10. Olivia
10
olivia
W hen I sing the national anthem, I am never thinking about the song. My body goes into autopilot, and my muscle memory takes over. Usually, I’m thinking about how my face looks on the Jumbotron or what the rest of my plans are for the evening. Is my hair okay? Am I smiling? Did I sing the right words? What should I get at the concession stand later? Then, as I get towards the end of the song, my mind wanders to ‘how long should I hold out the word free?’ It’s different thoughts and little tweaks every game.
But tonight, my thoughts are on none of that. They are focused on the player standing on the ice who held me so tightly three weeks ago, the one I'm desperately trying not to glance at. Does Hayes know it’s me? Was he paying attention? I thought I would never see this guy again, and now he’s here. Literally right in front of me. And, apparently, he’s also the new star center for the Milwaukee Steel Riders. I’m tempted to check my watch for my heart rate; I don’t think it's ever beaten this fast.
How did I not put two and two together? He almost kissed me for God’s sake! I knew we signed a new player during the off season, but I didn’t pay much attention. I saw a few news stories come across on my phone, but a lot of players come and go during the offseason. My mind is whirling with confusion, shock, and excitement, all while trying to get through this song. Besides, it’s not like he was sitting in his hockey gear at the bar. I think the biggest misconception about hockey players is that they look like pro-wrestlers or football linebackers. They don’t. I mean, they are very muscular, but they skate almost five miles during a game. Even tonight, Hayes looks much bigger than he did at the bar, and, obviously, taller on skates. My palm starts to sweat as I grip the microphone imagining how ripped he is underneath all that hockey gear. Oh my gosh, Olivia! Calm your hormones. You are singing a very patriotic song honoring America; you cannot be thinking about what’s under his hockey pads.
Somehow, I miraculously get through the song like nothing is amiss, turning to walk off the carpet as if this was just another season opener. My pulse races as I catch Hayes looking this way, possibly recognizing me. But I have to get off the ice before the game starts, or I’ll have ten players barreling toward me, their sticks clattering and skates cutting the ice, ready to slam me into the boards. My heart races at the thought. There is one player I wouldn’t mind slamming me up against a wall. Okay, Olivia. No more romance novels for you. I’m switching to non-fiction. Maybe a nice book about Abraham Lincoln, who was apparently one of the more attractive men of his generation, should stop me from lusting after the hot hockey player in front of me. It’s not like there are smut books about Abe Lincoln salaciously taking off Mary Todd Lincoln’s bonnet. Is that weirdly hot? A full body shiver makes me nearly trip as I walk down the carpet. Nope…nope it is not. We do not need that book.
As I reach the side of the ice, Cayden is waiting for me. Shit. My stomach sinks, embarrassment heating my cheeks. Cayden. Kind of forgot about him during the last two minutes of internal drama happening in my head. He’s been holding my phone. Hopefully he thinks my blush is just from the chill of performing on the ice.
As he hands me my phone, he says, “Sorry; forgot to film you. I got distracted.”
Of course he did. Another classic Cayden moment.
But I don’t want to argue; not after the euphoria of having sung in front of 20,000 people cheering for me. One in particular that makes my heart stop.
I force in a deep breath trying to stay calm in this very public setting.. “No worries. We’ll just video the anthem at the next game for my social media.”
By the time Cayden and I get to our seats, it’s a few minutes into the first period. One of the biggest perks of singing here are the seats ten rows off the ice, just to the right of the opposing teams goal. Neither team has scored yet, but the Steers have a high-sticking penalty, and one of their players heads over to the box, putting the Riders on the advantage. The music director kicks up the power play song, and I raise my arms up and down for the little power play dance they do at the arena.
Cayden yanks my arms out of the air, and snaps, “I told you I hate that dumb power play dance, and my girlfriend is not doing the hand motions that go with it.”
Tears well up, but I choke them back. “Sorry; I forgot,” I mumble, feeling like an idiot. I forgot he hates this dance. I like to cheer on my team, and any way the crowd gets involved is great for ticket sales, team morale, and overall crowd experience. And it’s fun! But Cayden thinks it ‘makes a mockery of hockey.’ What is so horrible about doing hand motions to a song? Some days I wish I had the nerve to just say 'fuck it' and do the dance anyway, but I always have this feeling that if I do or say the wrong thing, Cayden’s going to leave me. On second thought, would it be such a bad thing? Twisting my fingers in my lap, I focus on relaxing my tense muscles. Maybe I’m just overreacting, as he oh-so-nicely reminds me every day . So what if I do overreact? It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it. Am I? Surely being slightly unhappy is better than being alone.
