3. Hadley #2
I’ve seen Paige excited over a lot of things, but spending that much time in close proximity to her family and being under the microscope has never made the list. “That’s nice.” I hedge. “I’m sure it will be a lovely time with your family.”
Paige’s eyes bug out of her head. “No way, are you joking? My parents would never attend a hockey game with me unless it was to boost my dad’s image.
” She opens the envelope and holds up two passes.
“I meant we,” she points back and forth between the two of us, “are going! My parents gave me two passes to the games—and the seats…” She squeals and does her happy dance, her arms flapping wildly in the air.
“Hads, we are rinkside! We’ll get to see the players up close and personal. ”
I cringe. “Isn’t there someone else you’d like to take?
” Anyone else? “I don’t know anything about hockey.
I’m not going to be much fun.” It’s true.
Sports and I never really got along. Thankfully, my parents were more of the ‘reading is fundamental’ than ‘sports build character’ type, so it was never a big deal.
Besides, I can’t imagine my parents watching a sports game… Ever.
Paige shakes her head and grabs my shoulders. “Girl, it’s me and you. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’re going to love it!”
I search my brain to find a way out of this. Spending five nights in a cold arena watching men skate around and… what do they do, even? “I have to work,” I say, snapping my fingers in an ‘aw shucks’ way to soften the blow.
Paige laughs. Throws her head back and laughs. “Hadley, you get off at 4:30 or 5. The games start at 7. It’s perfect! We’ll make it there by 6 for warmups and you will love it! I promise, you’re going to have a great time. Plus, you’ll get to see Colt Bradley.”
I give up. Looks like I’ll be spending five nights courtside at the sports ball event of the year. “Who’s Colt Bradley?”
Her eyes go dreamy. “Only the cutest hockey player ever.”
I nod. “Oh.”
She giggles. “Seriously, here.” She pulls out her phone and starts typing. “Look.”
She turns the screen to face me. A man in his mid-to-late twenties stares back at me.
Brown hair kisses his shoulders in waves, and on his face sits the required cocky grin all sports guys have.
“He’s cute.” I say. “I mean, in an All-American sports guy kind of way.” I don’t understand what Paige finds so attractive about these sports guys.
They all seem like players… and not just of the game.
“He’s dreamy, and we will be so close to the ice that I’ll get to see him sweat!” She pumps her arms into the air. “Who knows, maybe he’ll notice me, ask me out and then I’ll get to become a Wag!”
“A what now?” I ask, completely dumbfounded and trying to hold back my gag. Who wants to see someone sweat?
“That’s what they call the wives and girlfriends of the players.” She takes a piece of broccoli, dunks it in the ranch dressing, and pops it into her mouth.
“I see,” I say, not really seeing anything at all. “And you want to be one of these Wags?”
Paige grins. “If it’s right, it’s right.” She grabs the food tray from the counter. “Come on. Let’s go turn on the movie.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re both settled in my living room on the hand-me-down couch my parents gifted me when I moved out. It’s worn, and a dark brown that would pass for melted chocolate, but it’s comfortable. Besides, the color hides stains well, so I can’t complain. Plus, hello… free.
“What are we watching this week?” I ask as Paige digs around in her gigantic bag. You’d think she was Mary Poppins or something.
“Well, I thought we would watch this.” She holds up a DVD case. “Frozen in Love. It’s a hockey rom-com where the hero is a swoony hockey player looking to revamp his image, and the heroine is a book store owner.” She giggles. “I thought it was fitting.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Great,” I say. “Just what every bookish girl dreams of… a bad boy who wants to clean up his image by being seen with the ‘good’ girl.”
Paige glares at me. “Give it a chance. I bet you’ll love it.”
“Like I’ll love the hockey tournament?” I ask. Clearly I’m still skeptical of this whole plan of hers.
She bobs her head and gives me her signature bright smile. “Exactly.”
Sarcasm: 1
Paige: 0
“Fine,” I say, snuggling back into the couch and pulling my warm and fuzzy blanket across my legs. “Pass the popcorn.”
