Page 121 of I'm Your Guy
It’s a tense couple of minutes as Colorado fights to survive without one of their guys. Tommaso sits in the penalty box, no more than ten feet away. I watch the back of his neck, willing him to turn around.
Maybe I should stop looking for signs everywhere, but I want him to notice that I came tonight. And I want him to feel the pull that I feel whenever I see his face.
He doesn’t turn around, though. He keeps his head in the game. It works, too, because Colorado gets a goal right before the end of the first period.
“Goal by David Stoneman, assisted by Hudson Newgate!” the announcer shouts.
The stadium flips right out. Wild applause. Stomping feet. And a Nirvana tune over the sound system.
My heart soars. I’m so happy right now. So this is what sports is for! I glance toward Rigo and Buck and note that they’re making out.
Huh. I guess hockey really is for everyone.
“That’s it, boys!” Emilia yells. “Way to get some momentum!”
She’s not wrong. I don’t know much about hockey, but when the Cougars skate out for the second period, they look fired up.
I spend twenty minutes staring at Tommaso whenever he’s on the ice. It’s miraculous how focused he is. I can’t imagine doing my job in front of thirty thousand screaming critics.
“This is really intense,” I say, sitting back as Tommaso leaves the ice after one of his shifts.
“Let’s have a cookie,” Emilia suggests, pulling a metal tin out of her shoulder bag. “Tommaso made these for you. He said that strawberry was your favorite.”
She whips the lid off the tin, and I’m staring down at a bunch of golden-brown cookies, each one with a little well of strawberry jam in the center.
I take one and then take a bite. It’s nutty and delicious, with a burst of fruit against my tongue. “Oh wow,” I say with a mouthful of cookie. “That’s spectacular.”
She munches on one, too. “Mmm. I taught that boy well. These are pretty good.”
But biting into a cookie that Tommaso made for me is not just pretty good. It’s a fricking miracle. Maybe Macklin was right about me. I just want someone to take care of me sometimes.
But is that really so awful? It doesn’t have to mean I’m a failure. So what if I want to be cared for? I want to take care of Tommaso, too.
If he’ll let me.
FORTY-THREE
Tommaso
It’s still a tied game when we troop into the dressing room after the second period.
“Let’s go, boys,” Coach Powers shouts. “I know Tate told you not to read the comments. That’s nice and everything, but let me try on a headline for tomorrow…”
He raises his hands as if holding up a banner. “The Colorado Cougars are awesome people… who couldn’t close the deal against Brooklyn last night. Is that what you want to be reading? No? Then you’re gonna have to dig deep.”
“We can do this,” Kapski says.
“Yeah, we got this,” Doughey says.
“Damn straight,” Coach agrees. Then he gives his head a shake. “Or not straight. What the fuck ever.”
The team snickers.
“You know what I mean.” Powers waves us toward the tunnel. “Go out there and kick Brooklyn’s ass in a very progressive and uplifting way. And don’t come back until you’ve won it.”
My teammates are down with this plan, and I see a lot of determination on their faces. But Brooklyn wants it too, and the third period is a battle, with both sides getting chippy as the clock winds down on regulation play.
“Three minutes,” Kapski growls at the bench. “There’s still time. Tommaso. Hessler. Shut down their sniper. He’s got a fire lit under his ass.”
