Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Savannah
Puck Bunnies
My parents were so excited when I asked to switch our Sunday dinner to brunch and left after to ‘meet a friend’, which tells me that I need to try harder to make friends because they’re clearly worried about me.
And I feel like shit for lying about this, but saying I’m babysitting felt like it would warrant too many questions, since it not only implies I have a friend, but one who trusts me enough to watch their child. Or in this case, sibling.
I’m way earlier than anyone should be, unless they’re here to play, or in my case, babysit, but I’m far from the only one. Which is odd, because I don’t think hockey has tailgate parties.
Noah and Izzie are at the tables in front of concessions, exactly where he told me he would be. Izzie is cradling what looks like a hot chocolate, reproaching Noah every time he makes her laugh and almost spill it, which seems to be often.
“Savannah!” she exclaims as soon as she sees me, handing her drink to her brother before rushing over to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I’m not sure what I’m expecting from Noah, but he smiles like he’s also excited to see me.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I tell her. “How was hockey practice?”
“I scored a goal,” she tells me proudly.
“And two assists,” Noah adds.
“Very cool. Think your brother will be as good as you?”
“Of course, he’s the best,” she says like it’s not even a question, so he shoves down whatever he was about to say and ruffles her hair.
“Her bag has snacks and money if she gets hungry or wants something, but I made sure there’s no homework for her to annoy you with,” Noah assures me.
“It really didn’t bother me.”
“Regardless. I have to get to the ice, but you girls have fun, and if there’s anything you don’t understand, ask Izzie. She’ll either be able to tell you the answer or let me know where I’m failing as her coach.”
“I didn’t peg you as someone with so little confidence,” I call him on it. “Unless you’re cocky and expecting compliments at the end?”
“I’m only cocky when I have the right to be, and I haven’t proven myself as a coach.”
“I’ll be sure to quiz her, then.”
Noah smiles before taking his sister in for a hug, then he’s off for the changing rooms and we wander around a bit, with Izzie telling me all about her week, before we get to our seats.
There are a lot of people in the stands, probably as many as Clay’s high school championship games, but there’s still a half an hour until the game starts.
That’s when the guys come out and do their pre-game warm-ups, which I remember fondly from practice.
Girls are waving signs with slogans like ‘I can handle your stick, Callahan’, ‘#30, you’re mine!
’, and one girl wearing a jersey as a dress proudly brandishes her, ‘4 down, 18 to go’ sign, which is covered in glitter, and kind of makes me gag when I understand what the numbers mean.
I want to reach over and cover Izzie’s eyes, more from the signs than the players this time, but she’s entirely focused on the ice, screaming so loud I’m momentarily concerned I’ll go deaf when Noah stops at the plexiglass in front of us.
He makes a heart that Izzie reciprocates before he turns to me with a smile.
The jersey chasers turn to us, to see where he’s looking, then seem relieved when Izzie is the one jumping up and down in Noah’s jersey, while I’m bundled up in my coat, still sitting, like I really am nothing more than a babysitter.
Which is the case, but when he catches my eye before dropping his heart hands, mine flutters.
“They’re the puck bunnies,” Izzie tells me without looking away from her brother.
“The what?”
“Puck bunnies. They want to get close to Noah because he plays hockey, but he wants friends who like him for him, so he stays away,” she adds, matter-of-factly.
“That’s good.” I consider telling her we call them jersey chasers in football, cleat chasers in baseball, and ball honeys when Clay was on the basketball team, but I don’t want it getting back to Noah that his sister and I spoke of them even if she’s the one who brought it up.
With a much tamer version of what they’re after.
The girl with the ‘#30, you’re mine’ sign blows a kiss to the goalie, which he pretends to catch. Her jersey is long enough to be a dress, but she’s wearing jeans underneath.
“She’s a girlfriend though,” a little girl, probably a couple of years older than Izzie, turns around to tell us.
“How can you tell the difference?” I ask, looking to Izzie, then realizing I don’t want her to know.
With my brothers, I could tell based on how much clothing they had on, sure, but the girlfriends often sat together, or with the families, and it was usually the players coming over to acknowledge them, not them screaming to try and get their attention.
“She’s Lacey,” Izzie tells me, like that explains it.
“She also sits in the family section every game, and Darren looks at her with heart eyes,” the girl explains. “I’m guessing you’re Isabelle, Noah’s sister?”
“Izzie,” she agrees, clearly eager to engage, but also holding back and looking to me like I can deem the stranger safe.
“I’m Olivia, but everyone calls me Liv. My grandfather is the Coach, so I come to a lot of games. You’re so lucky Noah is your brother.”
Liv. I can’t help but laugh inwardly at originally assuming Liv was Noah’s girlfriend.
“He’s pretty cool,” Izzie agrees.
“And you are?”
“Savannah. I’m just here to keep Izzie company.”
“Ma’s mostly here for that too,” Liv shares. “She’s been to more games than anyone else in this room. Except Pops.”
The older woman beside her turns to give me a smile, but she’s busy knitting something. Liv also has a bag with yarn and needles, but it’s completely abandoned beside her.
“What does your sign say?” Izzie asks, pointing to a folded-up Bristol board.
“You’ll see.” Liv smiles.
Once the game starts, there’s less talking, but a lot more screaming.
The stands are full, and I don’t know if it’s because we’re in the ‘family’ section, but it feels louder here than anywhere else.
Izzie screams every time Noah goes anywhere near the puck, as does Lacey, who seems to know a few of the players.
Liv, however, never stops yelling for everyone, using first names for some, last names or nicknames for others.
Her poster turns out to be a five-foot rendition of the team’s logo, covered in glitter, surrounded by all they boys’ numbers. I am not the least bit surprised when she says she wants to be an artist when she grows up.
Liv and her grandmother tell us about the team during the first halftime, which they call intermission. Izzie and I plan to get food during the next one, but the bathroom line is so long we don’t have time.
Noah has an assist in the first half, then scores in the two others. Which I guess means they’re not halves, or quarters, but no one is calling them thirds. His team wins 5-0, so clearly, the goalie, has a good luck charm.
“Aren’t you coming?” The coach’s wife asks us when the crowd starts moving, but Izzie and I stay sitting.
“Don’t they have to shower before they come out?” Noah and I made plans for me to get Izzie, but not for how he’d get her back. I just assumed he would find us in the stands.
“They do, but then they all come out the same place. I’m sure Noah will find you if you stay here, but I think he would love it if you were waiting with everyone else.”
I doubt he wants me anywhere that suggests anything, but Izzie looks excited, and I don’t want him to think I kidnapped his sister, so we follow Liv and Mrs. Benson to a roped-off area with a lot of the people who sat near us. There are also a few of the puck bunnies Izzie mentioned.
“There’s a lot more of them at night games,” Liv shares. “And they drink more.” She gets a warning look from her grandmother, but just shrugs like you can’t argue with the truth.
“She’s spent too much time with hockey players,” the grandmother defends Liv, while she and Izzie discuss the game.
“It’s nice that they let her in,” I say, hoping that’s the case, rather than she just overhears their locker room talk.
I haven’t had unfettered access to changing rooms, but it never took long for the entire team to treat me like a communal little sister.
Most of my jersey chaser knowledge comes from them warning me not to become one, or ribbing each other when they either forgot I was there, determined I was trustworthy, or wanted to annoy one of my brothers.
“They’re nice boys. Big hearts. I’m glad Noah’s found someone.”
“Oh, he’s not…I’m just watching his sister for him.”
“Friends are good too. He never has anyone waiting,” she tells me, possibly without realizing what she just revealed, or maybe knowing exactly what she’s doing.