Chapter 5
BURTON
“Dude, where are you?”
Clark’s voice sounds like he’s shouting through my phone the second I answer.
“I’m at the restaurant. What’s up?” I ask. To be honest, I’ve worked four days straight, so I’m not sure why he’s wondering where I am.
“We’re supposed to be going to the game tonight,” he says, sounding a little nervous.
“What game?” I frown. “My box lacrosse game isn’t until tomorrow night, and our Lancer games don’t start for a while.” At least thirty days.
“The Yeti game. They’re having us walk out on the ice.” His tone makes it sound like a question.
“I don’t know if you’re messing with me, but I’ve heard nothing about this.”
Clark groans. “Did you not look at the app?”
“What app? I’ve got nothing.”
“Open. The. App.”
I vaguely remember Clark saying something a few weeks ago about how instead of texts, we’d use an app to communicate as a team. The old me downloaded the app, but never opened it. When I do, a flood of messages immediately loads.
The hard part is that I’ve been covering extra shifts before the Lancer season officially starts, so I must’ve completely missed them talking about the game tonight.
“Oh, crap. Can you give me the summary?” I ask, juggling a tray of plates as I head toward the back to drop them off.
“Jessa pulled some strings to get us out there. It’s a promotion—get people excited, get them to come to games. We can announce the FanFest event.”
“Is that the name of what we discussed at the diner?”
“Yeah. Hurry up and meet us at the house,” Clark says.
“That’s cool,” I say, “but I’m at work. I might have to sit this one out.”
“You can’t. You have to come.” Why is there a hint of desperation in his voice?
“No one’s going to notice if I’m gone,” I argue, grasping for reasons. My managers have a soft spot for me but leaving them short-handed right now isn’t ideal. Saturday nights are not the time to call out.
“Burton,” Clark says, “they’ve got a guy on the hockey team who’s basically your equivalent. You need to be here.”
“My equivalent how?” I ask, curious what he means by this.
“He’s the one who takes over when one of his teammates gets hit. Like the protector.”
Raising an eyebrow at his logic, I hold up my pointer finger to one server waving me over. “I doubt anyone is getting plowed over tonight, Clark. You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t ask for much—”
“Except for the brainstorming session. And help winning Jessa’s heart. Those were pretty big asks,” I say, grinning.
“I promise to sign something for the restaurant or pay for whatever you miss.”
I groan and stop walking, staring at the floor while I decide.
“What does me being the protector mean when we’re just walking out on the ice for a minute?”
“I, uh, think the crowd will understand your role on the team is a lot like his.”
“So, he’s one of the best players at his position, scoring goals like the net personally offended him?” I try to hide my smile.
Clark groans. “I guess, man. I don’t know that much about the team, but we need you here. We can announce that participants can personally challenge you at the event.”
I don’t say anything for several seconds, trying to decide if this is worth the time to negotiate my getting off work early.
“So?” he asks. “Are you coming?”
I let out a long breath. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. But if this costs me my restaurant job—”
“I won’t charge you rent for the next six months.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
Clark chuckles.
“Deal.”
We hang up, and that’s when it hits me—this is a bigger deal than I thought. Clark isn’t a bad landlord, but he’s a stickler. Six months of rent-free living doesn’t come lightly.
“Hey, Aliana,” I say, approaching my manager. “You told me I could work every day this week.”
“I did.”
“This is actually my second shift today, and I’m scheduled for the next three days too.”
She gives me a look like I’m still in high school trying to get away with something illegal, which I’m not. I’m just trying to go to a hockey game, apparently.
“I was an idiot and didn’t turn on my notifications for the lacrosse group chat. They have a marketing event tonight, and my captain is stressing that I’m not there already. Is there a chance I can leave now? I’ll be back tomorrow.”
She glances around the restaurant and then looks back at me. “It’s Saturday night, Burton. We have many customers already, and it’s still before the traditional rush.”
