Page 75 of Stick With Me
I let out a bark of laughter as her features twist into an expression of horror, wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. Her disbelief only makes me laugh harder.
“I really know how to pick ‘em,” she mutters.
It looks like the Saints’ winning streak is coming to an end. By the time the third period rolls around, the Saints are down by two points. There’s still hope for a comeback, but as the clock ticks down, the outlook gets bleaker.
Usually, when the team has an off night, Ryan somehow looks like he’s the only one holding it together. He’s the most dedicated person I know, always putting an immense amount of pressure on himself and giving his all in every game. But tonight is different, he seems just as off-kilter as the rest of the team.
Natalie, on the other hand, is having a blast. She isn’t a loyal fan of the Saints, or hockey in general, though that might change after tonight. She’s been loving the game, but then again, it would be enjoyable if I were cheering for the opposing team. They’ve been dominating on offense, scoring four goals, and their defense has been relentless, with more hits than I can count.
Every time someone gets slammed into the boards, Natalie bangs on the glass and cheers, not caring that the Saints are taking the beating. She’s picked up the rules quickly, but the way she’s chirping at the refs, you’d think she’d been a fan for years. I’ve had to pull her back into her seat multiple times. At least someone is having a good time.
“Oh shite, is he okay?” she gasps. I’m starting to think this British curse has become a regular part of her vocabulary.
I focus back on the game to see someone lying on the ice. My heart stops momentarily, not able to tell who it is. Relief floods me when I see number 19 crouched next to the downed player—it’s not Ryan. But then I realize it’s Dominic, and concern rushes back in. He’s able to get up and skate back to the bench, but he immediately heads down the tunnel.
The surrounding crowd is a mix of murmurs and outrage over the questionable hit. I’m just hoping it’s nothing serious. The fact that he was able to get himself off the ice bodes well. It’s when a player stays down that you start to worry.
If they had any hope of a comeback, it’s vanished now. As soon as play resumes, their enforcer drops his gloves and charges at the opponent who hit Dominic. After a brief scuffle, he’s sent off the ice with a ten-minute major penalty. The crowd loves it, like all hockey fights, but the other team takes advantage of the power play and scores again. The game drags on for another eight minutes, ultimately ending in a 2-5 defeat.
“I see why you like it. I think I’m a hockey fan now,” Natalie comments as we make our way to the friends and family area to wait for Ryan.
He comes out twenty minutes later, with Ilya trailing close behind. The moment Ryan spots me, his eyes light up, and he makes his way over. He wraps me in a tight hug and leans down to brush a soft kiss on my temple.
“Good game,” I mumble into his chest, even though we both know it’s a lie. He kisses the top of my head in response, before letting go and turning to greet Natalie.
“Is your friend okay?” she asks him.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine, but he’s on concussion protocol, so he’ll be out for a couple of games.”
“Oh. Is someone with him now? Someone should stay with him overnight to keep an eye on him. Sorry, it’s hard to turn the nurse brain off.”
“An intern drove him home.” Ryan looks over at me with apology in his eyes. “I offered to stay with him. I know we were going to go out, but why don’t you girls still go?”
Before I can respond, Natalie does. “Oh no, I’ll watch him. Professional and all. Really, I don’t mind.”
Ilya scowls at her, unsurprisingly.
“You’re not here to work, though. I’ve got it, it’s okay,” Ryan tries to convince her.
But I know Natalie; she’s not going to take no for an answer. Once she sets her mind on something, there’s no convincing her otherwise. My suspicions are confirmed when she presses on, “No, I insist. You two should have some quality time together,” she says, smiling widely.
“I’ll do it,” Ilya interjects, a frown still firmly set on his face.
Ryan and I exchange a surprised look. Ilya doesn’t come off as the overly caring type.
Natalie must disagree because she simply loops her arm in his. “Okay, future hubby, let’s go take care of our patient.” Her voice fades as she leads him down the hall. “Did you drive here? Lead the way, Prince Charming.” All the while, he glares down at her.
Once they’re out of sight, Ryan and I exchange a look, both struggling to keep a straight face. The effort lasts only a few seconds before we break into a fit of laughter.
“What’s Natalie up to?” Ryan asks as soon as we’re home and on the couch. I’m sure it’s been nagging at him since her comments at the arena.
“Who knows? You know how she is.”
“She seemed pretty insistent on us spending time together…” I can tell he’s digging for details about what we talked about.
“You know how she is,” I repeat, curling my feet under me on the cushion to face him.
He nods, accepting my answer, then heads to the kitchen. He returns with two glasses, a bottle of white wine, a candle, and a lighter. Setting everything on the coffee table, he lights the candle and turns to me, holding up the bottle. “Wine?”
