Chapter 22 Emma
EMMA
On a whim, I bought two tickets for tonight’s home game.
Laddie isn’t familiar with hockey, so I can’t wait to see what he thinks of it all.
I haven’t told him anything about his dad playing for the team.
I want to, but the timing’s not right yet. And I definitely didn’t mention it to Liam, either. Tonight’s just for Laddie and me.
No pressure, no big reveals.
Just a night out, a little normalcy for the two of us.
I remember a bit about hockey from back when I used to watch Liam play in high school, but it’s been years. I need a refresher, and I’m really looking forward to seeing him on the ice, as just another face in the crowd.
As we walk up to the arena, Laddie’s eyes go huge. He’s full of questions and wild observations, chattering nonstop as we weave our way hand-in-hand across the busy promenade toward the entrance.
“Mama, there are so many people. Like a gajillionty people. Where will they all sit?”
I laugh, guiding Laddie through the crowd. “Well, that’s what all these seats are for, buddy. See? Everyone gets one.”
He looks up at me, full of wonder. “Mama, why are so many people wearing the same jersey as you had on the other day? With the numbers and everything?”
I laugh softly, ruffling his hair. “Those are Reapers’ fans, love. Everyone wears them to show they’re cheering for the team. The numbers on the back? Those are for their favorite players.”
He scrunches his nose, glancing around. “So, everybody’s, like, on the same team as you?”
“In a way, yeah. We’re all here to root for the Reapers tonight.”
He cranes his neck, pointing at the giant images plastered on the arena’s exterior. “And why are the pictures so big on the side of the building? Are those giants?”
I snort. “No, sweetie, those are just big pictures of the players so everyone knows who’s on the team.”
By the time we get to the ticket scanners, he’s bouncing with excitement. “What’s that thingy?” he asks the elderly man scanning our tickets.
The man chuckles. “This is just a scanner to validate your ticket, young man.”
“Cool!” Laddie declares. “Does it beep if I’m a bad guy?”
“Only if you try to sneak in extra popcorn,” the man winks.
We finally make it inside, and Laddie immediately pipes up, “Mama, I have to pee. And can I have popcorn?”
I sigh, grinning. “Of course. Let’s find a bathroom, and then we’ll get snacks.”
A few minutes and an armload of popcorn, candy, and bottles of water later, we make our way to our seats just as the pre-game show starts.
The opposing team comes out to a chorus of boos.
Laddie tugs my sleeve. “Mama, that’s not nice. Why are they booing?”
“That’s the rival team, love.
“But those guys want to win, too, Mama.”
“They do,” I say. “We don’t have to boo just because everyone else is booing, honey.”
This seems to settle him for now, at least until the Reapers skate out and the arena erupts in noise. The cheers are so loud that Laddie claps his hands over his ears, eyes wide, and for a second, I wonder if I made a mistake bringing him. Maybe he’s still a little young for this.
A few rows over, I spot people in Callaghan jerseys, and my heart swells with pride. I want to tell them I’ve known Liam Callaghan since I was in middle school, that he was my first love.
My only love.
Easy, Reyes. Keep it together.
Even though I keep my knowledge of Liam to myself, I do ask the people if this is Liam’s first game back.
“Nah, it’s his second,” one of the guys says. “The backup did a hell of a job filling in, though. Callaghan might have to work to keep his spot. He looked a little rusty earlier this week.”
I frown at this. Liam didn’t say anything about feeling rusty or being worried about losing his starting spot when we spoke via FaceTime last night.
Suddenly, the lights dim and the crowd hushes as someone steps up to sing the National Anthem.
Laddie stands up straight and puts his little hand over his heart.
He sings about half of the words correctly.
He glances up at me, grinning with pride.
“We practiced that at school,” he whispers, like it’s top-secret information.
When the puck finally drops, we focus on the game, trying to follow the action. Both teams take a few minutes to size each other up, passing the puck slowly and not moving quickly.
