15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN #3
Friday morning, I wake up with my first real event-day panic. It’s tomorrow, and the panic and anticipation are real. My phone has three emails.
One is Lisa confirming arrival.
One is from a parent asking whether siblings can watch from the stands.
One is from Ives.
You’re ready. Stop changing the schedule.
I stare at that one. Then laugh. She knows me too well.
By noon, I’m at the rink helping Donovan prep for Ohio State.
Friday night’s game sits over the building all day. The team needs this win. Everybody knows that. They came back from Bowling Green with one win and one loss, which is better than two losses and not enough to make anybody comfortable.
The guys are 17-11-2.
I know that because Benson has said it four times this week. Rowan hasn’t. Rowan has mostly asked whether I remembered to eat.
By five, the clinic materials are stacked in the secondary office. Name tags. Waivers. Printed schedule. Volunteer sheet. Emergency contacts. Extra tape. Three borrowed youth helmets.
I stand in front of it all with my hands on my hips.
Cole comes up behind me. “You done?”
“No.”
“What’s left?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Then you’re done.”
I turn.
He smiles. “Donovan said if you rearrange those packets again he’s taking them away.”
I scoff. “He did not.”
“He did.”
I look toward Donovan’s office. The door is closed. “Traitor.”
Cole laughs and walks away.
The game starts at seven. I watch from the equipment area for most of the first period. Ohio State scores first. Benson ties it. That’s the only Camden goal.
The game never opens up. It stays tight, frustrating, and close enough that every shot feels like it should matter more than it does.
Percy is excellent. Thirty-five saves by the end of it, but it doesn’t matter because Ohio State gets another.
2-1. Final.
The building empties quieter than usual. I stand near the tunnel while the guys come off. Benson goes by first. Then Stanley. Then Blue. Rowan is near the back. His eyes find mine. For one second, I think about saying something.
You played well.
Tomorrow.
It’s okay.
Everything sounds wrong, so I just hold his gaze.
He nods once.
I nod back.
Later, after the room clears out and I’m helping with the last of the equipment, my phone buzzes.
Rowan: You still here?
I look toward the hallway.
Me: Equipment room.
Two minutes later, he appears. His hair’s damp under his hoodie. He steps inside without looking around to see who’s here.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, looking defeated.
I wait for him to walk over. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He leans against the counter. “You?”
I laugh once. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Tomorrow.”
Right. Tomorrow. My stomach tightens. “I’m fine.”
He looks at me. “G. I know better.”
“I’m fine,” I argue. “I’m not lying.”
“You reorganized those name tags three times.”
My mouth opens. “How do you know that?”
“Cole.”
“Cole is dead to me.”
Rowan smiles.
I rub both hands over my face. “I’m nervous.”
“You have forty-eight kids coming tomorrow because you made something people wanted to come to.”
I go quiet.
Rowan continues before I can interrupt. “You figured out the rink. The volunteers. The equipment. The waivers. The schedule. You found three helmets. You have eight people helping you. You know what time everybody gets there.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “So tomorrow you do what you already planned.”
“That was actually pretty good.” I laugh.
He smiles.
I walk around the counter and stop in front of him. “You’re good at this.”
“What?”
“Me.”
His eyebrows lift. “Handling me.”
“I’m not handling you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You are.”
“No.”
I reach for him. “You definitely are.”
He takes my waist. “Maybe you’re easy.”
I gasp. “Excuse me?”
He laughs.
I hit his chest. “You are never getting laid again.”
“That seems unlikely.”
My mouth falls open.
He looks pleased with himself.
I grab the front of his hoodie and kiss him. He kisses me back immediately. It doesn’t go far. Neither of us has the energy. I rest my forehead against his chest, and he keeps his hands on my waist.
After a minute, Rowan kisses the top of my head. “You should go home.”
I look up. “You should go home. You have a game tomorrow.”
“You have forty-eight kids.”
I groan.
He smiles.
“Stop reminding me.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t say that.”
He laughs.
I kiss him one more time. Then he leaves. I finish the last ten minutes of work, drive home, shower, set three alarms, and at eleven-thirty, I am in bed staring at the ceiling.
My phone buzzes.
Rowan: Sleep.
I smile.
Me: Stalking me now?
Rowan: You’re awake?
Me: So are you.
Rowan: Game tomorrow.
Me: Clinic tomorrow.
Rowan: Exactly
I look at the screen.
Me: I’m nervous.
Rowan: Good.
I frown.
Me: Rude.
Rowan: Means you care.
Me: Are you nervous?
His answer takes longer.
Rowan: Little.
I smile.
Me: Good.
Rowan: Rude.
I laugh quietly into my pillow.
Me: Means you care.
Rowan: Go to sleep, G.
Me: Goodnight.
Rowan: Night.
I put my phone on the nightstand and close my eyes. Tomorrow I have forty-eight kids showing up for something that existed in my head six weeks ago. Rowan has Ohio State again tomorrow night.
I roll onto my side, pull the blanket up, and let tomorrow come.