Page 48 of Home Game

“Ryan, do you like the scent of lingonberry or vanilla?”

No answer. I looked up. Something was going on. There was a huge crowd of people in the main aisle. People took photos with their phones. The crowd jostled with excitement. I couldn’t see Ryan. Then I saw his familiar blue cap. He was in the center of the crowd. I stood there in bafflement watching as more and more people crowded, holding their phones up, trying to take a picture.

Then I realized that Ryan was the reason for the crowd. He smiled and talked to people. He signed stuff and took selfies with people. Our eyes met momentarily.

I knew Ryan was a hockey player, but it never dawned on me that he was famous.

Someone shoved past me, hitting my sore shoulder so hard, it almost brought me to my knees. Eyes stinging, I bent over, taking in fortifying breaths. Pain fired down my entire side and up my neck. For one sick moment I thought I might puke.

“Excuse me,” I heard Ryan say repeatedly. “Just let me through, okay?”

He showed up beside me, his big hand on my back. “Zoey, are you okay?”

I was still trying to bring air into my lungs. “Huh.”

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Someone took a picture of us.

In a panic, I backed up away from him.

He looked grim. “Do you want to go? We can come back another day.”

And leave without getting the stuff for his bedroom? “Where’s our cart? Do you have the list?”

He studied me for a moment, completely ignoring everyone around us. “Give me your list, but stay close.”

I watched him wade back into the crowd and then he pushed our cart into the warehouse. It was ridiculous. Who knew there would be so many die hard hockey fans in IKEA? The crowd literally followed him like a mob. Ryan flagged down an IKEA worker and handed him my list. While the guy typed everything into the computer, Ryan turned around and signed dozens of IKEA paper lists with those shitty little pencils. I stood back and watched. He was acting like it was no big deal. He laughed with the kids, talked, and joked around. Everyone was taking his photo or trying to film him.

He looked up, found me and then motioned his head to move towards the front. While he paid for everything in the cart, I slipped to the front and waited anxiously at the doors.

Finally, Ryan was walking towards me with our overflowing cart.

He stopped in front of me. “How’s the shoulder?”

I still felt queasy, but I wasn’t sure if it was because it was just dawning on me exactly how big of a star Ryan was, or if it was because the pain was radiating through my entire body. “Fine.”

Once driving, I studied him. People had been fighting to get his autograph and that threw me.

“Does that always happen?”

“Just in Vancouver.”

“You’re famous.”

He snorted and glanced over at me. “The fans in this town are over the top.”

That was a complete understatement. It felt like that experience had shifted our careful existence. Things between us were already so uneven. Now this. I did not understand how I had ended up living on this guy’s couch. He was a star. Famous. By the time we got back to the apartment, my head was swimming. Without him reminding me,I took a pain pill and lay down on the couch, in too much pain to even get excited about everything we had bought.

I wokeup with a stiff shoulder. Ryan was standing in the living room, adjusting his cuffs. He wore a navy suit, a white shirt, and a dark tie.

“I have to leave, I have a game tonight.”

“Okay.” I watched as he crouched over his bag, going through it. He looked different. Elegant. He was a big shot hockey player. I felt shy, weird. Hating how things were shifting.

“Krista called.”

My heart pounded. Maybe it was the suit, but he looked really nice right now. Rough and big but expensive. I didn’t like these feelings. It felt like I hadn’t really seen him before.

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