Page 24 of Stay
I clear my throat and pick up the thread of our previous conversation. “No problem.” Although, at the moment, it does feel like a problem. One that’s eating me up alive.
I refocus my attention on the guys as they run through their warm-up routine of stretching and passing drills before taking shots on goal. It’s like a well-choreographed dance. One I miss. The ache in my heart flares back to life. It’s almost shocking to realize how painful it is to sit here and watch them.
After the bottom fell out last December, I shut down and refused to think about hockey. And for a long time, it worked. Now…
Not so much.
It’s pushing in at the edges.
It’s a relief when the players take their positions on the ice and the horn is blown. The puck is dropped, and the action starts. The game is so fast-paced that I’m able to forget about the past and focus on watching the players move the puck up and down the ice. The game ends up being an exciting one, with the score tied or separated by just one goal. There are so many times when Brooklyn and I jump to our feet and scream at the top of our lungs. We’re certainly not the only ones. Western’s fans are rabidly loyal.
And I love it.
I love a fanatic crowd. It ups the energy level in the arena. What I love most is that I’m able to lose myself in the fast-paced action of thegame. I don’t have to think about the past or how I crumbled under the pressure. Brooklyn doesn’t know anything about hockey, but she is, as usual, her exuberant self.
I seriously love that about her.
“Go the other way!” she yells before adding, “Hurry! Faster!”
I almost laugh at how silly she sounds. A couple of people in the seats surrounding us turn their heads as well, but she looks like she’s having so much fun that they end up smiling before turning back to the game.
Every time a whistle is blown, Brooklyn looks at me for a quick explanation.
“Offsides,” I tell her.
Another whistle.
Her questioning gaze shoots to mine.
“Penalty for high sticking,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes. At this point, these players should know better.
Whistle.
Brooklyn quirks a brow, waiting for a reason as to why the action has stopped.
“Icing.” Again, should know better than to slap it all the way across the ice. Dumb.
Whistle.
“Penalty for holding.” I grumble before bellowing, “That was a crap call, ref. Open your eyes for a change! Here, I think I’ve got a spare pair of glasses for you!”
Brooklyn bursts out laughing before yelling, “Yeah, crap call, ref! Totally crappy call!”
We grin at each other before dropping onto our seats and reaching for our shared box of popcorn.
Whistle.
That one I don’t have to answer because it’s obvious.
Fighting.
“Crap call, ref!” Brooklyn yells again.
I shake my head. “No, it was actually a good call. Not in our favor, but it was the right one to make.” I sip my diet cola and watch as oneof our players skates over to the penalty box. He’s still mouthing off to the player he’d been brawling with.
“Exactly whose team are you on?” she asks as if she knows a damn thing about the sport.
What Brooklyn likes about hockey are the hot guys who look even more strapping with all their padding and gear. And…well…she’s not wrong about that.
