Chapter 17
Emily was happy to go to the game with me. Excited, even. Sure, easy for her. There were no hidden agendas with her attendance. She didn’t need to stay vigilant around the magnetism of Logan Fields.
And maybe I didn’t either, if the number of girls, fully coiffed and very made up, sitting in our section was any indication.
“So these are, what? All girlfriends?” Emily asked. “I thought they didn’t do girlfriends. Wasn’t that the whole reason you’re hesitant?”
“Not the whole reason. But yeah, that’s a big one. Plus, I don’t want to be a girlfriend. This is my make-up year. My have-fun year.”
“So, these are girlfriend wannabes? Auditioning? These are the players’ comp seats, though, right? So obviously some of them must be. Or hookups that did a little something to earn a ticket.” We both laughed at that.
I pointed out Philly in the row ahead and a few seats down from us. “She’s a girlfriend. Her boyfriend Dex lives in the same house as Logan.”
As if she knew we were talking about her, Philly looked back at me. She waved and smiled. “Hey, Megan. How’ve you been?”
“Good, thanks. You?”
“Great. Dex is driving me crazy because he’s not out there, but good. Will we see you at the house after?”
“Do you party on Friday nights when they have to play on Saturday too?” I asked.
“Not really. Not a party. Just the core group. Hanging out.”
I nodded and was about to respond that I wasn’t in the core group, but the squawk of the PA system interrupted me.
The teams had finished warming up (and yes, I had watched with rapt attention as Logan literally skated in circles) and were now lined up on the blue lines, the Bribury team on the one closest to our section.
“Ladies and gentlemen, before tonight’s national anthem, we would like to take a moment to remember a special member of the Bribury hockey family.”
My attention left Philly (she had turned back to the ice too), and I watched as Logan’s head came up, as if he were on alert.
Oh shit. Whatever was about to happen was a surprise to Logan. Not good.
“Please welcome James and Tricia Fields, parents of James Fields III, who succumbed to leukemia in July.”
Ouch. I didn’t know he was a third. Not that it mattered, but there was now the added thing of that name not continuing on in its natural lineage.
Yes, Logan could someday name a son James—would that count?
Weird thoughts to be having while I watched Logan’s parents make their way gingerly out onto the ice, accompanied by a man wearing a suit.
The player next to Logan, someone I hadn’t met, nudged Logan and motioned for him to join his parents at center ice.
“James Fields was a starting forward for Bribury before tragedy struck,” the announcer said, laying it on a bit thick, in my opinion. “Joining James’s parents is his brother, Logan, sophomore defenseman.”
Logan skated to meet his parents. His mother held his face and kissed his cheek.
His father held out his hand, prompting Logan to remove his glove and return the gesture.
His mother then grabbed one of his arms and positioned him between them, hanging on to him like she was standing on shaky ground.
Shaky ice.
Logan bent down to say something to the petite woman, who answered him with a shake of her head and clutched his arm even tighter.
His parents were both in their early to mid-fifties, I’d guess.
She had a chin-length bob of lightly greying hair and was wearing black slacks and an ivory sweater.
Logan’s father was a bigger man, but still very fit—and, it seemed from where I was sitting, was the origin of Logan’s chiseled cheekbones and chin dent.
Neither would be smiling, so I wouldn’t get to know if they also shared Logan’s dimples.
He was definitely not smiling now.
We in deep grief did not appreciate surprises. We needed constants to hang on to. And this was not a happy surprise to Logan.
They ran a video of James on the scoreboard.
A montage of his childhood, content that could have only been supplied by Logan’s parents.
There was toddler James on skates for the first time.
James and Logan in matching hockey gear at around six and eight.
Family photos of them all skating on an outdoor lake that was frozen over.
Fishing together on what looked to be the same lake.
James in his Bribury uniform. The last photo was of the family of four together with James and Logan both in their Bribury uniforms.
It had to have been taken just weeks before James’s relapse became apparent.
“Please stand if you are able, and join us in a moment of silence for our fallen teammate,” the announcer said.
Several people around me bowed their heads, but I didn’t. I kept my eyes on Logan. When his eyes left the scoreboard, his head turned and he scanned our section, coming to rest only when his eyes met mine.
The pain on his face would have been crippling if I had not gone through the year I just had. I held his gaze, trying to convey strength, trying to give him whatever I could.
