6. Izzy
Izzy
Iwant to melt into the sticky concrete floor.
Jack Murphy bellows my name as he bangs his hockey stick against the plexiglass with a crooked smile on his face.
I fold into myself, trying to be as small as possible.
But it’s too late. I can feel everyone’s attention on us.
Then, because I have the worst luck, he appears on the jumbotron over center ice before the camera pans over to me.
Kill.
Me.
Now.
Sloane leans close, hiding her mouth behind her hand as she shouts over the roar of the arena to me, “I think he’s trying to get your attention.”
As game time gets closer, the crowd is slowly filtering in. A man a few rows behind us shouts, “Fuckin’ A,” when AC/DC blasts over the speaker system and Jack does some trick on the ice. “Murph’s amped tonight!”
I wish I could find it all funny. I think I’d rather just be home in bed tonight instead.
“This was a bad idea,” I mumble.
“He’s just having fun.” Annie grins around a mouthful of pretzel. “But I think he’s pissed you gave that puck away.”
I shrug. I meant it when I said I didn’t want to go on a date with him. I don’t know why he thinks flicking a hockey puck to me is going to get me to change my mind.
Warm-ups finish quickly after, the anthem is sung, and the rest of the arena becomes so electric the excitement buzzes through my bones as the teams take the ice.
Okay, fine. I’ve never been to a hockey game before, but I think I like it. Maybe. A little.
My eyes volley between players as they race and weave around one another, then to the crowd cheering and holding up signs as if we’re at a rock concert. I preferred the mental gymnastics of Model UN in high school to jumping over hurdles or chucking a softball or whatever people do in sports.
Annie leans over me to talk to Sloane. “Is he still on the bench? I don’t see him.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Sloane’s ex is here tonight. Jason Winthrope.”
“The fucking prick.” Ethan shifts in his seat, his hands clenching. “He’s coming out on the next line change.”
Sloane pats his face playfully, smiling. “I’m here with you. I promise I’m fine.”
I narrow my eyes at the Monarchs’ bench.
When I met Sloane this past summer, I knew for a fact she wasn’t fine.
Jason knocked up his ex-girlfriend, and Sloane found out at their rehearsal dinner.
Her car broke down here in Merritt Point, and she crashed on Ethan’s couch for the summer, in between helping out at the restaurant and then at the Merritt Point Herald.
It didn’t take them long to rekindle the secret romance they started in high school twelve years ago.
“Jack asked us to come tonight. I thought it would be fun to go out. Be nice,” she stresses.
Ethan only grins before he tosses back a sip of beer.
For the first period, I’m an excellent student.
I always was a pleasure to have in class according to my teachers.
Ethan and Sloane explain all the positions and rules, and I nod along politely as Annie heckles the refs.
I try my best to pay attention, but my focus is always pulled to Jack and the way he controls the puck, the way he commands the ice. He’s so damn fast on his skates.
I must say that last part out loud because Sloane smiles as if she’s remembering something, which only earns a low chuckle from Ethan. “The little shit was always a faster skater than I was.”
“You were good,” Sloane volleys back.
“I know it.”
“Ugh,” Annie groans, “can you guys stop—”
It happens so quickly. Jack swoops for the puck, races down the ice, weaving and dodging the defensemen trying to block his way, before he effortlessly flicks it past the Monarchs’ goalie into the net.
I startle as an air horn blasts through the arena.
The deep rumble vibrates against my chest, my heart racing, and a stubborn smile bites at my lips.
Annie yanks me to my feet, and we cheer, our beers dangerously close to spilling out. My stomach does another uncomfortable flop as Jack and his teammates celebrate, and I swear he peeks in our direction.
At me.
There’s no way he can make me out in this crowd. I’m sure of it. Still, I sink into my seat and gulp my beer, happy to fade away.
“Anyway,” Annie continues a little while later, “I don’t know what I’ll do after I graduate. But, like, why do I have to figure it out?”
“You don’t,” I tell her.
Annie is the youngest of the Murphy siblings. She reminds me a lot of Riley.
“You have the store. How did that happen?”
“It was an accident.”
“What?” Sloane spins in her seat. “How is opening a bookstore an accident? I didn’t know this.”
I shrug, my eyes still glued to the ice. I’m a slut for competency porn, and Jack, annoyingly, is perfection to watch on the ice. “It was just a side hustle for a bit to help pay the bills. I was going to be a teacher.”
“Do you still want to be a teacher?” Annie asks.
