12 unwilling support
If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I would willingly-no, not willingly, that's too generous-actively participate in attending another hockey game, I would've laughed in their face and then probably blocked them for being ridiculous.
And yet.
Here I am.
Again.
"This feels like a violation of my personal rights," I say, tugging at the sleeves of the jersey like it might somehow loosen the situation along with the fabric.
Jess doesn't even try to hide her amusement. She's leaning against the car like this is the highlight of her day, which, knowing her, it probably is.
"You agreed to this," she says.
"I agreed under misleading emotional circumstances."
"You said yes in under ten seconds."
"That's because I was ambushed."
Jess reaches over, lacing her fingers briefly through Riley's as Riley steps up beside her, like it's the most natural thing in the world-which it is. Riley squeezes her hand once before letting go, her attention already shifting to the rink entrance.
"You weren't ambushed," Riley says calmly. "You were predictable."
I look between them. "I don't like either of you right now."
"That's not new," Jess replies.
"It should be."
Riley glances at me, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "People already know you're coming."
"Of course they do," I mutter. "Why wouldn't they?"
Jess falls into step beside me as we head toward the entrance, Riley on her other side like they've done this a hundred times-which they have. Jess bumps her shoulder lightly against Riley's, and Riley nudges her back without even looking, like it's automatic.
It's... annoyingly functional.
"You're literally wearing his name again," Jess says, eyes dropping to the jersey.
I don't even hesitate. "Against my will."
"You picked it up yourself."
"I was influenced."
Riley lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh. "By your own bad decisions."
"That's still influence."
Jess grins. "You look good in it."
"I look compromised."
"You look like you're committing to the bit."
"I'm committing under protest."
"That's still commitment."
We step inside, and the rink hits all at once-the cold air, the noise, the smell of something vaguely like popcorn and too many people in one place. It's louder than last time, or maybe it just feels louder because I know what's coming now.
Heads turn.
Not everyone.
But enough.
Jess notices immediately, her expression shifting from amused to something a little more aware. Riley doesn't react outwardly, but she steps slightly closer to Jess without thinking, her hand brushing briefly against Jess's wrist before dropping again.
"Okay," Jess murmurs. "We're being watched again."
"I preferred being ignored," I say.
"You were never being ignored."
"I was less noticed."
"That's not the same thing."
Riley stops near the front of the stands, glancing at the seats before looking back at us. "We're sitting here."
I look at the seats, then at the ice, then back at her. "This is very close."
"That's the point."
"I don't like the point."
Jess squeezes my arm as she walks past me to sit down. "You'll survive."
"That feels optimistic."
Riley sits on Jess's other side, leaning slightly into her without making it obvious, their shoulders brushing for a second before settling. Jess tilts her head toward Riley for a brief moment, like they're sharing something unspoken, before looking back at me.
I sit down with significantly less enthusiasm.
"This is still a bad idea," I say.
"This is a great idea," Jess replies.
"This is aggressive ice ballet."
Riley actually laughs at that, quiet but real. "You're not letting that go, are you?"
"I stand by it."
Jess shakes her head. "You're surrounded by people who would disagree."
"That sounds like a them problem."
The game starts, and I settle into the same strategy as last time-watch just enough to know what's happening without actually caring.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
Jess leans forward, immediately invested, pointing things out like she's been watching hockey her entire life. Riley adds the occasional comment, quieter but more precise, like she actually understands what's happening.
Of course she does.
She goes to the same school as them. She's probably been to a hundred of these.
"You're watching," Jess says after a few minutes.
"I'm observing."
"You're watching."
"I'm analyzing."
Riley glances at me. "You're following the play."
"I'm tolerating the play."
"That's progress."
"That's survival."
Jess nudges Riley lightly with her shoulder. "She's learning."
"I'm not learning."
"You just said 'play' like you knew what you were talking about."
"I picked up on context clues."
"That's learning."
I ignore her, focusing back on the ice just long enough to pretend I'm not doing exactly what they're accusing me of.
I spot him faster this time. Not because I'm looking for him. Just because-
he's obvious.
The way he moves stands out, even when everything else feels like chaos. It's not rushed, not messy, not like what I keep insisting the game is.
It's controlled.
Intentional.
I don't like that I notice.
I shift slightly, adjusting the jersey again.
Jess sees it immediately. "You're watching him."
"I'm watching the game."
"You're watching him play the game."
"That's still the game."
Riley smiles faintly. "You're focusing."
"I'm sitting here."
"That too."
The crowd reacts suddenly, louder than before, and Jess grabs my arm without warning.
"That was good," she says.
"I'm sure it was."
"You didn't even see it."
"I saw enough."
Riley leans forward slightly, eyes still on the ice. "You did see it."
"I saw movement."
"That was more than movement."
"It was organized chaos."
"That's still accurate," she admits.
Jess laughs. "You're both impossible."
The period ends, the noise shifting into something more scattered as people stand, stretch, talk. Jess leans into Riley slightly, their heads close together as Riley says something too quiet for me to hear.
Jess smiles at whatever it is. It's easy, natural, not forced.
I look away before I think too much about that.
"Okay," Jess says, turning back to me. "You're doing better than last time."
"That's a low standard."
"You didn't try to leave."
"I considered it."
"But you didn't."
I glance down at the jersey again, fingers brushing over the number without really thinking about it.
"Don't read into this," I say.
Jess grins. "Too late."
Riley watches me for a second, quieter than Jess but just as observant. "You showed up."
"I was pressured."
"You stayed."
I don't respond to that, because she's right. And I don't like that she's right.
I lean back in my seat, exhaling slowly as I look back toward the ice.
I'm still not enjoying this.
I still think this is a terrible idea.
I still think the entire sport is unnecessarily aggressive and slightly theatrical.
But-
I showed up.
Again.
And even if I won't say it out loud-
that probably means something.
I just haven't decided what yet.