Page 29 of Play Along With Me
"Thanks for being here tonight to help with…" he trails off quietly. "I know hockey isn't exactly your thing."
"I don't know, I might be developing a taste for it," I admit. "All that grace and violence combined. It's very... primal."
He raises an eyebrow. "Primal, huh?"
"In a good way," I clarify. "Like watching a particularly athletic nature documentary."
He laughs, the sound warm in the cool night air. "Well, if you ever want to watch another 'athletic nature documentary,' let me know. I could explain some of the finer points."
Is he asking me out? No, probably just being neighborly. Unless...
Before I can overthink it, Kevin's car pulls up, saving me from having to formulate a response.
"This is me," I say unnecessarily. "Good luck with... everything. The hockey. The decisions."
"Thanks," he says, still smiling. "See you around, Collin’s neighbor."
"Knock knock," I say impulsively as I open the car door.
"Who's there?" he plays along, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Someone with better jokes next time," I promise, slipping into the car before I can say anything else embarrassing.
As we pull away, I see the four men still standing outside the restaurant, Jake's tall figure easily distinguishable even from a distance. I resist the urge to look back, focusing instead on giving the driver my address.
Once I'm alone in the back seat, I allow myself a small smile. Despite my social floundering and inappropriate cat lies, it wasn't a complete disaster. And there was something undeniably pleasant about spending an evening with people who seemed to find my awkwardness entertaining rather than off-putting.
I pull out my phone one more time, fingers hovering over Instagram. Then, in a small act of self-respect, I open my Notes app instead and jot down some observations about the evening for potential use in my writing.
Hockey player: patient listener, focused, speaks with quiet confidence. Doesn't waste words. Shoulders that could double as emergency aircraft landing sites.
Good enough. Mr. Darcy will be waiting for his non-diabetic dinner, and I have an early shift tomorrow. And if my dreams feature a certain goalie with crinkly eyes and a steady gaze, well, that's between me and my subconscious.
Chapter 6
"You sure you don't want to join us for a celebratory drink?" Ryan asks as the town car pulls away with Audrey inside. "Today was a big win for your career."
I shake my head, my body finally registering the full weight of the day's events. The early morning nerves, the intense practice session, the adrenaline of being on an NHL bench—it's all catching up to me at once, leaving me bone-tired but wired at the same time.
"Rain check," I say. "I'm dead on my feet. Need to process everything that happened today."
Mike nods understandingly. "Smart. Rest up. We've got calls to make tomorrow, options to discuss."
"Call an Uber," Kevin suggests. "My car will circle back for us after dropping Audrey off."
"I'm good. I've got my car at the practice facility." I'd driven straight from Providence this morning, my gear packedalongside the suit I'm now wearing. "Early start tomorrow anyway. Providence has practice at nine."
"Back to the grind," Ryan says sympathetically. "But not for much longer. Things are moving quickly now."
We exchange handshakes—the firm, meaningful kind that communicate more than words. These men are invested in my future in a way that feels both professional and oddly personal. It's a good feeling, having people in your corner who actually have the connections to make things happen.
"I'll call you tomorrow with updates," Ryan promises. "Boston was impressed today. Very impressed."
This small confirmation sends a fresh wave of satisfaction through me. After years of waiting, of being the perennial prospect who never quite gets the call, things are finally aligning. I can feel it.
The Uber takes just fifteen minutes to reach Warrior Ice Arena, where my car sits alone in the otherwise empty players' lot. As I drive back to Providence, the city lights fading behind me, I replay the day's events in my head.
Kelly's approving nods during the morning session. Tremblay's brief but meaningful "good work" comment after practice. Ambroz's pointer about handling New York's cross-crease passing plays. The electricity of sitting on an NHL bench, even if I didn't play a single minute. The knowledge that I belonged there.
