Page 19 of Sew Matcha in Love
When I’d found a large roll of hot pink lace on the driver’s seat of my van—no doubt Arwyn’s way of accepting my invitation to be a co-conspirator— many options floated through my mind. Taping flouncy rows of lace to the hem of Ridgie’sjersey and shorts had been the idea I liked the most, and it was a good warm-up for The Big One. There hadn’t been time for Monty’s handler to remove it before his meet-and-greets, so some of the fans had gotten some interesting one-time photos. Arwyn had texted me that Ridgie’s social media was blowing up as fans tried to guess the reason for his glow-up.
If anything, he owed me a “you’re welcome.”
After a pep talk from Dean and words from the coach, the lineup was announced by a hyped-up Brendan Trotter, and we assembled in the tunnel to wait for our cue to step onto the ice for warmups.
I was on the second pair tonight with Xavier. Brendan and Trask Emerson were the starting D-men, so I got in line behind them. It was always interesting listening in on their conversations. Two of the politest guys you ever met. Brendan was from Minnesota, the Land of the Helpful, and Trask was from Charleston, the Land of Manners. They evencomplainedpolitely. They rarely got mad. Never heard more than a muttered mild curse from either of them.
Needless to say, not too fun to prank, but I did enjoy their gripes about domestic issues, like Trask’s lawnmower malfunctioning and spitting grass back at him or Brendan’s attempt to change his own oil on his sports car and wearing more than the car received. Today they were debating whether Valentine lights on their mirror-image cookie-cutter homes could be a thing.
Wholesome. Adorable, even. Blissfully unaware that while they were planning something sweet, at any moment their wives could drop a bomb on them and the life they fantasized they had would burst faster than the seams of a juice box in the hands of an overenthusiastic toddler, leaving behind confusion, wide-eyed panic, and pleas for forgiveness and a do-over. Anything to keep their family together.
We hit the ice and skated circles, shooting pucks at the net. Big crowd tonight, and at least a dozen signs along the sides with my name on them, asking for a stick or a puck. I tossed a few pucks over and posed for a few selfies.
When I felt I was loose enough, I picked up two pucks and glided over to my girls.
“Daddy!”
I grinned and held up the pucks. “For my biggest fans!”
Sofi rolled her eyes and pointed. “I think those ladies over there are your biggest fans.”
I followed her gaze and snorted. “Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup?” The three women had been compared to the PowerPuff girls on a lookalike cam years ago and had run with the theme ever since. The blond-, red-, and black-haired trio had been trying to get my attention all season, but I’d ignored them. I wasn’t looking to date a fan. Tonight, the blonde held a sign that read, “Marshy: Spin to win!” with their faces glued to the poster and a plastic game spinner in the center, currently pointing to her likeness.
“You know them, Daddy?” Isla asked.
“Nope.” I held up the pucks. “Ready to catch?”
“Ready!”
I tossed them over, one at a time, kissing them before each throw. “I’m glad you’re here. We’re going to need all the luck we can get. Seattle’s on a winning streak, and if they win tonight, they’ll pass us for first place in the Western division.”
“You got this, Daddy! I have faith in you!” Amelie called.
I grinned. “I might have to fight a little. You know I’ll be okay though, right?”
“Fighting is part of the game,” Isla stated. “Bruh! Weknowthat, Daddy. Just win your fights, okay?”
I laughed. “Bruh! Count on it.” I shot a questioning glance at my youngest sister. “Bruh?”
She shrugged. “As the oldest member of the family to be born in this century, it’s my responsibility to educate my nieces in current slang.”
“Uh-huh. They sound like the rookies, Sof.”
She shrugged, and I skated to the bench smiling.
“Heads up, duster!”
My skates flew out from under me before I could react, landing me flat on my back.
Above me, in a Seattle uniform, was the biggest jerk in the league. Dante Leinecker smirked and skated back to his team as I pulled myself up.
Xavier skated over. “You okay?”
“Already plotting my revenge,” I quipped. “Since when is he?—”
“The trade went through last night. Ihatethat guy.”
“You run into him already?” I asked. Xavier played with him years ago, and he constantly made passes at his sister, Daniella. And not of the hockey kind.
