth along my driveway before shooting it at the net.

I miss again, and when I turn back for a new puck, I watch a car pull into Cecilia’s driveway and park in front of the house.

It’s a normal car like my dad has, but this one is dark green and looks new.

Standing in my driveway, I watch as a lady gets out and looks up at the redbrick exterior of the house attached to mine before rounding the trunk to lift out a small moving box, carrying it into the house Cecilia used to live in. The lady has dark hair and looks around my mom’s age.

A man gets out next and carries in a bigger box behind her. Then the back door of the car opens and a blond boy steps out. He’s holding a lacrosse stick and he’s my same height.

He looks up at his new house before noticing me standing next door.

I wave. “Hey.”

He waves back. “Hey. Do you live here?”

“Yeah.”

He walks in my direction, gesturing to Cecilia’s house. “I’m moving in there.”

“That’s cool. I’m Rio.”

“I’m Luke.” His eyes are trained on my hockey stick. “You play hockey?”

“Yeah, but I’m not very good.”

He holds up his lacrosse stick. “I play lacrosse, and I’m really good.”