Fly With You

As Delia sat on the edge of the bed, the elderly woman lying in it gave her a sad look as her thin fingers ran through her granddaughter’s hair. “Delia, my dear, if you leave that boy sitting at that restaurant alone and waiting for you, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

“Grandma…”

“No, don’t tell me you don’t want to hear it. I’m eighty years old. I know more than you think I do. You think he’s too good for you.”

“He is!” Delia protested. “Grandma, he’s a millionaire athlete. I’m not anyone.”

“You’re the girl who loves him, Delia. You love him for who he is, and maybe I don’t know the boy, but I bet that means the world to him. I’ll also bet you loves you, too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And I’ll never find out for sure if you don’t go to that restaurant! If you leave now, you might still catch him there. You said he was excited on the phone last night. He wants to see you, dear.”

Delia frowned, as her grandmother continued to talk. “I know that you’re scared, too, and baby, I understand why. You’re mother fell head over heels in love with your father, and he left her heartbroken and pregnant. I know, just by the way you talk about Jonathan, that he’s not that kind of guy.”

Delia sighed and frowned as she looked down at her sick grandmother. “I know me and your grandfather sent you off to see the world when you were just eighteen, but it’s been three years since then, Delia. You need to stop running from whatever you’re scared of. Embrace the way you feel about this guy. Your heart will never do you wrong.”

---

Jonathan Toews squinted his brown eyes as the bright, California sun beat down on him. He picked up his glass of water, taking a long, cold drink as he looked at his watch; twenty after one. Delia was late. The Blackhawks had arrived by plane less than an hour ago, but after a month of being away from the beautiful blonde, Jonathan couldn’t see her fast enough. They had talked the night before, agreeing to meet at the restaurant Jonathan currently sat at, the spot across from him still empty and unoccupied.

He sighed as the waitress who had brought him the water once again came to his table on the outdoor patio. “Are you ready to order yet, sir?” she asked, her big green eyes studying his face. He shook his head, reiterating he was waiting for someone, and the girl left, a frown on her face. He checked his watch again, before pulling out his cell phone, dialing the number to Delia’s grandparent’s house.

Four rings later, he heard a tired voice on the other end. He hesitated before asking to speak to Delia.

“You must be Jonathan,” the woman said, her voice brightening up with every word she spoke.

“Mrs. Richter?” he asked, surprised to hear she’d answer the phone. “Is Delia there? She was supposed to—”

“Meet you, yes, I know. It seems our girl has gotten cold feet, dear. I suspect she’d be at the beach now, clearing her head.”

“What beach?” he asked immediately, his heart beat rapidly speeding up with every word Delia’s grandmother spoke. He quickly jotted down the information on the restaurant napkin before he dropped a twenty onto the table despite never ordering anything. “And Jonathan?” the woman spoke as he ran to his rental car. “If you love her, don’t take no for an answer. She’s stubborn like her mother was.”

“Yes, m’am,” he smiled, starting the car and speeding off into traffic.

The famous Santa Monica pier had come into Jonathan’s line of vision as he quickly drove through toward the water. He didn’t see anything else other than his destination, nor did he hear anything beside the hum of the engine as he kept accelerating.

He pulled into the parking lot just behind the expanse of beach Delia’s grandmother told him she was most likely to be at, and he ran toward the water. He ignored everyone around him, his eyes seeking out Delia’s blond curls. He vaguely heard a few people yell his name as he walked along the beach, quickly glancing at everyone he passed.

Great, he laughed, wondering what kind of stories would be on websites later that day about him freaking out at Santa Monica Beach.

Sitting just underneath the pier, her blond hair whipping around her as she stared out at the ocean, he found Delia. Taking a calming breath as he slowed to a stop, he watched her silently for a minute. Her knees were tucked against her chest, her fingers drumming a beat on them as her blue eyes stayed transfixed on the water.

He simply sat down next to her, without a word. She turned to him, her blue eyes wide as she looked him over. “Jonny…”

“I talked to your grandmother.” She hung her head. “She tells me you were too scared to meet me. Why, Delia? If I did something…”

“No, Jonny!” she gasped, twisting her body and resting her hands on his thigh. “You’re perfect.”

“Then, what’s the problem?” he asked, entwining his fingers with hers. “I’m in love with you, Delia. I can’t just let you run away.”

Her eyes widened again and she took in his words. “I’m scared,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been on the move for the past three years, and for the first time, I don’t want to travel anymore. I want to stay in Chicago. I want to stay with you.”