That’s a big question. It’s not that I regret the decisions that I’ve made; it’s more that I didn’t have a choice in making them.
My sisters needed me, and I had to figure out another way to pay the bills on top of the crummy office job I worked at between classes when I took temporary custody of them.
“Shit,” Sloane mutters.
“What is it?” I look over to Sloane clutching Ethan’s arm before I follow.
Sloane’s ex, Jason, is chirping at Jack from the bench.
The refs skate between the two, break up whatever was about to happen, and play continues, but not before Jack points at Jason with his stick.
Another Breakers’ teammate slaps his hand against Jack’s back before he skates over to the team’s bench and hops over the wall.
“Can’t leave it alone. I hope Jack fucking lays that asshole out,” Ethan grumbles.
Sloane slaps her hand onto his thigh. “Easy, big boy.”
Annie pretends to gag, and I chuckle.
I didn’t really hang out with the Murphys until Sloane came to town, but I love their family. A small pang wedges its way under my ribs at the realization that my family is anything but what the Murphys have.
I force a smile as Sloane and Ethan keep giving Annie a hard time, all the while annoyed that I can’t seem to look away from Jack even if I want to.
And I do. Ethan and Annie, hell, even Sloane can try to convince me otherwise, but I know Jack is trouble.
This is all just one small blip in what’s been a great year.
I’m not going to let any of this distract me, not going to get pulled into whatever the rest of the internet says is going on.
By the end of the second period, the tension explodes. Jack and Jason collide near New York’s net. The two struggle for control of the puck before Jason slams his stick back, whacking Jack in the shoulder.
“That’s fucking slashing, ref,” Annie yells.
Jack shoves off the boards, jaw tight, eyes locked on Jason. As if he’s just waiting for an excuse to fight.
Jason mouths something I can’t make out, but Jack does.
Annie stuffs another bite of pretzel into her mouth and laughs. “Watch this.”
Before I can ask, Jason throws a weak punch toward Jack. It’s more of a slap. Jack doesn’t flinch. Instead, he lunges to grip Jason’s jersey in both fists and yanks him off balance. He cocks his arm back, shakes off a glove, and lands a right hook across Jason’s face.
The arena erupts into cheers. Someone’s popcorn from behind me spills over my shoulders, and I brush it off, too focused on the ice to care.
My fingers curl around the edge of my seat as Jack and Jason awkwardly circle the ice, tangled up, fists flying. Their gloves scatter across the ice. Jack’s all fury, every punch sharp and controlled.
I should hate this, but judging by the warm current racing through my body, and my breath coming a little faster, I realize it’s working—whatever this strange feral energy is—and I’m cheering him on.
I jump to my feet and shout with Annie and Sloane, tossing my arms into the air, as Jason lands a punch. The refs push and shove, trying to break the pair apart. But Jason’s fist connects, and Jack doesn’t stumble back or fall—he just drops. His knees give out, and he crumples to the ice.
An eerie quiet falls over the arena.
I gasp, my hands clutched over my mouth. Fuck, he’s not moving.
“Why isn’t he—” Annie grips my hand. “Ethan? Ethan!”
It’s been five hours since Jack collapsed onto the ice.
He was brought to MGH immediately, and the doctors ran a bunch of tests.
We waited for hours until a nurse finally let us back in to see him.
Annie grabbed my arm and pulled me along with her and Sloane.
For some reason I still don’t understand, I followed.
Now I’m in the most uncomfortable chair beside Jack’s hospital bed, listening to the steady beep of his heart on the monitor, and trying not to lose my mind after sitting under shitty fluorescent lights for so long.
I swear my teeth are vibrating. I hate big lights.
Jack is propped up against the crisp white hospital pillows.
Dark bruises shadow under his eyes from the hit, his bottom lip split and swollen, and there’s a gash on his left cheek and across the bridge of his nose.
His knuckles are scraped and already swelling.
A bandage peeks out from his hospital gown, wrapped around his ribs and shoulder where Jason’s stick caught him.
“What?” I snap.
The nurse sweeps in again. Like me, she isn’t swooning over Jack.
Sloane and Annie left to grab coffee, and Ethan’s in the hallway calling their parents with an update. I try my best to ignore Jack, but he’s still got that damn crooked grin on his face. And I swear to God, if I have to see those dimples one more time—
“Worried, Izzy?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Murphy.”
“Murphy?” His voice cracks a little higher than normal, probably the painkillers they’ve given him.
But that doesn’t matter. Using his last name only seems to please him more.