Page 6 of No Rhyme or Roughing
Apparently, Ryder Cassidy does.
I used to watch him play for the Cleveland Monsters on my laptop in my dorm room at The Ohio State University. I even went to Nationwide Arena to see his first NHL game in Columbus. I was eighteen.
He’d only ever had a few games there, but I could still remember it like it was yesterday—the grace in his game, the way he stopped at center ice during a commercial break and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. He’d made it. He was there.
Teddy hadn’t told me Ryder had also signed with the Guardians. To be fair, I’d lost track of him over the last few years. Life had gotten busy. I’d almost forgotten he existed.
Almost.
Now, it was all rushing back—memories of sitting in the basement of Dad’s summer cabin, where he’d had synthetic ice installed, watching Ryder wrestle for pucks with Teddy and our sisters. At eight, trying to skate after the boys and falling so hard, I bruised my tailbone. That was the end of my skating career, but what mattered was that teenage Ryder had carried me all the way to the car.
I remembered watching him and Teddy leave for Michigan State when I was ten.
That girl had no idea that the next time she’d see Ryder—the first boy to make her heart skip—would be over their busted cars when she was twenty-four. Of course, he hadn’t recognized me.
Back then, I’d just been the little girl always trying to follow the boys, begging to skip dance classes so I could go to their hockey practices.
I found my sad little seat in the sad little arena. I wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t a single other soul in my row. Last time I’d visited Teddy years ago, it had been the same. The crowd was so quiet you could hear the players yelling at each other on the ice. The music played, but it felt out of place with so few people to hear it.
And then, they were there. Ryder and Teddy flying down the ice like they’d never left each other, never gone in different directions. Tic. Tac. Toe.The puck zipped from one to the other before landing on the stick of a third, who swiped it toward the net.
Saved.
“Dammit,” I muttered—or tried to. Instead, I kept my frustration to myself, as usual.
“Don’t fucking shoot right at his chest!” a voice behind me bellowed.
The woman two rows down turned to scowl at what I now realized was a giant golden retriever. She gestured to the little boy sitting beside her.
“You’re at a hockey game,” the dog replied, shaking its oversized head. “Oh, drat. You nonviolent sportsmen missed the netty net.”
If the dog’s eyebrows weren’t sewn in place, I imagined one of them would be arched in mock disdain.
The woman huffed, shuffling her son out of the row toward another half-empty section. I covered a laugh with a cough. That wasn’t supposed to be funny.
The dog turned to me. “Umm… hello there.” Its oversized head wobbled precariously, and it gripped the rail to move further down the steps. All I could do was watch as it tried not to fall, its awkward fluffy tail snagging on a seat.
I knew this was the Guardians’ mascot, but it hit differently when confronted up close with its permanently outstretched tongue and enormous brown eyes. Honestly, it looked a bit demented.
Its arms shot up, tugging at the head. It stumbled, and I jumped to steady it. “We don’t need any fallen dogs.”
That earned a muffled laugh before the head finallycame off, revealing a tiny red-headed woman with giant green eyes and a wide grin.
“Whew, it’s hot in there.”
“Oh, thank God.” I put a hand to my chest. “I thought I was talking to a dog.”
She laughed again. “Seems like we have an audience.” She pointed toward the ice, where I now realized there was a stoppage in play. My brother stood at the boards, pounding on the glass and glaring up at me.
Oops. Probably should’ve told him I was in town. “He just thinks I’m going to embarrass him.” I ignored his stony glare, focusing on the redhead—and the golden retriever tail that hadn’t stopped wagging.
She caught me looking. “Oh, it’s mechanical. I’m like a robot, except cooler.”
And dorkier. But I liked her.
She pushed thick glasses up her nose. “I should, uh, probably get back to… you know… entertaining the masses.” She gestured to the mostly empty section. Lifting the head again, she paused. “I saw you sitting here alone, looking like you wanted to scream.”
“I didn’t… I don’t…” I stumbled, words tripping over themselves. Talking to people had never been one of my better talents—at least not unless it was for work, where I could hide behind a professional mask.