“Then stay, Delia. Stop running from your past and be with me.”

She smiled, her hands reaching up to cup Jonny’s cheeks. “I love you,” she told him before pressing her lips against his. Jonathan kissed back, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her tightly against him. They pulled apart when his cell phone rang, and Delia’s name popped up onto the screen. She laughed, knowing her grandmother was no doubt on the line.

“Hello?” Jonathan asked, smiling widely as Delia continued to laugh.

“Did you get her?” the woman simply asked, a hint of knowing in her voice.

“I got her,” Jonathan smiled. “And I’m not ever letting her go.”

As the couple made their way back to Jonathan’s rental car, he stopped suddenly and turned to her. “I have a confession.” She raised her eyebrows, nodding for him to continue. “A couple months ago, after you got your tattoo,” he started, putting a hand on her bare shoulder and tracing along the ink that would always be there. “There was a message on my answering machine for you, from a guy named Mark…”

He paused, trying to gauge her reaction, but she only wore a small smile. “He said something about things being arranged for you to go to New Orleans, and I kind of… freaked out and deleted it.”

Delia laughed, wrapping her arms around the hockey player’s body. “I know.”

“You know?”

“He called back a few days later when I didn’t return the call. I told him I never got the message, but that I wasn’t interested anyway.”

Jonathan let out the breath he was holding as he laughed nervously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done—”

Instead of letting him finish, Delia pressed her lips against his before dragging him up the beach and to the parking lot.

---

Delia sat on the edge of her seat as she watched the Blackhawks take on the San Jose Sharks. One of Jonathan’s jerseys hung from her thin frame, cascading almost down to her knees. In a sea of teal and black, Delia’s bright red jersey stood out easily, and Jonathan found as he skated up and down the ice, it was exactly the kind of motivation he needed. By the end of the first period he had a goal and an assist; the second, another goal, and with only five minutes left in the third, things were looking good for his third.

Everyone in the arena watched with bated breath as Jonathan skated up the ice, weaving in and out of the Sharks’ defense. With a flick of his wrist, the puck sailed into the back of the net and the captain notched his third goal of the game.

Despite being new to hockey, Delia knew that three goals qualified as what was called a hat trick, and traditionally, fans through hats onto the ice in celebration, but since the Hawks were playing a road game only a handful of people were happy about Jonathan’s three goals. Taking the Blackhawks baseball style hat off of her head, Delia threw it onto the ice, grinning as it landed at his skates. Picking it up, he flashed a smile in the young woman’s direction before taking his seat on the bench.

After the game, Delia threw herself at Jonny’s body the second the media was told to leave. He caught her easily, grinning as she pressed her lips against his. From next to the young captain, Patrick Sharp snorted out a laugh. “Delia, you have three goals to prove how much this kid loves you.” The blonde smiled widely, her thin arms tightening around his waist.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be doubting that again,” she said, barely loud enough for Patrick to even hear as her eyes locked on Jonathan’s.

---

As Jonathan spoke, the dull throbbing in his chest increased to a sharp pain. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before snapping them back open. His daughter’s eyes—never more identical to her mother’s—held the same pain that his did. She nodded her head sadly, despite hearing the happy story.

The father, daughter duo were back at their home in Chicago after the Blackhawks had been successful against the Canucks in the second game of the series. Now tied at one game apiece, the series returned to Chicago for two games. Although both were incredibly tired, Jonathan stood from his spot on the couch and motioned for his daughter to follow him. “I want to show you something.”

Eagerly agreeing, Penelope bounced up the stairs after her father into his bedroom. Taking a seat on the bed she watched as he moved toward the large oak desk that sat in the corner of the room, opened a drawer, and carefully removed a book from it.

“This was your mother’s,” he told her, holding the book delicately, as if it would shatter into a million pieces at even the slightest of wrong touches. Penelope’s eyes widened as she stared down at it and as her father placed it in her hands. “She loved to write almost as much as she loved to read. Her nose was always in a book, whether a new novel or this one, writing down whatever she felt like.”

The retired hockey player took a deep breath as he ran his hand over his face. “It took me years to finally read it after…” he hesitated, “after we lost her. Even now it’s hard to do, but I think it will do a lot more for you than for me now. She talks a lot about you in it.”

“It’s her journal?” Penelope asked, her voice airy and her blue eyes filled with tears.

Jonathan nodded, placing a hand on top of his daughter’s. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Read it, Nelly. It’ll help you heal, finally."