16 - Sage
Sage
Cold air poured down from somewhere high in the arena and settled over the rows of seats, carrying the scent of popcorn and beer and that faint metallic chill that always clung to ice rinks.
Frost Bank glowed bright enough to make the white sheet of ice look almost unreal, a giant polished surface ringed by boards plastered with ads that probably cost more than my car.
Ramona shifted beside me, tugging her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Remind me again why we’re here instead of some place cool.”
On the ice, two clusters of players circled each other while the referees got into position.
The crowd around us buzzed with the low anticipation that came right before something started, everyone settling into their seats with plastic cups and baskets of fries.
Surprisingly, Calgary Flames had a huge turnout for an away game.
I didn’t know much, but I knew that meant we were in for a treat.
“This is cool,” I said, resting my forearms on the railing in front of us.
Ramona stared at me. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
“It’s just a game.” I rolled my eyes, absently swirling my beer in its solo cup. “Relax and enjoy it. Easy.”
She leaned closer, squinting at the ice. “They all look the same.”
“They’re literally wearing different color jerseys.”
Ramona followed my gaze. “Which color are we rooting for?”
“How the hell are you local and you don’t know The Surge is in blue and white?”
A horn blared overhead before she could respond. The sound cut through the arena and the crowd surged with it, thousands of voices rising as the puck hit the ice and the players exploded into motion.
My eyes found the bench before I even realized I was looking for him.
Aiden sat halfway down the line, helmet on, gloves resting across the top of the boards while he watched the play develop.
He looked different here than he did anywhere else.
Focused. Contained. The kind of stillness that only lasted until the coach tapped his shoulder and sent him out onto the ice.
The puck shot across the rink in a blur. One player scooped it up, passed it to another, then someone in a red jersey stepped in and stole it.
The entire section around us groaned.
“What happened?” Ramona asked, looking alarmed.
“No idea.”
She crossed her arms and slumped back in her seat. “So neither of us have any idea what’s going on, but we’re here.”
“Fun, right?” I clinked my drink against hers, making her beer spill a little.
“Totally,” she deadpanned.
A player in red wound up near the blue line and fired the puck toward the net. Our goalie dropped low, pads flaring wide as the puck smacked against them and ricocheted back into play.
The crowd erupted, and Ramona startled, spilling her beer again. “Jesus.”
I laughed, helping her dab the mess on her jeans. “Relax. That’s gonna happen all night.”
On the ice, the players tangled along the boards right in front of our section. Sticks clacked together while the puck disappeared under a cluster of skates.
Ramona leaned forward. “So what are they doing now?”
“Trying to get the puck.”
“They already had the puck.”
I took a bigger gulp than necessary. The faster I got buzzed, the easier this would get. “Now they’re trying to get it again.”
She turned her head slowly. “You’re incredibly helpful.”
The whistle cut through the noise, and everything stopped.
A player from The Surge peeled away from the group while one of the referees pointed toward the penalty box.
Ramona grabbed my arm. “What does that mean? Is he hurt?”
My gaze flicked to the bench again. Aiden had pushed to his feet, helmet tilted slightly back while he watched the call unfold.
“No clue,” I said.
The player skated toward the penalty box, and the crowd rumbled with a mix of boos and applause that made no sense to me.
Across the rink, Aiden lifted his head. Our eyes met through the chaos of helmets and glass and movement.
He smiled and flashed a wink, and although I was huddled in a sea of people, I knew that was meant for me. It made my toes curl and a cozy warmth settled low in my stomach.
Ramona followed my line of sight and squinted toward the bench. “You’re so fucking obvious, it’s embarrassing.”
I grabbed my drink and took another sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re just sitting here without any idea about anything, aren’t you?”
And she looked so goddamn done with me that I couldn’t help laughing again. Nothing—not even Ramona’s mood—could put a damper on what I was feeling.
Yes, I’d ignored my biggest red flag when it came to dating guys.
But no matter how I turned it over and pulled it apart, there was nothing about Aiden I didn’t like.
If he were anything but a pro hockey player, he’d have been everything I wanted in a man.
It just didn’t make sense to write him off without at least exploring that a little.
Especially when he made me come like no one else.