The fans around me jump to their feet as one of our players flies down the ice towards Omaha’s goalie. I stand up to get a better look, peeking around the tall people seated in front of my five-foot nothing frame. It’s Hayes Larson. As he races towards me my heart thrums in my ears and my thighs squeeze together. Why is this getting me so turned on? Omaha had been in our zone trying for a shorthanded goal, when Hayes snatched the puck, skating full speed towards the Steers goalie. My palms are sweaty and every nerve in my body is on edge as he zooms past me. He dekes once to one side, and the goalie goes for it. I catch myself holding my breath, nearly falling forward as I stretch further on my toes. Hayes dekes again to the other side, shooting the puck right into the net without hesitation.
The horn sounds and the crowd roars. “Milwaukee Steel Riders GOAL! Scored by number twenty-two Hayes Larson.”
Milwaukee is up 1-0 over Omaha. I reach over to high-five Cayden, but he’s too busy high fiving everyone else near our seats. Of course . I watch Hayes get tackled by his new teammates in a group hug, then he leads them in high fiving all the players on the bench. I bet he would high five me first if he were sitting here .
As I slump back into my seat, I notice Cayden taking a handful of cash from the guy sitting next to him, then shaking hands.
“Cayden, what are you doing?” I say through gritted teeth.
“This guy gave me cash for one of my Reeves pucks! The other ones are listed for sale online. This is gonna bring me in a nice profit. All thanks to your little singing thing, Livy,” he says as he pats me on top of the head.
I grip the seam on the side of my jeans with white knuckles and take a deep calming breath. “I have asked you repeatedly to please stop calling me Livy. And you’re selling the pucks? Jeezus! What the hell are you thinking?”
“Chill, babe! It’s fine. People sell pucks all the time.”
Leaning back in my seat, I cross my arms and stare into the rafters of the arena. I can’t freaking deal with this shit right now.
The horn sounds as the first period ends, and the players head back to the locker room. The arena hums with fans heading to the concourse for snacks or a bathroom break. But my eyes are fixed on number twenty-two, and I manage the slightest smile at the way he skates off the ice with confidence after scoring his first goal of the season. What I wouldn’t give to have him sitting here next to me right now.
My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my wishful thinking. I have a text from David.
David
Hey Olivia, can you meet me down in the green room after the game?
That’s weird. I usually don’t see David after I sing, but maybe he wants to do something different with the anthem at the next game? Oh God does he know Hayes and I know each other? About the pucks? My worries turn into instant diarrhea stomach as my shaking fingers type back to let him know I’ll meet him there. Shit.
“Hey, I have to go meet with David after the third period,” I shout to Cayden, trying to be heard over the break antics on the ice.
“Seriously? So, we have to stay late after the game? Why can’t he talk to you now? You know I like to leave early to get a jump on traffic,” he grumbles with irritation. I try to contain my eyeroll and annoyance, knowing this is not going to end well.
“Because he’s working through the entire game Cayden. He directs the entire in-game show, including everything happening during the intermission. He’s the one in charge here, so I need to go. It won’t take long, then we can head back to my place and relax,” I say, hopeful some alone time will help smooth over the pain and frustration of the night.
“Yeah, about that,” he mutters, shifting awkwardly in his seat to face me. His eyes dart around before he finally settles on me. “I’m just gonna drop you off. The guys are hanging out tonight, and I don’t want to be too late.”
“Sure, Cayden,” I say, my sigh dripping with sarcasm, “Noooo problem. I’m sure you’ll have a great time with your friends” While your girlfriend sits at home. Alone… again.
“You’re the best, Livy. I’m gonna go get another beer before the second period starts,” he throws over his shoulder as he slaps me on the back, like I’m one of the guys, making me spill a little of my drink.
As he walks away, tears well in my eyes again. I don’t know how we got here. I guess it doesn’t matter. I will not cry alone in my seat. I chug the rest of my beer as a fiery rage ignites in my belly. I’m nothing more than background noise in my own boyfriend’s life, and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.