9. Hadley #2
We’re asked to stand, and a military color guard walks out onto a red, white, and blue carpet that someone must have laid over the ice when I wasn’t paying attention.
The announcer thanks a veteran for his service, and then a little girl walks out onto the carpet.
The announcer booms, “Please remove your hats for the national anthem, sung by Olivia Bimington.”
Olivia starts singing. Her voice is lovely, and I’ve got goosebumps when she lifts her voice, “...and the rockets' red glare.” Except half the crowd screams ‘RED!’ making Olivia falter, and she starts to cry. I don’t blame her, my heart is still racing.
They should warn a girl when half of the stadium is going to shout.
One player—the goalie—from the red team skates away from his teammates to comfort her, and after a few seconds, Olivia wipes her face and nods. They start the anthem over, singing together, and the player is giving a death glare to the crowd, daring them to shout and scare her again.
My mom was wrong. Not all the players are bad news. Clearly, some of them have huge hearts.
“Now it’s time for puck drop,” Paige says, pointing to the ice.
I watch as players line up on both sides of a line, the judge… umpire… whatever he’s called, does something and suddenly, everyone is slapping sticks around and skating by in a blur of activity.
Paige jumps up and down, getting into the moment, and when she turns to me and grins, I smile back, even though I have no idea what’s happening. These guys skate fast!
Men dressed in either blue or red sweater jersey shirts chase the little black disc around the ice. Smacking it, and each other, with their sticks. I shudder. I fail to see why someone would sign up to be… “Did he just get shoved down?” I ask Paige, my mouth dropping open. “Can he do that?!”
She doesn’t hear me over her own shouting. Something about body checks.
“This feels very violent,” I say after another player gets slammed into the glass making me jump.
“You’ll get used to it,” Paige says, laughing. “It’s half the fun.”
I’m starting to think Paige has some repressed anger issues or something.
Four minutes. Only four minutes have passed.
I know because I’ve been watching the clock more than I’ve been watching the black dot that is the puck flying around on the ice.
One of the guys from the blue team—the Stars—does something fancy with his stick, snapping his wrist and sending the puck down the ice toward the blocker guy at the end.
Who apparently misses, because a loud horn blares and then the guy who sent the puck sailing is rushed by his teammates.
“They scored!” Paige whoops and pumps her arm in the air. “Let’s go, Stars!” She turns to me, and her energy is contagious. I find myself getting excited alongside her. “Did you see that? Tyson Lane for the goal!”
I nod. “I saw. Though it looked like he just kind of… flicked it.”
Paige grins. “That’s a wrist shot. Super hard to do, but he made it look easy.”
“Honestly, staying upright on skates looks hard, so it’s all impressive at this point,” I say.
Paige settles back in her seat, making room for a gentleman with hands full of concessions stand goodies to pass, before leaning over and giving me a play-by-play of what’s happening.
Before the end of the first quarter, I’ve learned all kinds of new words, like icing—which apparently is not just for cakes—hat trick, and power play.
“Don’t quiz me,” I say finally.
“You’ll get there. Trust me. By the end of the tournament, you’ll be asking to use my season tickets.”
“There he is,” Paige says, leaning forward in her seat. “Oh, come on!” She grabs my hand and squeezes, unable to sit still in her seat.
A flash of blue streaks toward the net thing. Two men in red skate up on him quickly. He swings his stick, and the light above the net turns red just as a loud horn blasts. Paige loses her ever-loving mind. “TWO TO ZERO, Hadley!”
The crowd is going wild, and the noise is unbearable. I dig through my purse and grab the earplugs I’d packed, just in case. I stuff one in each ear just as the announcer talks.
“Stars goal at 14:21, scored by number twenty-one, Dashiell DiFranco. Assisted by …,” Thankfully, the earplugs work, and I’m able to tune him out.
“See?” Paige shouts excitedly. “Hockey is awesome!”
I point to my ears which are blissfully quieter. “What?!”
“I said…” Paige emphasizes the d and makes exaggerated lip movements. “Hock-ey is AWE-SOME!”
