Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Evan
Saturday morning, Nico flew to Vegas for an away game. He texted me when they landed, texted me after the game, and got home late that night.
Sunday afternoon, I went over to his place. He was moving slowly, sore from the game, so we had a quiet day. Ordered food, watched TV, and didn’t do much of anything. It was perfect.
Monday night, he came over to my apartment for dinner. We were halfway through the takeout barbecue chicken he’d brought when the conversation turned to Tuesday’s home game.
“I’ve been thinking.” I poked at my baked beans, my nerves on edge. “What do I say if someone asks who I am? What I’m doing there?”
“Tell them you’re my guest.”
“And if they ask how I know you?”
Nico was quiet for a moment, considering. “What do you want to say?”
“I want to be honest. But this is your life, your team. You should decide.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Tell them the truth. If someone asks, tell them we’re together.”
I stared at him. “Are you sure? I thought we were keeping it quiet.”
“We are. We’re not making announcements. But the people in that section… they’re other players’ families and friends. They’re not going to run to the media.” He squeezed my hand. “And I don’t want you to have to lie.”
“What if it gets back to your teammates?”
“Then they hear it from someone else. It’ll get back to them eventually.
” He shrugged. “Some of them already know.” He held my gaze, steady and certain.
“I’m not making a public statement. There are still things I need to do, like telling my family and figuring out the rest, but these people are safe.
I trust them. And I don’t want you walking in there alone pretending to be nobody. ”
That night I barely slept, too nervous to relax.
Tuesday crawled by.
I tried to work but couldn’t focus. Had two client calls I somehow managed to get through without completely embarrassing myself. Checked the clock every ten minutes.
Danny called around three.
“You ready for tonight?” he asked.
“Terrified.”
“Good terrified or bad terrified?”
“Both?” I paced my living room. “What if I don’t understand what’s happening? What if someone asks questions?”
“You’ve been watching games for weeks. You know more than you think.” He paused. “But Evan, are you sure you’re ready for this? Being visible in the family section?”
“I think so.”
“Because last week you seemed—”
“I know how I seemed,” I said. “But this is different. I want to do this. I’m choosing it.”
A beat of silence.
“Okay,” Danny said. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
“Text me tomorrow?”
“Obviously. I want to hear everything.”
By five I was getting ready, changing my clothes three times before settling on jeans and a red sweatshirt, the Lasers’ team color. Clothing that would blend into the crowd of fans. I made a mental note to buy a Lasers hoodie.
Maybe Nico’s jersey.
I took a rideshare to the arena, my stomach in knots the entire way.
The arena loomed large as we pulled up, the building lit up against the dark sky. Crowds of people moved toward the entrance, most wearing red, black, and white jerseys. I spotted several with brIGGS on the back, and even from the car, the energy was palpable.
I got out and merged into the flow of people, following the signs to Will Call.
“Name?” the woman behind the window asked.
“Evan Beckett.”
She rifled through a box and pulled out an envelope. “Here you go.”
I opened the envelope to find the ticket and a lanyard with a laminated pass that said ALL ACCESS in bold letters.
This was real. I was actually doing this.
I moved with the crowd toward the entrance, showed my ticket at the checkpoint, and stepped inside.
The concourse hit me all at once, a sensory overload of sights, sounds, and smells. Conversations echoed off the walls. Music blasted from speakers. The smell of popcorn, beer, pizza, and hot dogs wafted from the concession stands.
It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and I had no idea where I was going.
I checked my ticket. Section 101, Row 8, Seat 4.
Signs led me to Section 101. The moment I stepped through the doorway, I saw the ice.
It was massive. Bright white under the lights, pristine and gleaming. The cold air from the rink cut through my sweatshirt, making me shiver.
People were already filling the seats around the arena, and I counted down to Row 8. My seat was just above the players’ bench on center ice, with an incredible view of the entire rink.
I sat down and immediately felt like an imposter.
Around me, other people were settling in, mostly women, but also some older couples who looked like parents. Everyone seemed to know each other, chatting and laughing. I felt completely out of place.
A woman in the seat next to me turned and smiled. She was maybe thirty, with dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a friendly face.
“Hi! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Chloe Walker. My husband’s Jonah, he plays right wing.”
“Evan. Nice to meet you.”
