Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
T he last time I stood in this arena, I thought I would die from anxiety. The fear of being in the stands and the leering of peers subsided. Tiffany wasn’t a thought in my mind as I took in the packed space. A sea of navy and white surrounded me, the crowd chanting BU’s fight song while they ramped up for the team intro. Tonight was a big game. The Bears dominated this season and the playoffs should be a shoo-in, but as most sports fans know, anything can change at the last minute. If BU wins tonight, they will knock out Bradley from postseason contention.
Kennedy scrambled over other spectators, attempting to get to her seat. I sat in the same spot as last time—the perfect view. My mouth hung open, taking in the white BU hockey jersey with the number 15 on the shoulders that she wore.
“Is that Jackson’s away jersey?” It was an effort to get my brain to close my gaping mouth. How the fuck did she have his jersey and didn’t understand what it meant to be wearing it?
Kennedy looked down at her chest and shrugged. “I stole it from his room after The Pub last night. ”
“Kennedy! You can’t just wear a guy’s jersey, it has implications.”
She rolled her eyes, “Oh, come on, these things are expensive and I’m broke. He won’t even miss it.”
I grabbed her elbow and forced her to look at me. “It’s like wearing a cowboy’s hat.”
“Oh my god, stop with the analogies. What the fuck does a rodeo have to do with hockey?”
Clearly, she needed this spelled out for her, “You wear the jersey, you ice the player.”
It took a moment for it to click, but when it did, her jaw hung open and her eyes bulged out of her head, “Oh puck me, I am not blowing your brother!”
“Better not let him see you in it, either.”
She groaned and handed me a drink. “I just wanted to match you!”
Snorting, I sipped on my soda. At Hunter’s insistence, I wore his away jersey. I didn’t think I’d see the day when I had a different player’s name on my back, but here we are.
The lights dimmed, and the noise of the crowd swelled in anticipation. It was a palpable buzz humming up and down my arms. The players rushed out of the tunnel to the roar of the fans. I smiled, soaking in the moment. Hunter circled the ice and began warming up with the others. It was easy to pick them out. They gravitated towards each other naturally, passing pucks and taking turns making shots on Cooper in the goal. It’s likely next year I will watch them on a professional level. It was wild to think that they would consider me a WAG—wife and girlfriend.
Shaking my head at the thought, Kennedy elbowed me. “Your boy is making ‘fuck me’ eyes at you.”
Hunter found us in the crowd, and his eyes darting between me and his stick handling drills. His eyes hooded with a promise for later, and I resisted squirming. Before he left earlier, I promised him a special surprise if they won. No matter how many times he asked, I refused to tell him what I planned. I could only imagine what his imagination was conjuring right now.
Kennedy sighed. “I want a man to look at me like that.” Her voice softened and her eyes looked far away. As outgoing as she was, Kennedy never talked about guys with me. She flirted plenty and held her head high wherever we went, but more lurked underneath the surface. Understanding how it feels to not want to share, I let it be. She would come to me if she needed to talk, I wouldn’t pry.
The game got under way and from the first face-off; it was a tight game. Hunter and Axel sat in the sin-bin multiple times. Luckily, the power plays didn’t cost us, but both teams played with physical brutality. Multiple times during the game, Hunter gave and received some tough hits. The force of him slamming into the boards had me wincing. At one point, I thought someone would come through the glass.
By the last two minutes of the third period, BU and Bradley had a tied score of two to two. The entire arena was on their feet, screaming when Jackson got a break away. My voice cracked, yelling for him to shoot. The moment he lifted his arm, it felt as if every person in the arena took a collective breath. I crossed my fingers, praying to the hockey gods for the lantern to turn red.
GOAL!
The eruption of noise was deafening. Kennedy jumped up and down, her hands waving in the air. We turned to each other, screaming and throwing our arms around each other. They did it; they won! Bradley had been knocked out of play-off contention. The players stormed the ice, sticks and gloves being thrown in the air as they dog-piled on my brother.
“We are getting so wasted tonight!” Kennedy screamed.
“You are, I’m not!” I haven’t drank since the margarita pitcher night at The Pub. No one pressured me to do it, but I wanted to have clarity. I was done with dulling my senses. I wanted to live.
After the team stopped celebrating, an announcement asked patrons to exit the arena.
“I’m going down to the locker rooms, I want to surprise Hunter.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she sang as we parted ways. I shook my head at her, laughing.
She didn’t need to know that it wasn’t me she needed to worry about. It was Mr. St. James who was the sexual deviant, and I wasn’t complaining. I loved it.