Chapter 37 #2
“Mom! We’re going to be late!” April calls from downstairs.
“Coming!” I grab my purse and head down, where April is already waiting by the door with her coat on.
She takes one look at me and stops mid-bounce. Her eyes go wide as she stares at the number that’s emblazoned on my shirt for the whole world to see.
“You’re wearing Grant’s jersey,” she says, but her tone is almost completely flat and I can’t tell how she feels about it.
My heart thumps against my ribs. This is the first of several moments I’ve been both anticipating and dreading all day. “Yeah. I am.”
“But you always wear a regular Aces shirt. You’ve never worn a player’s jersey before.”
“I know.” I take a breath and crouch down so we’re eye level. “Can we talk about something on the way to the arena?”
She nods, and her eyes go even wider.
We get in the car, and I focus on pulling out of the driveway, trying to figure out how to start this conversation. There’s no instruction manual on how to tell a nine-year-old that I’ve started dating the person we’ve both come to trust and adore.
“So,” I begin as we merge onto the main road. “You know how Grant and I have been spending a lot of time together?”
“Uh-huh.” April’s voice is careful, like she’s already guessed where this is going.
“Well, we’ve become more than just friends. We’re dating.”
Complete silence.
I glance over at her to catch her reaction, and she’s looking at me with an expression that’s way too knowing for a nine-year-old. “I already knew that.”
Now my eyes are the ones going wide. “You did?”
“Mom.” She sighs like I’m the child and she’s the adult. “I’ve known for weeks. Maybe longer.”
I blink, nearly missing my turn. “What? You have? How?”
“You smile differently when he’s around.
And you laugh more. And sometimes when you think I’m not looking, you look at him the way people look at each other in movies.
” She pauses. “Plus, I heard you guys talking in the kitchen that one morning. You called him something that wasn’t just his regular name. ”
Oh god. What on earth did I say? I clear my throat and try to keep the rush of panic out of my voice. “What did you hear?”
“Not much. Just voices. But it was enough.” She swings her legs, completely unbothered. “Are you happy?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Are you happy? With Grant?”
I think about how good it felt to fall asleep and wake up with him still on the phone. About the way he looked at me yesterday in his jersey. About how, for the first time in years, I’m not just surviving—I’m actually living.
“Yeah, I am. I’m really happy.”
“Good. Then I’m happy too. Grant’s nice. He’s funny, and he helps me with my homework, and he doesn’t get mad when I beat him at video games.”
I have to laugh at her list of standards. “He let you win that last time, you know.”
“I know. But he didn’t make it obvious, which is nice.” She’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “So he’s going to be, like, your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. He is.”
“Cool.” She goes back to looking out the window, then turns back to me. “Can I still call him Grant? Or do I have to call him something else now?”
“You can call him whatever you’re comfortable with, sweetheart.”
“Okay. Then I’ll keep calling him Grant.” She grins. “But I’m going to tell him you’re wearing his jersey. He’s going to be so happy.”
My heart swells. “Do you think so?”
“Mom.” She gives me that look again. “He looks at you the same way you look at him. Like in the movies. He’s definitely going to be happy.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand. “When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been smart. That’s how you raised me.”
She’s not wrong. And for such a potentially fraught conversation, she handled it really well.
We pull into the arena parking lot, and I can see the crowd already gathering near the entrance. My nerves ratchet up another notch.
“Ready?” April asks, like she’s the one supporting me instead of the other way around.
“Ready.”
The walk to our usual seats near the ice feels like it takes an eternity. I think I catch a handful of double-takes when people see my jersey, but that’s probably my nerves and overactive imagination conspiring against me.
Half the people here are wearing jerseys, and they aren’t being scrutinized any more than I am.
For now.
The arena starts to fill up as it gets closer to game time. April is happily chattering away about something that happened at school, and I’m really trying to give her my undivided attention, but my eyes keep drifting to the tunnel that leads to the locker room.
The lights dim. Music blares. The crowd roars to life.
And then the Aces skate onto the ice.
My stomach does a complete flip when I spot Grant. Even from here, even in full gear with his mask covering most of his face, I’d recognize him anywhere. The way he moves and carries himself. The way he towers over everyone around him. He’s unmistakable.
And he’s mine.
The team does their warm-up lap, and Grant circles the ice with the others. He’s scanning the crowd, and I know the moment he finds me because he goes completely still for a split second.
Then he changes direction and skates straight toward our section.
My heart starts to pound as he approaches the glass directly in front of us. The people around us notice, craning their necks to see what’s happening.
Grant stops right in front of me. His eyes are fixed on mine, then they move down to the jersey I’m wearing.
The one with his number and last name.
He raises his glove and presses it against the glass. Then, in a move that makes my breath catch, he taps his mask where his lips would be and touches the glass again.
A kiss. There’s no mistaking it.
The crowd around us goes wild with cheers and surprised gasps as everyone turns in their seats and cranes their necks to get a glimpse of Grant Parker’s girl.
Me.
“Is she the one he’s blowing kisses to?” someone behind me asks.
“Is that his girlfriend?”
“She’s wearing his jersey!”
“I didn’t know Parker was seeing anyone.”
“She’d better not distract him from the game.”
This feels like a dream come true mixed with my worst nightmare, but I’m doing my best to tune out all the noise while I focus on Grant. He’s still there, watching me, and even with the mask and the glass between us, I can feel the intensity of his stare.
April bounces beside me, waving enthusiastically. “Hi, Grant! Good luck out there!”
He raises his glove to wave, then skates backward, his eyes never leaving mine until he has to turn and head back to his net.
I finally glance over at the rest of the team on the ice and catch several of the guys looking our way. Theo is nudging Reese, who is grinning from ear to ear. Noah skates past with a thumbs-up for me, then says something to Grant that makes him shake his head.
Sawyer taps his stick against Grant’s pads as he passes, clearly ribbing him about something.
Grant ignores all of them. He takes his position in the net and goes through his pre-game ritual—tapping his stick against the right post three times before adjusting his mask and settling into his stance.
But just before the puck drops, he glances back at me one more time.
I can feel all the attention on me now, and there’s no stopping the heat that’s creeping up my neck and spreading across my cheeks. People are definitely staring. Definitely whispering. Some of them are outright pointing at me, but that’s fine.
There’s no more hiding now. No more pretending this is just casual or temporary or anything less than what it really is.
Grant Parker just claimed me in front of thousands of people, and I’ve never been happier.
April tugs on my sleeve. “Mom, your face is really red.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“But you’re smiling really big.”
“I know that too.”
She grins and settles back in her seat as the puck drops. “This is so cool.”
And yeah, it really is.