“See!” Paige says when the movie ends. “What’s not to love?”
“It was a cute movie,” I admit. “Even if I still don’t really get the whole falling for a sports ball player.”
Paige snorts. “Sports ball?! Seriously, Hadley? Did you learn nothing?”
“I learned that in the movies, bad boys can change. But Paige, you know that’s not real life, right?”
“Of course,” Paige says, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, I thought you’d love this movie. Bookstore owner, hockey player…”
“It was a cute movie. Not realistic, but cute.”
Paige sighs. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
“Probably.” I shrug.
“Are you at least a little bit more excited about attending the tournament with me?” Paige asks.
I lean in and bump her with my shoulder. “I am excited to spend time with you doing something you enjoy.”
“But, you’re still not interested in hockey?” Paige frowns.
“You know sports weren’t a focus in my family. I doubt my dad could even name a professional sports team.” Our family bonded over things like trips to the ballet, the museum, and hikes when the weather was nice. Sports were never a topic of conversation, really.
“Yeah, I know,” Paige says, sighing. “Before my dad was worried about his political career all the time, he’d take me to as many hockey and baseball games as he could. We’d bring giant foam fingers, get nachos and soda, and chirp with the best of them.” A sad smile tugs at the corners of her lips.
“Chirp?” I ask. “Like a bird?”
Paige laughs. “Girl, I have so much to teach you before these games.” Paige launches into an explanation of chirping–basically trash talking, and hockey in general. I can barely follow what she’s saying, so I just play along and nod at the appropriate intervals.
I may have agreed to go with her to these games, but she didn’t say I had to understand what was happening, so I let the information flow through one ear and out the other.
“You know, you could grab some books from the library like Mary did in the movie.” Paige quirks an eyebrow at me.
“And miss this?” I ask, pointing back and forth between us. “Never.” And I mean it. I’m pretty sure I’d fall asleep and leave ugly drool marks on the book pages if I had to read a book about sports rules. Nothing against non-fiction per se, but I’m more of a happily-ever-after girlie.
“Which brings me to what we are going to wear,” Paige says, flopping dramatically back into the couch cushions.
I must have tuned out a minute. Surely we didn’t skip right to clothing choices, right? “I thought I’d wear some jeans and a sweatshirt. Is that not warm enough?” I ask, confused.
She laughs. “All of your sweatshirts have bookish stuff on them.”
I nod. “They do.” I still don’t see the problem. “So? No one is going to be looking at what I have on. They paid to see the players, and apparently their sweat.” I cringe.
Paige rolls her eyes. “Hads, you need some hockey duds.”
I shake my head. “I really don’t think I do.” I’m not planning to spend a small fortune on clothing I’ll never wear again. That’s wasteful.
“Come on. My treat. We’ll go to Fan Gear this week and grab some things. Dad said he heard they’re already starting to stock stuff for the Stars and Stripes Tournament. Of course, we’re rooting for the West, because?—”
“Let me guess,” I say, cutting her off. “Because Colt Bradley is playing on that team?”
Paige beams at me. “Yep!”
If nothing else, watching Paige be excited at the games and fawn over this Colt person should be interesting.
“We should go soon, then. So you can get his shirt or whatever they are called.”
She sighs that dreamy sigh that the heroines in animated movies sigh when they think of the hero coming to rescue them. Except it's 2026, and I’m certain Paige is not a damsel in distress. “How’s Tuesday after work?” I ask, thinking about my upcoming week.
“That’s perfect,” Paige says.
After cleaning up and agreeing to see each other on Tuesday for dinner and a shopping spree to gather the appropriate outfits for this ‘once in a lifetime opportunity’—Paige’s words, not mine—she leaves, and my apartment is once again quiet.
I grab my phone to put the plans for Tuesday in my calendar app and notice a missed text.
My heart skitters and plummets into my stomach.
My thumb hovers over the messages app. It’s like Schrodinger's cat…
right now, Bryce has both texted and not texted.
The message could be from my sister for all I know.
I take a breath and open the app. Schrodinger would be so disappointed in me.