Chapter 13Avery
Chapter Thirteen
Avery
The cold bites at my cheeks as I push through the arena doors, a blast of noise greeting me. Kids shouting, skates slicing ice, and that sharp, familiar smell of cold metal and concession stand snacks. Samantha and Emily are hard to miss, their enthusiastic waves catching my eye from around the middle front of the bleachers.
"Hey!" I call out, weaving my way through a sea of jackets and team colors. I wish they’d picked seats higher up; it feels too exposed down here. But then again, being visible in this fight against Victor Stone's development plans is part of the game now.
I'm more of a background person, a behind-the-scenes kind of girl. I never thought I'd be the one leading a charge, but I guess some things have a way of changing you.
"Could've used a flare to find you two," I joke as I reach them, climbing the steps with a bit more effort than I'd like to admit.
"Wouldn't want you to miss all the fun," Samantha grins, making room for me.
I settle into the narrow space between them, the cold metal of the bleacher seeping through my jeans. "I can honestly say I never thought I would find myself here," I admit.
"Olivia's doing great, isn't she?" Samantha says, her eyes softening at the mention of my daughter.
"Her teacher called, you know." I lean in closer, sharing this small victory. "Said Olivia's been... different lately. More open, more herself."
"Joining the team was the best thing for her," Emily nods with assurance. "Look at her now, she's blossoming."
"Like a little hockey-playing flower," I quip, trying to mask the swell of pride in my chest. "Who knew all it took was a stick and a puck to bring her out of her shell?"
"Or a good cause," Samantha suggests, giving me a knowing look. "Sophia claims that the two of them love being better than the boys."
I chuckle as I watch the Zamboni make its smooth rounds, preparing the ice.
"Where's Jessica?" I glance around, expecting to see her bustling figure armed with snacks and enthusiasm.
"She texted a minute ago," Emily responds without looking up from her phone. "Stuck in traffic, but she'll be here soon."
"Good," I nod.
"You're not going to start waving 'Save Our Town' signs during the game, are you?" Samantha teases, elbowing me gently.
"Ha, no." I shake my head, my lips pressed into a thin line. "Not today. Today is for the kids. They need to know they're what matters, despite whatever games Victor's playing off the rink."
"Exactly," Emily agrees, her eyes warm with shared understanding.
The conversation lulls as the chatter of excited parents fills the space around us. Then Jessica arrives, breathless and smiling despite the rush, sliding next to us like the final piece of our small community puzzle.
"Made it!" She exhales, cheeks flushed from the sprint.
"Welcome to the chaos," I say, nudging her with my shoulder.
"Okay, so... hockey." I look out at the ice, feeling more out of my depth than I'd care to admit. "I'm still not clear on all the rules. Can someone give me the quick and dirty?"
"Sure thing," Samantha chimes in, her posture straightening with the authority of someone who's lived and breathed the sport. "Five players on the ice for each team—three forwards, two defensemen—and one goalie."
"Players try to get the puck into the other team's net." She points towards the goals at either end of the rink. "Most goals win."
"Got it," I affirm, though I'm sure my grasp on the game is as slippery as the ice below. "Simple enough."
"Yep, and there's offside rules, penalties, power plays, but we can get into that next time," Samantha continues. Her finger moves as she outlines an invisible map of the arena. "That's where our team will huddle," she gestures to the bench closest to us, "and the away team will be opposite."
I look to where she's pointing below us, and blink my eyes a few times in confusion.
"Isn't that Victor Stone?" I lean in, squinting at the man confidently striding to the bench where Samantha just pointed. The tailored lines of his black suit cut a sharp figure against the casual backdrop of the rink, and something about it doesn't sit right.
Samantha peers down, following my gaze, then nods slowly. "Yeah, that's him alright. He looks out of place, doesn't he?" Her brow furrows with genuine puzzlement. "But where's Coach Marty? The game's ticking close."
Emily leans forward, her hands gripping the cold metal of the bleacher rail. "Haven't seen him. And nobody mentioned he wasn't going to be here." She glances between us, concern etched across her features.
"Odd," Jessica mutters, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Victor isn't exactly Mr. Team Spirit."
"Look at him," I can't help but snort, "a full suit? Really?" My arms cross over my chest as I try to tamp down the annoyance bubbling inside me. This is supposed to be about the kids, not some corporate showboat.
Samantha smirks, a playful edge to her voice. "Oh, I don't know, Avery. He's kind of giving off Emilio Estevez vibes." A twinkle in her eye, she nudges me with her elbow.
"Please," I sigh heavily, shaking my head. "This isn't a movie, Sam. This is our kids' season opener."
She laughs softly, a sound that almost masks the tension. "What a shame, though, huh?"
"Total shame," I mutter.
The rink echoes with the scrape of blades as the kids pour onto the ice. Their youthful energy is a stark contrast to the stillness that has settled among us moms. We watch them gather around Victor like moths to a flame—his presence undeniable, even if unwanted.
I narrow my eyes, trying to gauge Victor's every move from afar. "I've got to hear what he's saying," I declare. "He better not be filling their heads with any of his nonsense. "
Emily places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Avery, it's probably nothing. Maybe something happened to Marty, and Victor's just stepping in."
"No way," I huff out, shaking off her reassurance. "He's setting himself up as the hero—hogging the limelight that's meant for our kids. I'm gonna go down and listen." My gaze sweeps over Samantha and Jessica, but they both avoid eye contact, shifting uneasily.
"Seriously? None of you are coming?" Disbelief colors my tone.
They exchange sheepish looks, shoulders rising in a collective shrug. "You've got this, Avery," Samantha murmurs, offering a weak smile.
"Fine," I mutter, feeling the weight of solo responsibility settle on me. "I'll do it myself."
I march down the stairs, each step echoing my resolve. As I take a seat right behind the home box, the coldness of the glass sends a shiver down my spine. It's a barrier, muffling Victor's words from my desperate ears.
The team glides away in a flurry of sticks and skates, and then Victor turns, catching my eye. His lips curl into that slight smirk—the one that inexplicably sets my heart racing even as my mind rebels against it. Handsome devil. I mentally scold myself, vowing to confront him later.
The game kicks off, and I can't help but watch Victor, scrutinizing his every interaction. To my chagrin, he's... good. The way he gestures, the nods he gets from the kids—it’s clear he knows his way around the ice. A reluctant respect worms its way into my thoughts, leaving me unsettled and unsure.