“Shit. He’s a lost cause, boys.” Jack walks past me to get the team razzed up. He offers some fist bumps and others a few encouraging words. When he circles back to me, he bumps me in the stomach with the end of his stick. “I think that’s the guy they’re hiring to replace Richard.”
He jerks his head up to indicate behind me and I open my stance to check out our new assistant GM. We got the news yesterday from Coach at practice. Not totally surprising, we’d been hearing rumblings that Richard was going to be let go for misconduct. Which usually means someone did something sketchy and they don’t want the details to get out. That combined with our shit-tastic start to the season and none of us were that surprised.
I keep staring at the guy, scoping him out. An assistant GM has less pull than the GM, but they still have a say in which players come and go. And with this being a contract year, I have to care a whole lot about those types of things. “That’s the same guy that was with Jim at the Vegas game.”
He nods. “Yeah. He brought each of the guys they interviewed in for a game.”
I scan the guy again, certain I’ve seen him before. Something about him puts me on edge, but a change in personnel mid-season never feels good. “What else do you know about him?”
“Not much. He’s pretty green. Youngest assistant GM in Wildcat history. Coach said he was a scout for a minor team in Iowa and then most recently the Penguin junior hockey team.” Jack shrugs it off. I’m still staring at the guy, trying to get a good take on him when Jack asks, “Do you want to meet up in the morning and do some drills?”
“I can’t tomorrow. My family is in town.”
“Momma Kelly,” he says, letting his voice go soft.
“Her last name is George now.” She got remarried four years ago and this isn’t the first time (or even the third) I’ve corrected him.
“I know, but you get this crazy eye thing going on when I call her Momma Kelly.” He keeps on grinning. “How is she?”
“Good. She’s here tonight. So are my aunts, sisters, and my dad and his new family.”
He opens his mouth, but before whatever wisecrack he has in store, I add, “Stay away from my mom and my sisters. Aunts too for that matter.”
Biting his lip, he wanders off to keep pumping up the team. I know he’d never really make a move on a teammate’s family member, but he likes to fuck with me just to be annoying.
Every minute that ticks down, the guys get quieter, more amped-up. I get more frustrated.
I lean against the wall and will my body to chill the fuck out. Tyler paces in front of me. I have each of these guys’ routines memorized as well as I know my own. It’s just one of those things that comes from spending so much time together and he’s acting strange.
“Everything okay?” I ask him.
He walks by again, side-eyeing me, as he holds his stick in one hand.
Now I’m doubly concerned. He’s been having a rough start to the season. He was our number two scorer last year, but the past few months, he’s struggled to find the net. It happens. I’ve gone weeks with everything being just a hair off. It’s infuriating. I try to think what people said to me during those times, and what made a difference.
I go with, “Just keeping firing. Any chance you get. Eventually your head will stop trying to compensate and you’ll find that rhythm again.”
He pauses, gives me another strange look, then nods. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
But then the dude keeps pacing. So much for my rousing words of wisdom.
On approximately the fiftieth pass by me, he stops. “I’m trying to decide if I should tell you something or not.”
“Well, now you have to.” I push off the wall.
He glances up and works his jaw side to side like he’s really considering how to say whatever it is.
“You’re freaking me out. What the hell is going on?” The only time I’ve ever seen him this agitated is when something is going on with his sister. Oh, shit. “Is Everly okay?”
I haven’t checked in on her much since I heard Bridget moved in. She made it very clear that she was not going to give me any information about her new roommate. Maddening, but I respect it.
“Yeah,” he says automatically. “She’s good.”
My body relaxes.
“She’s coming to the game tonight.”
“O-kay.” She comes to most home games to support her brother. “You want me to check on her? Where’s she sitting? Usual spot?”
He sighs, acting all annoyed because I can’t read minds and didn’t correctly guess whatever the hell he’s trying to tell me. “She brought her roommates.”
The S at the end of the last word hangs in the air while my brain connects the dots. Roommates. More than one. Roommatesssss. Plural. Both of them.
My heart skitters to a stop. Hell yeah.
Bridget is here.
13
HELLO, MR. KELLY
BRIDGET
I am a bundle of nerves when we arrive at the arena Saturday night. It’s been so long since I had a night out with girlfriends. I forgot about the hours of getting ready together and all the fun, happy conversation that I once loved just as much as whatever plans came later.
After we load up on food and drinks from the snack bar, Everly leads us to our seats. Grace sits between me and Ev and there’s an empty seat on the end of the aisle. I’m thankful for a quick escape route in case I need to go throw up. I keep telling myself it’s stupid to be nervous. Everly told me a dozen times that Ash has no idea I’m coming and that he’d be too focused on the game to be searching for me. I believe her but my anxiety does not.
We’re about halfway up in the lower section between the net and the team’s bench. Both teams are on the ice warming up. A player I don’t recognize is across the ice, handing a stick over the glass to a fan. The back of his jersey says Sato. He doesn’t take off his shirt or stop to flirt with any unsuspecting women, but nonetheless it transports me right back to the last time I was here.
Everly cranes her neck to see every single player as they stretch or shoot pucks into the net. Grace is looking down at her phone, texting Lane. She told me before we left that she doesn’t really care that much about hockey, she comes for the snacks and to watch Everly get all mouthy and riled up—something, admittedly, I’m also excited to witness.
“Nachos?” Grace offers by inching the plate toward me.
My stomach is in knots. “No thanks.”
With a shrug, she takes another for herself and goes back to texting.
At first, I don’t look for Ash at all. I watch the jumbotron advertisements and chat with Everly and Grace over the loud music pumping into the arena. But the more time that passes without me seeing him, the more paranoid I get. Is he here? Has he spotted me? And most ridiculously, can he feel me here freaking out?
I set two rules for myself tonight (don’t ask about Ash and don’t drool over Ash), and I broke the first one before warmups were over. Leaning over Grace, I shout at Everly, “Is Ash playing tonight?”