“I know. I apologize, but I rarely ask for favors. This one time and then I’ll be in for all my other shifts without complaint.” I’m shaking my clasped hands together in front of her. Then I wonder why I’m so worried about going. I could just say I can’t make it.
But that would let the team down.
Every marketing opportunity for the lacrosse club is opening our sport as a possibility for kids. Giving that visibility that some kids need for their future. To not go when asked by my captain is like betraying his trust.
I renew my pleading and give her a sad face.
After a moment, she sighs. “Fine. I’ll cover. But you’re here on every other shift.”
I clap my hands together and grin. “Thank you, boss.”
I ditch my apron, grab my things, and head out the door.
From the messages pouring in now, the guys have already left the house and are meeting at the arena. That means I’ll have to find parking in the city, but it also saves time.
I park a few blocks away in a free area and walk toward the arena, but once I get there, I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go. I call Clark again.
No answer.
I try Stack. Same thing.
“Is this some kind of prank?” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. Not that being here is a bad thing, but I was counting on tips from the next few days to get me through the start of the season.
Clark finally calls back. “Where are you?”
“I’m in front of the arena,” I snap. “Where are you?”
“Southeast side. Walk toward the mountains and around the building to the back entrance.”
At least he knows me well enough to understand that directions are not my forte. I need landmarks—things I can actually see—not a mental map that goes nowhere.
I round the building and spot the guys through the glass windows. They’re all wearing different jerseys of players on the Utah hockey team. It takes a minute to get through the security line before I make it to the other five.
“Glad you could join us,” Jackson says, patting me on the back.
I roll my eyes and shake my head, still feeling the sting of having to leave work early. “This better be worth it,” I mutter, glancing at Clark.
“It will be,” he says easily. “We might as well get as many new fans as possible. If people are already at a sporting event, there’s a better chance they’ll try another one.”
“Where’s the rest of the team?” I ask.
“They only need six players for this,” Stack says.
“So what? Are we just walking out during the opening stuff?” I ask. That wouldn’t make sense of why they would limit the numbers.
“You mean the national anthem?” Stack says. He makes a weird noise, and the rest of the guys cringe.
“You didn’t even tell him?” Finny asks Clark.
“Tell me what?” I ask, already suspicious.
Clark groans. “Well…we’re doing an on-ice skills competition.”
I stare at him. “I don’t have skates. And the chances of finding skates for a size fifteen? Good luck. It’s hard enough to find cleats my size,” I add. “And you’d think football players would have bigger feet than I do.”
Clark rubs the back of his neck like he’s searching for the right words.
“So?” I prompt.
“We’re throwing a ball from half-ice into nets lined up along the boards.”
I shake my head. “That’s not a problem. A lacrosse field is basically the same length as an ice sheet.”
“And we have to use mini sticks,” Clark adds.
“Not a D-pole?” I ask.
There are only a few types of lacrosse sticks. Goalies use the giant-pocket ones. Defenders use D-poles which have a really long handle, allowing them to annoy the other team’s offense. Middies and attack use the shorter sticks. I’m an attacker, so I’m used to the small ones.
“Not a D-pole,” Clark says, cringing again.
“How could this get worse?”
“Don’t tell me they’re like the tiny sticks they sell at the store for pool games,” I say.
Stack points at me. “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.”
“Then why do you need me here?” I ask, still annoyed about losing tips tonight.
“Because anyone can launch the ball that far,” Clark says. “But you’re one of a kind.”
Finney grins at me. “Think of yourself like that guy in The Princess Bride.”
“Please don’t compare me to the giant.”
Finney gives a halfhearted smile. “Maybe you’re just a rock, dude. Plenty of people will love you.”
“Nothing like being a marketing ploy,” I mutter. “I could’ve worked another hour and still made it.”
Clark steps closer and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I get it. I’m just doing what Jessa says.
This is what they require. If I’ve learned anything about endorsements and marketing this year, it’s that the most random things will help people remember them.
We’ve got to use every angle we can to get more tickets sold.
