25. Want Me To Sign It For You Later?
25
WANT ME TO SIGN IT FOR YOU LATER?
SETH
Friday night finally arrives and we’re playing our first game against Vancouver, Linc’s former team and my father’s one true love after my mother. Normally I’m pretty calm before a game, but for some reason, every time we play Vancouver, my stomach is in knots. Probably because I’m worried about Dad’s feelings when we smash them.
I must be even quieter than normal, because Linc has been shooting me wary looks for the last half an hour while we go through the game play and get dressed before warm up.
“You gonna be able to get your head in the game tonight?” he finally asks.
“Yeah. I’m good,” I reply, not wanting any unnecessary attention around my headspace.
We’re finally in a good place as a team. The disaster from last year is behind us and there’s been no mutterings about me keeping the captaincy.
So the last thing I need is anyone questioning if I’m in the right frame of mind for a game. One questioning remark said near the wrong person and it’ll be all over the media. I’ve already had to deal with too many questions from that Alana lady, who keeps showing up everywhere of late.
I don’t need any more fuel added to the fire.
Once everyone is ready, we file out of the locker room and head towards the tunnel, waiting for the announcer to scream our arrival before we hit the ice for warm ups.
I wonder idly how many shots of me stretching are going to end up on social media after this game. I’m slowly becoming immune to it, but it’s still a little confronting finding out that some person has been filming your ass while you’re stretching and making it overtly sexual. Some of the guys, like Dean, lean into it, but I’m not a fan. It’s been a big issue for some other teams, especially when wives have become involved, but so far, our fan base has been respectful, for the most part. Last year, I found out that Linc and I were both featured in a post that included us in a list of the most fuckable players. Although he thought it was funny, I was not impressed, and it was the final incident that made me quit social media. I closed all my private accounts the next day, and I’m still yet to take back the official ones from the team’s marketing department after the end of last season. It’s made me even more wary of being photographed when I’m just trying to go about my daily life. I just wish they’d find something else to post about.
The lights in the arena go out and I shake off the maudlin thoughts, shifting my mindset to focus on the gameplay we’d discussed. Coach has been focusing on their weak spots, so I run it over and over in my mind.
“Get ready, Calgary! And raise the noise for the Mounties!” The arena erupts in screams while I lead the way onto the ice.
The lights are strobing and flashing while we circle around our end first, waving up at the crowd before we get to business. The crowd boos when the Vancouver team appears, and a bucket of pucks is dumped on the ice at both ends, while each team deliberately avoids the other. We focus on taking shots while Dean practices blocking them, before each of us eventually breaks off to focus on our own pre-game rituals.
After a few more shots at Dean and stretching out, I head for the bench to chat with Coach. As we’re talking, I’m distracted by a sign being held up to the glass to my left, and I squint at it when I see my name.
Davidson, have my babies!
I snort when I realise it’s Ben holding up the sign. A woman stands next to him, holding one similar, but with O’Malley instead of Davidson. I nod to Coach before skating over.
“Hey!” I yell, and Ben high fives me through the glass. Behind them are four empty seats, one piled high with bags from the merch shop.
“Hey! This is my girlfriend, Adele,” Ben shouts back, pointing at the pretty brunette standing beside him.
She gives me a shy wave before turning and pointing at the back of her jersey, which has my name on it.
I laugh. “Want me to sign it for you later?” I ask, and she nods enthusiastically.
“Don’t go getting any ideas, man! She bought that before we were together and I can’t get her to give it up.” Ben pretends to glare at her, and she blushes.
A kid appears beside them, waving another home made sign, and I smile at him, heading back to the bench to grab a puck, scribbling my signature on it before throwing it lightly over the glass to him. He squeals loudly and runs off to his parents. I’ve clearly started something now, and a swarm of children descend. Ben and Adele move back to allow them through, and I busily sign pucks or items they throw over to me.
Once the kids have their signed merch, they head back to their parents in various sections, but when Linc skates up beside me, there’s another flurry, and he doesn’t have time to do more than wave at Ben before it’s time to head back down the tunnel.
“We’ll catch you afterwards,” I yell, and Ben raises his hand in farewell, sitting back in his seat to rest his arm behind Adele’s chair.
Something about her looks vaguely familiar, but I just assume I’ve seen her around town and don’t give it any further thought while I focus on the game ahead.