Whatever I had left, meager as it was.
I put my hand on my heart and nodded to him. He knew that I knew what he was feeling. Not the public spectacle aspect of it, thank God. But the helplessness, the sharing of something that was so profoundly private as mourning the person you loved.
He nodded back.
When the announcer broke the moment with the announcement to continue standing for the national anthem, Logan kissed his mother again and then skated to rejoin his teammates for “The Star-Spangled Banner.” As he skated by, his teammates all tapped his legs with their sticks.
Hockey’s version of a slap on the butt, I guessed.
Bribury easily won in a game that would have been uneventful if not for the amount of time Logan spent in the penalty box.
“Is that unusual?” I asked Emily after Logan’s third penalty.
“Kind of. Defensemen get their share of penalties, being the enforcers and all, and if opposing skaters get by them, but yeah, not this many. Three in one game is a lot.”
“Seems like they’d go easy on him after that opening moment,” I said, getting defensive on Logan’s behalf. Whether he deserved it or not.
Emily laughed. “Oh, I think they were being a little easy on him. I saw a few more that could have been called if they’d wanted to.”
When the game ended and the players had about all cleared the ice, Logan skated over to where we were sitting and motioned for me to come down to ice level. We were only ten rows up, so it wasn’t much of a descent.
“You’ll stick around? We’ll still get something to eat. Emily too, if she wants.”
“I think your parents are going to want to see you,” I said, but he was already nodding.
“Yeah. I know. Sorry. I didn’t know they’d be here.”
“Oh, Logan,” I said. It wasn’t pity as much as understanding in my voice. “Let’s just do it some other time. Thanks for the tickets. It was fun to—”
“Megan. Please,” he said. The pleading wasn’t all in his voice. It was in his warm brown eyes too. “Please come with us.”
“I don’t want to intrude. Your parents will want to be with just you.”
“Yeah, I know. But I need the buffer tonight. Please.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’ll be fast. You can wait over there by that railing—it’s the seats closest to where we come out of the locker room.”
When I explained the situation to Emily, she bowed out of joining us for dinner, which I totally understood, and I said I’d meet her back at our room later.
In the waiting area I joined Philly, who wouldn’t be there long, since Dex wouldn’t have to shower as he was still sidelined.
There were some parents among the group, but it was mostly girls waiting.
An estimated head count told me more girls were waiting than players that would be emerging, so it was definitely not all girlfriends.
Ches was there too, briefly, but after a couple of players came and went without looking her way, she walked down the hall and into the ladies’ room.
Was she waiting for Logan? She hadn’t been in the comp ticket section, and obviously Logan wouldn’t have invited her when he’d invited me, but still, her presence—gorgeous in black slacks with sleek ankle boots and a Bribury maroon sweater—unnerved me a little.
“Straw didn’t know his parents were coming, did he?” Philly asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Jesus. I’m sure they thought it would be a nice surprise. And maybe it was…”
“I don’t think it was,” I said.
“Yeah. No. Me neither.”
“Is Ches here for a particular player?” I asked her, hating myself for doing so. Hating myself for caring.
“I think it’s more for any player. As are most of these girls. No judgment. They just want to have fun. I get it.”
“They do have great asses,” I said under my breath.
“Amen,” she agreed.
Logan’s parents came around a corner, still accompanied by the man who’d been on the ice with them. He shook both their hands and left, and Mr. and Mrs. Fields sat on one of the bleachers a few feet away from us.
“I met them once last year, but I don’t think they’d remember me. It was the weekend they came to get Mrs., so meeting Straw’s roommate’s girlfriend—and we weren’t even that yet—was not high on their list of things to remember.”
“Still, if you want to say hello, you don’t have to keep me company,” I said.
Just then, Dex came from around the corner that led to the locker room. “Saved from making that decision,” Philly said. She waited while Dex spoke to the Fieldses, then he motioned to her with his head to meet him behind the bleachers and make their escape.
“See you back at the house?” Philly asked as she gathered her jacket and bag.
“I doubt it. I said I’d go to dinner with them, but then I’m going to give them time together.”
She raised her brows. “Okay, well, Straw may have something to say about that. But whatever. See you tomorrow night.”
She was gone before I could tell her I didn’t think I’d be back. Not with Logan’s parents in town.
It was another layer of complicated that didn’t need to be added.