On the ice, the puck dropped again and the players surged forward in another rush of motion that had the crowd leaning with it.
Ramona made a show of how bored she was, sighing loud enough to get my attention.
“This is going to be a long night,” she muttered.
A laugh slipped out of me as the puck streaked down the rink, and someone in a Surge jersey chased after it with the entire arena roaring around us.
Ramona shifted in her seat and tipped her cup back, finishing the last of her drink while the play moved to the far end of the rink. A cluster of red jerseys crowded the Surge net. Our goalie dropped low and knocked the puck aside with a pad, sending the crowd around us into another wave of noise.
Ramona lowered the empty cup and turned her head toward me. “You’ve looked over there six times.”
“Over where?”
She tilted her chin toward the bench.
My gaze followed the play instead. A Surge defenseman chased the puck behind the net and whipped it around the boards. It bounced past two sticks before another Surge player caught it and skated up the ice.
“I’m watching the game.”
“You’re watching one specific player sit on the bench while the game is happening.”
The puck crossed center ice. A Calgary player stepped into the lane and stole it back, drawing a collective groan from the section around us.
“Don’t start,” I said.
Ramona angled in her seat so she could study my face. “Too late. And FYI, you’re the one who started it.”
Another line hopped over the boards for the Surge. Fresh legs poured onto the ice while the others glided toward the bench.
My attention slid that way again without permission.
Aiden stood with the rest of his line, while the coach rattled something off that disappeared under the roar of the arena.
Ramona followed my eyes and gave a small nod to herself. “I knew it.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Sure.”
A Calgary winger sent the puck toward the net. Our goalie snagged it with his glove and held it up while the whistle sounded. The crowd clapped. A few people behind us shouted obscenities at the ref.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said, shaking her head slowly. She’d forgotten all about the game and was now just staring at me.
“Mona, please.”
“You hate hockey.”
“That’s not true.”
She gave me an incredulous look. “Your father chased it until it burned through your parents’ marriage. Your brother spent half his life chasing the same dream and ended up on crutches.”
The next line took the ice. The referee dropped the puck near the boards and the players crashed together again.
My fingers tightened around the railing as I swallowed past the bile rising in my throat. “What’s your point?”
Ramona watched the ice for a beat before glancing back at me. “You need to ask? Your exact words, by the way, were that you’d never get involved with a pro athlete.”
A Calgary defenseman wound up and fired the puck toward the net. It ricocheted off a skate and skittered wide.
“That rule made sense at the time.”
“At the time.” Ramona tilted her head. “What changed?”
The Surge bench stirred. Aiden stepped over the boards with the rest of his line and pushed onto the ice, stick tapping once against the surface before he turned up toward center.
My attention followed him, the strands of conversation dangling in mid-air.
He cut across the neutral zone and called for the puck. One of his wingers sent it over. Aiden caught it clean and drove toward the offensive end with a Calgary defender closing in. I held my breath, and that’s when Ramona snapped her fingers in my face.
“Hello? Are you here?”
“Sorry.”
“Is this what you’re gonna be like if you keep this up?”
Aiden slid the puck to the wing and continued through the slot. The return pass never came. A Calgary stick knocked it away and sent the play back the other direction.
Ramona studied me. “Admit it. We’re here for him.”
“We’re here because I wanted to get out of the house,” I said without looking at her. Aiden was pushing to get another play, and I didn’t want to miss it in case it worked out this time.
“For him.”
“For hockey.”
“Him,” Ramona said more firmly than before, and it got my attention.
“Why can’t it be both?”
The noise in the arena rose again, and my gaze flicked toward the ice while the Surge regrouped along the boards. A Surge defenseman fired a long pass down the rink. One of the wingers chased it into the corner while Aiden circled behind the net, looking for space.
“I know I probably sound like a dick right now, but I just care about you,” Ramona said then, her tone softening.
“He’s not what you think.”
Ramona lifted a brow. “Enlighten me.”
“He’s been stuck on that bench for years. Second line center on a team that treats him like spare parts. He’s not chasing some huge career.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.”
I hated the way that felt to hear. Too brazen. Too accurate. “He’s not a star.”
“Your rule doesn’t single out stars, just pro athletes.”