18. Stevie
eighteen
stevie
I’M AT A HOCKEY GAME BY MYSELF.
The Ravens are playing Princeton tonight, and there’s a palpable excitement in the air. They’ve been undefeated so far this season, and they’re getting closer and closer to a championship called the Frozen Four.
Becca explained all this to me last night.
She’s not here, though, unfortunately. I asked Melanie to come with me but she had to work, and so I dragged my ass over to the arena all alone. I feel awkward. Hunter hasn’t messaged me in a full week, and it feels like he’s done with me.
I don’t know why that has sent me into a melancholic spiral.
I saw him three nights ago at Finnegan’s, and I foolishly thought he would approach me, maybe ask me to go home with him, but he ignored me.
And I ignored him right back. I couldn’t bring myself to wade through all the puck bunnies parked three-deep around his booth to approach him and say…
what exactly? That I missed him? That I wanted him to tie me up and have his way with me again? Ugh. There was no way.
And yet I can’t explain why I’m at his game tonight.
I guess I just want to see him. He always looks magnificent when he plays – strong and decisive and in total control.
Powerful. If he never talks to me again, I can still catch him on the ice occasionally.
At least until he graduates, signs with a team, and moves on to live a glamorous life while I’m stuck here for another two years, chasing marketing internships that I’m starting to think don’t even exist.
I’m sitting high up in the student section. I don’t think Hunter will even see me, but for the next few hours, I’ll get to see him in his element.
I pull my fuzzy jacket tighter around me.
I didn’t wear Hunter’s jersey tonight; I didn’t feel like I could.
If he’s truly done with me, I’m not about to act all desperate and wear his jersey like he’s mine.
Instead, I’m wearing my go-to uniform of jeans and a white tee and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
The crowd’s cheer is deafening as the players take the ice.
I almost wish I had earplugs, but the excitement is contagious. I start cheering too. When Hunter glides onto the ice, my heart does a very weird, almost painful thing in my chest, and my stomach is in knots. I hate that he has this effect on me.
My eyes are glued to him as he warms up.
Memories of all the times we’ve kissed and had sex zoom through my mind, and I feel my nipples tightening under my shirt and bra.
Jesus. It’s embarrassing to be yet another girl sighing and pining over him.
I can practically see heart-eyes in all the women in the arena tonight as they follow Hunter’s every move.
He looks commanding and capable even during warm-ups.
I feel like even if you had no idea what position he played, you would know he’s the captain of the team.
He has the aura and presence of a leader, and the other players defer to him easily.
It’s pretty obvious they’re proud to have him as their captain.
It doesn’t surprise me. In the short time I’ve known him, I feel like I would follow Hunter anywhere.
It’s so bittersweet to see him tonight knowing he’ll never truly be mine.
I didn’t realize how much the distance between us this week was bothering me until he skated out onto the ice.
I’m so gone for him. I feel like an idiot.
I consider leaving instead of staring at him and torturing myself all night, but something keeps me rooted to my seat. Call it emotional masochism, I guess.
Warm-ups end and we wait patiently for the puck drop.
Well, not so patiently on my end. I didn’t even get a drink or any snacks to keep me occupied.
Becca would say I’m “raw-dogging” a hockey game.
I so wish she were here with me tonight, cracking jokes and keeping me from crashing out.
I chew on my thumbnail, watching the countdown until the puck drop ticking away.
Finally, it’s time. Hunter easily secures the puck after the drop.
I’m on the edge of my seat as he skates toward the other team’s net.
I try to keep up with what’s happening but it’s so fast, it’s all a blur to me.
What’s not a blur is when the lamp by the goalie lights up, indicating a goal has been scored.
Everyone around me jumps up, screaming their heads off.
It’s been less than two minutes of game time and Hunter has scored the first goal of the night. I jump up and down along with the other fans, screaming his name, knowing he can’t hear me at all.
