Page 114 of The Home Grown
“Right. What the hell is going on?” I ask the room. “Because there’s no way in hell?—”
And that’s when everyone dives on me. Like they were waiting for the puck to drop—gloves flying, tape rolls launched. A full dressing room pile on that says any more than words could. It’s like we’re kids again.
Everyone’s cheering and yelling, and I’m sprawled out on the floor, underneath a load of bodies.
“Right, that’s enough,” Johnny says. And one by one, the load lightens.
But that’s when the questions pour in.
“When?”
“What?”
“How?”
“Who?”
“Guys, guys, guys,” Johnny says, and he tugs my arm, pulling me from the ground.
“For Christ’s sake,” I say. “Give a guy a chance to breathe.”
Someone ruffles my hair, and I make a grab for my cap, displaced on the dressing room floor.
“So, what’s the story?” Liam says, raising a brow.
“Don’t pretend you don’t already know,” I say, narrowing my eyes as I sink my cap down onto my head.
He smirks.
“No, but what is the story?” Ryan this time. And I offer him the same look.
He holds his hands up.
“Honestly, I don’t—wait, does Jen know?” He turns and glares at Danny, who shrugs.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “Bottom line is … she’s real, like I said. And we’re just seeing how things go. I mean, we’re old friends and we reconnected recently, and it turns out—” I swallow, looking down at the carpet tiles. “—we’ve been married since we were eighteen.” Jaws drop, and more questions surface. I do my best to fill them in.
“That’s all you need to know,” I say eventually. “And she’s really fucking nice, so when you meet her, you’ll be nice back. Got it?”
ELLIE
“Can I help you?”
I snap my head up from my phone to see a woman—long brown hair, and team logo stitched on the breast of her coat—walking towards me. She’s carrying a box, which she sets down on the floor as she beams at me.
The taxi dropped me off ten minutes ago and I’ve been loitering awkwardly ever since, convinced that Mike will eventually appear from the double doors six feet away.
All I need is a quick chat, face-to-face, before I get the train home.
“I’m, uh, waiting for someone,” I say, slipping my phone away and returning the smile awkwardly.
She cocks her head to the side, a smile forming on her lips.
“Who are you waiting for?” she says.
I delay my response, wondering if me showing up at Mike’s rink will cause trouble for him. What if there’s a strict ‘no visitors allowed’ policy and here I am, lurking like a super fan?
But she’s waiting for me to reply.