I laugh. “Yep, awesome!” I take out an earplug. “Sorry.”
“Come on,” Paige says. “Let’s get a drink and a snack.”
“How about I just keep our seats safe, and you can bring me a Diet Coke?” In no way, shape, or form do I want to wade through the sea of people moving around right now.
“Okay,” Paige says. “Be right back.”
I take my phone out of my purse and check it. No new messages.
I wonder if Bryce is having a good night.
When he’d asked if I had plans tonight, I almost wished I didn’t.
Spending time with Bryce is far more appealing than watching men skate around slapping at a puck and being shoved into things.
Though I have to admit, I’m having fun watching Paige get all worked up.
“Here ya go,” Paige says when she returns over ten minutes later, passing me a giant cup. “I got the souvenir cups. Refills are cheaper, and we can reuse them throughout the tournament.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the cold cup of soda. “Are those nachos?”
Paige grins and places the basket of cheese covered chips between us. “Of course!”
The first period ends and we stand to let all the people out. I’m glad Paige went to get food earlier, because now there’s no one around us and we have a glorious eighteen minutes of semi-quiet while the zambonis refresh the ice again and the mascots play games with fans on the ice.
The second period starts and the blue and red jerseys are flying all over the place again. “Why do they climb over the wall like that?” I ask, pointing to the players’ benches. “Can’t they use the little doorway to the dugout?”
Paige snorts. “It’s not a dugout; that’s baseball.”
I shrug. “I have no idea, Paige. Remember… Not a sports girlie.”
“They switch players every 40 to 60 seconds, so they just go over the wall to save time. And it’s just called the player’s bench.”
A blue jersey passes, chasing the puck down the ice. His head is down, his stick out in front of him, his skates eating up the ice. He’s heading right toward us. I wonder if this is Colt. That would make Paige’s night.
Before I can ask, a red jersey comes out of nowhere, slamming into the blue guy and sending him flying. Right into the wall in front of us. The plexiglass shudders. I could feel that hit in my feet. The blue jersey crumples and slides to the ice in front of us.
“Oh my gosh!” Paige yells, jumping to her feet. “Get up!”
Except the blue jersey isn’t getting up. It feels like the entire stadium is holding its breath. “Get up,” I whisper.
Suddenly, his glove moves, and everyone lets out a collective sigh. He gets to his knees, and shakes his head, causing his helmet to shift a bit. He’s moving, but it’s slow. Like someone who just had the wind knocked out of him. His face tips up toward the glass, and…
My heart stops.
There’s no way.
It can’t be.
“OH MY GOSH!” I shout. “brYCE!”
Paige’s head spins on her neck so fast I’m shocked it doesn’t pop off. “Bryce Chambers is YOUR Bryce?” she asks, laughing. “Oh, that’s good!”
Bryce Chambers.
The name he gave to the host at Tavern Hill.
That’s why he was looking at me like he was waiting for the shoe to drop.
I watch as his eyes find mine and it registers that I’m here.
That I know.
“Hadley, are you okay?” Paige asks, grabbing my arm. “You’re white.”
“I…” Am I okay? “I don’t know.”
Every time I talked about work, he deflected. The coffee date where he told me he was on business… He never once mentioned his business was playing hockey!
A whistle blows and Bryce says something, but I don’t know what. My brain isn’t processing right now. He skates off, looking over his shoulder again, his eyes finding mine, almost pleading.
“He’s okay,” Paige says, pointing to the bench. “See, he’s already back to skating. He’s fine.”
His eyes find mine across the rink, and I’m struck again by how gorgeous he is. Even sweaty and breathing heavy after that hit.
The crowd cheers for him and people in blue jerseys all around us call to the guys in the stripes, the refs, yelling about how that should have been a penalty. Bryce skates to his bench and talks to a man in a blue polo, who nods and taps him on the shoulder.
“See,” Paige says again. “That’s the trainer. No concussion protocol needed. And it was a legal hit, so no penalty. He’s fine.”
Bryce might be fine, but am I?