12. Pearl Davis
12
Pearl Davis
Boy, was I wrong about this bridesmaids meeting. I thought the hardest thing about joining the girls today would be enduring endless chatter about how Kate met Duke and their impending happily-ever-after. I even said a little prayer before coming here, to maintain a cheerful spirit. Little did I know that everyone would be so focused on watching the Glaciers and Falcons game.
If I had known it was going to turn into a hockey night, I would’ve gladly opted for a cozy evening alone in my apartment. Of course, Robyn had the perfect excuse to skip out on this meeting with her coveted ticket to the game. The way she flashed that ticket at me, it was clear she’d miss the Glaciers game when pigs fly. If only I had a similarly convincing excuse. Unfortunately, I’m known for never bailing on anything, and Kate would’ve undoubtedly pulled out all the stops to ensure I show up.
Summoning a burst of courage, I make another attempt to divert their attention. The small living room is packed with Becky, Sarah, and Lydia, all from our church and part of the worship team, along with Nadine, who’s Kate’s cousin and roommate, also seated on the carpet. Stepping in, I observe their faces, glued to the TV screen, completely absorbed in the game. Sarah and Becky react with animated gestures at different points of the game, while Kate gasps in disbelief, exclaiming “that was a close call” each time. Nadine is passionately shouting at what I assume is the opposing team. It’s only then that I notice Lydia’s jersey—it has “Ortiz” written at the top with the number 12 in bold white font. Could that be Zane’s number? The chances of it being another player with the same last name seem slim.
A twinge of tension grips me, though I can’t quite pinpoint why. Robyn already filled me in about Zane’s status as one of the best players, with a legion of devoted fans—many of them women who are utterly infatuated with him.
I hope Lydia is simply wearing his jersey for admiration of his skills on the ice.
I gaze at the screen and try to spot him amidst the flurry of players darting across the ice at lightning speed. Is this even safe? The way they move seems almost unreal. I’ve never set foot on ice, let alone attempted skating at that speed; the thought of sharp blades beneath my feet sends shivers down my spine. I’ve always been a practical footwear kind of girl. I never stray beyond a 2-inch heel for safety’s sake.
“So, is the game almost finished?” I interject, breaking the silence, and all eyes turn to me .
“Do you really hate hockey?” Kate asks in disbelief.
“I never said I hated it.” It’s funny how people always assume that if you’re not into a sport they love, it means you must hate it.
“Well, we heard Robs say something like that,” the girls tease.
“I’ve just never been into any sports.”
“How can you not enjoy this?” Lydia asks. Something about the fact that she is wearing a jersey with Zane’s name on it gives me the itch.
Why do I always feel possessive over men who aren’t even mine? First Duke, and now Zane. Something is seriously wrong with me because I don’t even like Zane at all. He gives me the itch too.
“It’s too violent and way too fast-paced for me. I don’t know what’s happening,” I deadpan.
“Well, if we’re being honest, I only care about two things: Zane Ortiz and for the Glaciers to win. So, I’m really not paying attention to everything else that’s happening either,” Lydia admits.
My stomach churns at the mention of Zane’s name.
“Why Zane? Does he play better than everyone else?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.
“No, Collymore is the greatest defenseman the world has ever seen. And that jawline—pure perfection. A pity he is retiring,” Becky swoons.
“Sorry, I’ll have to side with Lydia here,” Nadine adds. “Sarah, could you pull up the Glaciers’ socials and show us Zane in his full glory? Those piercing eyes, that chiseled body, that smile. And the way he never shies away from a good on-ice scuffle. I’m all in for Team Zane Ortiz.”
I’m officially irritated now. Lord, help me. I can’t seem to keep my emotions in check, and I know whatever I’m feeling isn’t valid in any way.
“I like having my eyes on Adler. Carson Adler. He might not be everyone’s top pick, but there’s something about him that just speaks to me. I like to think that one day I’ll meet him and have the chance to tell him how special he is,” Sarah says in a dreamy voice.
“Girls, stop it. We’re here to enjoy the game, not to ogle the players. Remember, some of them have wives and families,” Kate interrupts. Makes total sense. She’s fully engaged and not interested in this conversation.
“We’re actually here for a bridesmaids meeting, Kate. I think we should get to it,” I remind everyone in case they forgot why we’re really here.
Kate winces. “Sorry, Pearl. This game is halfway. Can you try and sit it through, and we’ll make today’s meeting short?”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes as I reluctantly agree. Grabbing a bar stool from the island, I settle back into watching the game. My gaze returns to the TV screen, scanning for number 12—I manage to spot him for a few seconds before the camera shifts to other players.
Zane scores a goal, prompting all the girls to erupt in cheers and high-five each other. As the camera zooms in for the replay, I finally get a full view of his face in slow motion. He’s unarguably handsome even behind a full face shield, and with all the confidence he exudes, along with his persistence from yesterday, I’m certain he’s well aware of his heartthrob reputation.
The game progresses, and I find myself secretly thrilled, particularly when I catch a glimpse of number 12 out on the ice. It’s as if I’m playing my own private game—tracing his movements across the rink. Though I’m sure Lydia is doing the same.
I still can’t understand the players’ willingness to risk injury for a puck. Still, I admire their fearlessness. Fear is something I grapple with every day, so it’s intriguing to imagine being on the other side of it.
The girls’ voices ring out in unison, echoing disbelief and frustration. “Seriously? They’re penalizing Zane for that? It was a clean play!” The atmosphere instantly tenses up. I catch Zane’s visibly angry expression on TV, but I’m clueless about what actually happened.
I hesitate to ask what’s happening. Revealing any interest in the game would contradict my earlier stance, and I definitely don’t want to be roped into more game nights. Yet, the urge to know what the referee said to Zane and the repercussions he faces consumes my thoughts.