If you need me to, I’ll still waive your rent, especially since I’m guessing your boss just let you leave. ”
I growl and nod.
Clark lowers his voice. “I promise I’ll take care of you. You’ve done a lot for me, and I’ve got your back.”
It’s hard to stay mad after that. I take the jersey from Clark and fall in at the back of the group.
“So where are we supposed to go now?” Jackson asks.
“They said we can walk around for a bit,” Clark replies. “Then we head down by the middle of the first period to the door we came through to get in the building.”
The arena halls aren’t too packed yet.
“Snacks?” Stack asks, rubbing his hands together as we pass the ice cream stand and fast-food counters.
I already ate at the restaurant, which is good because it saves money.
Great. I’m officially turning into my penny-pinching dad.
The guys stop for food, and I wander toward the team store in the middle of the concourse. I want to see what kind of merch they sell, but the large number of people in there makes me decide to stay outside.
Turning, I see the main reporting desk, where a few people are holding microphones and talking into a camera.
I stop short.
Is that…Laney?
I take a few steps closer and realize it is. Her hair is down and curled, brushing just below her shoulders. With makeup and different clothes, it took me a second to recognize her. She was cute last night at the diner, and sharp as far as the planning went.
I’m not dating. I’m not even in the market for it, but I feel a slight attraction there. Maybe it’s because she was terrified of the shadows at her apartment.
Girls want stability. I’m more of a Peter Pan.
Could anyone really handle me and my inability to focus on one thing at a time? My track record says no.
And yet, I stand here watching her talk animatedly to the camera, confident and completely in her element. She knows exactly what she’s talking about, which honestly surprises me. A lot of women I’ve met pretend to understand sports.
Laney doesn’t pretend.
She didn’t say much last night, or maybe she did, and I missed it, still fixated on the possibility of a dead body in her apartment.
I could see her being a good friend. Nothing more.
Apparently, I’ve been staring too long, because she looks up, blinks in confusion, and then grins at me. The lights turn off, and she waves me over. The camera must be off too, thankfully.
I don’t mind cameras like Clark does, but today I’m already flustered enough.
I walk over and give her a small wave. “Hey, Laney. How’s it going?”
“It’s going well,” she says, smiling. “I slept in relative peace last night, and I might move permanently, so that’s a win.”
With a fake frown, I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve heard that neighborhood isn’t the safest. There’s a house close by that’s like a frat house. I’d check again.”
She laughs and says, “Well, at least I won’t have to wonder what died every day.”
“Is this what you do for work?” I ask, knowing it makes me sound clueless.
“Yep. I joined the team just over two weeks ago.”
“That’s right. You said you were in Seattle before that.”
She nods. “I covered a few different teams, but nothing steady. This has been nice. More hockey, some basketball.”
I nod, a little awe settling in my chest. “That’s really cool. What made you go into sportscasting?”
Is that what it’s called? I should know since I’ve had to give several interviews over the course of my career.
She shrugs. “I watched a lot of sports with my grandpa. He taught me to analyze them and almost predict what’s going to happen before it does. So, it’s a fun challenge for me, and now I get to see it up close.”
“Oh wow. You’ve got an origin story and everything.”
“What brings you to the rink?” she asks with a laugh.
I laugh and close my eyes for a second. “Turns out we’re the intermission entertainment tonight.” I point over my shoulder—only to realize the guys are standing inches behind me, smiling in a weird robotic way.
Am I in some kind of bubble?
Laney grins. “That’s awesome. I might interview you beforehand.”
I lean in slightly. “Have they done this activity before?”
She laughs. “Let me guess. You get the mini lacrosse sticks?”
When I nod, she does the same. “Yep. And no one’s made it yet from what I’ve heard.”
“Challenge accepted,” I say.
She laughs, and the sound hits me harder than it should. Melodic. Warm.
This is only the second time I’ve seen her, and my body is humming like I’m supposed to be standing next to her forever.
Which is definitely not happening.