She glanced at my seat. “You’re in Nico’s seat, right?”
“Yeah. He invited me.”
“First game?”
“First time here in person. I’ve watched on TV.”
“Oh, that’s so fun! How do you know Nico?”
The question hung in the air, and I remembered Nico’s words. Tell them the truth.
I took a breath. “We’re together. Dating.”
Chloe’s face broke into a warm smile. “That’s wonderful! Nico’s a great guy. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Relief flooded through me. “Thanks. I’m a little nervous. I don’t really know hockey that well.”
“Oh, I’ll help! Ask me anything. After nine years as a WAG, I’d better know my stuff.” She grinned.
“A… WAG?”
“Wives and girlfriends. That’s what they call us. Though…” She glanced at me, eyes twinkling. “I suppose we’ll need to update that now. Wives, girlfriends… and boyfriends. WAGABs?”
Heat flooded my face and warmed my chest. She’d said it so easily, so naturally. Like I was one of them. Like I belonged.
“That acronym needs work.” I shook my head, but my lips curved.
She laughed. “Doesn’t it? But the concept’s the same. People who love hockey players and have no choice but to learn the sport.”
Love. The word hung in the air, but I didn’t correct her.
“No choice is right,” I said, managing a small smile.
“The guys will be out for warmups in a few minutes. You get to see them when they aren’t racing up and down the ice.”
About ten minutes later, the Lasers came onto the ice in their red and black jerseys, skating laps on half the rink, taking practice shots.
I found Nico.
He looked different in person—bigger, more imposing in all his gear. The pads made his shoulders broader and his presence more commanding. On TV, he looked fast and skilled. In person, he looked powerful.
My heart pounded as I watched him skate, and then—
He looked up.
His eyes scanned the comp section, searching, and they found me.
Our gazes locked across the distance, and he smiled. Just for me. A broad, private smile that made my heart flip.
I lifted my hand in a tiny wave, and he nodded before skating away to take a shot on the net.
“He looked for you,” Chloe said, grinning. “That’s so sweet.”
I couldn’t speak. I just watched as Nico moved across the ice with a grace that seemed impossible for someone his size.
When warmups ended, the players skated off the ice and disappeared down the tunnel.
The Zamboni came out to resurface the ice, and Chloe used the break to point out other players’ families in nearby seats, explaining what to expect in the family section—when to enter and exit the seats during the game, how the other families looked after each other, how to handle reporters if they approached.
I tried to absorb it all, but my attention kept drifting to the empty ice, to the tunnel where Nico had disappeared.
Then the lights dropped.
The arena plunged into darkness, and the crowd’s roar rose to fill the void. Music blasted from the speakers, something heavy and driving, all bass and percussion. Spotlights swirled across the ice in red and white patterns, and fog rolled out from the tunnel, glowing crimson under the lights.
My heart pounded in time with the music.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, your San Jose Lasers!”
The team streamed onto the ice through the bank of red-lit fog, and the crowd went wild. The players moved in a line, skating hard, circling the ice before gathering at their bench.
The starting lineup skated to the blue line, and the announcer called each name.
“At center, number eleven, André Cloutier!”
The crowd cheered, and André raised his stick.
“Right wing, number twenty-three, Jonah Walker!”
More cheers, the loudest from Chloe.
“Left wing, number seventeen, Nicolás Briggs!”
The arena erupted.
The noise hit me like a physical force—thousands of people screaming, stomping, chanting his name. Around me, fans were on their feet, some wearing his jersey, some holding signs.
And there he was, on the blue line in his red, black, and white uniform, name and number on his back, looking completely at home in front of eighteen thousand people.
Goosebumps rose on my arms, and pride swelled in my chest so fiercely it almost hurt.
That was my boyfriend. Mine. The one they were all cheering for.
Chloe leaned over. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t find words, so I just nodded.
Because it was. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and completely amazing.
And for the first time, I understood what it meant to be part of Nico’s world.
Then the national anthem, everyone standing, and finally—
Puck drop.
The game started fast and hard. The first period was all speed and hits and the sound of bodies crashing into the boards. I winced every time someone checked Nico, but he always got right back into the game.
“You get used to it,” Chloe said, seeing my expression. “The hitting is part of the game.”
“How do you not have a heart attack every time?”
“Oh, I do. You just learn to hide it better.”