It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of it all, even when I don’t really understand what’s happening or can’t see the puck half the time. Hunter and his teammates move in such perfect harmony, passing to each other without a second thought, like they can read each other’s minds.
A lady next to me is decked out in a pom-pom beanie hat in black and purple, Ravens colors, a jersey, and a jacket with the team’s name embroidered on the back, and she’s been screaming since the puck drop and hasn’t stopped.
I can’t help but laugh at her excitement and enthusiasm. She’s also saying some of the craziest things I’ve ever heard, laced with a healthy dose of profanity. After one long tirade against the referee, she turns to me and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, hon, I get really into these games.”
“No need to apologize,” I tell her, meaning it. “It’s exciting.”
“Damn straight it is. And fuck that ref, honestly, excuse my French, but what the fuck is he doing?”
Since I have no idea if the ref is making a bad call or not, I just nod vigorously. “Yeah, fuck him.”
“Damn straight.” A moment later, she’s on her feet and screaming her head off again. I decide that I like her very much.
The first two periods go by quickly. During intermission before the start of the third period, I wait in line for the bathroom with dozens of other women.
Then I finally get a soda to drink, and I feel a lot better about being here by myself.
It’s actually not so bad. The earlier awkwardness is gone.
I’d underestimated how fun doing things by yourself can be sometimes.
Even my melancholy seems to have lifted.
It’s just plain old fun to watch a hockey game and get to witness Hunter kick ass.
Maybe we’ll never speak again, and I’ll have only these memories to hold onto.
Oh lord, I sound like an old timey wife waiting every day for her husband to return from sea.
I shake my head and tell myself to get it together.
Back in my seat, I try to concentrate harder on what’s happening out on the ice.
I’m determined to understand the plays better.
Sometimes the players crowd around the net and it’s absolutely impossible to understand what’s going on.
I feel bad for the goalie every time that happens, because how on earth is he even keeping his eyes on the puck when there are half a dozen players in his space?
But that’s why he’s the goalie and not me.
“Cruise is really killing it tonight,” the lady next to me says.
“Really?” I look at her profile – she never takes her eyes off the game.
She nods. “He must be mad about something.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s more aggressive than usual, taking more risks. But it’s a controlled kind of aggression. It just feels like he’s channeling some type of rage into his playing tonight.”
I sit back in my seat and consider her words. What would Hunter have to be mad about? I hope he’s okay. Maybe it’s something to do with his dad, or a fight with a friend. It could be anything. I’m more impressed that this woman gauged it just from watching him. I’m a little jealous.
The Ravens are up 3-0. I’m pretty sure the other team has no chance, because there’s only a few more minutes left in the game.
The other team also seems to be getting more aggressive as time runs out, obviously hoping to at least score one goal before the game is over.
A fight almost breaks out. A Ravens player – I think it’s Hunter’s friend Ryder – shoves a player from the other team and gets shoved back.
They get into each other’s faces. The crowd roars, people jumping to their feet and egging the players on.
It’s completely insane. And exciting. A linesmen skates over, coming between them, and pulling them apart.
The woman next to me cackles. “I love hockey!” she hoots.
Fifteen minutes later, the cheering in the arena is absolutely deafening when the final buzzer sounds. The Ravens win in a shutout, and all the players go up to the goalie and give him a pat on the back or a hug or a tap on his helmet. It’s kind of adorable.
I’m reluctant to leave the arena, but eventually everyone starts to head out and I have to follow them.
Once outside, I take a deep, deep breath and let it out, feeling lighter than I have in days.
Seeing Hunter win was the lift my mood needed, apparently.
I don’t even want to explore what that really means.
I need to be in denial about my feelings for him for a little while longer.
Because once I fully acknowledge them, there will be no going back.
I’ve never been in love in my life.
In junior high and high school, I liked having crushes on boys from afar.
It was fun to fantasize about them when they had no idea that I liked them.
It felt so much safer than actually being with them for real.
Plus, my vivid imagination ran wild and made up all sorts of exciting scenarios that would never, ever happen in real life.