9. Hayes
9
hayes
K icking off the season as a Rider is the fresh start I needed. I’m charged up for this new opportunity, eager to leave my past behind. This team has some great talent, and if we can find the right groove, we’ll be unstoppable. Being in the prime of my career, I’m excited for what I can bring to this team. Other professions may still see a thirty-year-old as a junior employee, but in hockey - this is it. In another few years, the sports world will be clamoring for me to retire. But everything in my gut is telling me this is going to be my fucking year.
I hear the announcer say my name, and I skate my way across the ice. I’m ready for this . I stand on the blue line with my stick stretching out to rest on the ice in front of me, taking a moment to soak everything in. The nerves pumping through me as the game is about to start are there, but they are a necessary evil. My anxiety eventually turns into pure adrenaline, and it fuels me while I play. I move my skates back and forth, getting a good feel for the ice, as the other players are announced and skate up in line beside me.
“Please rise and remove your hats for our National Anthem, performed tonight by Olivia Brooks.”
Did he just fucking say Olivia? My blood was pumping with anxiety before, now it’s full-on racing through my veins like a goddamn cheetah chasing a gazelle. That name and the gorgeous girl it belongs to have been haunting my thoughts for weeks and I cannot, will not, get her out of my mind. I don’t know how, but that woman is going to be mine.
I gaze up to the top of the arena, then I hear five words I’ve heard a million times before every game. Sometimes good, and sometimes really, and I mean really, bad. Those five words, ‘oh say can you see’, are always the same. But tonight, those words sound different. They’re beautifully sweet, piercing through my ears straight to my heart. Just like that night three weeks ago at the bar. I look down from the flag to the anthem singer.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
There, on the other side of the ice, is a short girl with cascading red hair wearing a Riders jersey. My team’s jersey. My Olivia. Okay, well, she’s not mine… not yet . But there she is, standing on a small red carpet, her pipes belting out the most beautiful rendition of the anthem I’ve ever heard. The girl I’ve tried, but failed, to get out of my mind for the last three weeks is standing on the same ice I’m going to be playing on. She’s going to watch me play. What did the announcer say her last name was? Shit; I wasn’t paying attention. Fuck me man, I can find her now! How did I not know she sang the anthem here? As she keeps singing, I am once again mesmerized by this girl. Her voice. Her body. Literally everything about her.
She finally hits the high note, holding it out super long, and the crowd goes crazy as she finishes the song. The guys all tap their sticks on the ice as our way of cheering. My heart skips a beat, and I try to hide the smile creeping onto my face knowing they are all cheering for my Olivia. As the song ends, she smiles and waves at the crowd, and I swear, for the briefest second, she looks my way.
Does she know it’s me?
My line-mate, defenseman Jordan Boucher, slaps me on the back as I’m still standing on the ice in shock instead of heading to the bench to get ready to play. To, you know, do my actual job.
“Hey Larsy, you okay, man?”
“Yep! Just excited for the game. That was…um…just a really good anthem, and being my first game here, I got caught up in the moment,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact and adjusting my gloves as we skate back to the bench. I see Vladi cocking his head and glaring at me from his goal. I swear, I can’t get anything past that damn goalie - whether it’s pucks or me freaking out about a girl from center ice.
“Oh yeah! Our anthem singer is good . They call her The Weapon,” he replied.
“The Weapon? Why the Weapon? Does she kill people with her voice or something?” At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.
He laughs. “No man. I heard she started singing here a couple seasons back, and we won twelve games in a row. So, they called her ‘The Secret Weapon,’ which eventually shortened to ‘The Weapon’. Apparently, she’s our good luck charm, especially if we make the playoffs. But hey, let’s go man; time to kick some Omaha ass!”
Right. Yes. The hockey game I need to focus on.
How the fuck am I supposed to concentrate knowing the girl who rocked my world with a song and a tight embrace three weeks ago is here in the same arena as me? You can do this, Hayes. You are a professional.
A professional who is majorly fucked.