However, the opposing team’s forward then gets the puck at the midline and starts skating at full speed. Liam rushes to intercept him and ends up with a tripping call. He gets sent to the penalty box, which puts the other team on a Power Play only six minutes into the game.
I watch Liam sit in the box, watching the action, for two minutes. When he comes back on the ice, it’s only for a minute before the line change sends him back to the bench.
“See?” The guy sits next to us, mutters, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have taken the bait like that. It’s like he forgot the basics.”
“I’m sure he’ll shake it off,” I say, forcing myself to feel a little more confident.
“I hope so,” the guy replies, glancing at his phone. “I like his game when he’s healthy. Plus, I’ve got money riding on him tonight.”
It takes me a second to realize he means gambling apps, not just team loyalty.
Before I can say anything else, chaos erupts on the ice. Helmets fly, fists swing, and half the guys are grabbing each other’s jerseys and trying to land punches.
I reach over to cover Laddie’s eyes, but he ducks my hand, his little neck stretches about as far as it will go, and tries to see what’s happening.
“Why are those guys fighting, Mama?” he asks. Then he tucks the Callaghan jersey of the guy in front of us. “Why are those guys fighting?”
The man chuckles. “Welcome to hockey, kid. Because that’s what hockey players do, and that’s what fans like. Sometimes, they just gotta work out their feelings.”
Laddie looks at me with a mix of confusion and fascination.
I try not to laugh. “It’s part of the game, honey. Sometimes when things get heated, hockey players… well, they let off steam a little differently.”
He nods, still glued to the chaos on the ice, soaking in every second.
Honestly, it feels like most of the night is just one fight after another with a bit of hockey thrown in.
The Reapers keep picking battles and racking up dumb penalties.
Every time the refs rightfully call something against the home team, the crowd erupts in boos, totally ignoring whose fault it is.
By the end of the game, the Reapers have lost three to one, and Laddie is practically sleepwalking beside me. It’s way past his bedtime. I get him onto the train, and he leans into my side, out cold before we even leave the station.
As the train rattles through the city, I pull out my phone and text Liam. I know he’s probably frustrated about the loss, but honestly, he played well after that rough start. I want him to know it, even if tonight didn’t end in a win.
Emma: We came to the game tonight. Sorry, you guys lost, but you played well.
Liam: ...
Liam: ...
Liam: ...
Liam: I’m a little miffed that you didn’t tell me you were coming.
Emma: Sorry. Spur-of-the-moment decision, and I didn’t want to distract you.
Liam: You’re a good distraction. Brought the kiddo?
Emma: I did. It was an experience. I’ll tell you more later.
Liam: I could have gotten you good seats.
Emma: We had good seats. It was fine.
Emma: Does it feel good to be back?
Liam: Yes. I think the refs were on somebody’s payroll, though.
Emma: What does that mean?
Liam: Some games just don’t feel like a fair fight.
Liam: I’ve learned not to ask questions.
Emma: I don’t know. I haven’t watched hockey in a long time, but it kind of seemed like you guys were the instigators.
Liam: Well, when you have tripping and high-sticking happening, and the refs seem to be turning a blind eye, you tend to get a little testy about it.
Emma: Oh. I guess I missed that.
Liam: It’s fine. It happens.
Emma: I wish I could see you.
Liam: ...
Liam: It’s not a good idea right now.
Emma: Is this about those guys?
Liam: No. Yes. It’s just...not a good time.
Emma: We have things we should talk about.
Liam: I need to get my shit together. I don’t want you involved in my issues.
Emma: That’s silly. I care about you. I want you in my life. And I owe you an explanation, Liam. I’m ready to talk about things.
Liam: Not yet.
Emma: I’ll come over. Let’s talk about things.
Liam: Not yet, Emma.
Liam: Thank you for coming to the game.
Liam: I’ve gotta go.
My following text never shows as delivered.
When we reach our stop, I scoop Laddie into my arms. He stirs a little, blinking up at me, hair all rumpled and eyes heavy.
“Are we home, Mama?” he mumbles.
“We are, baby,” I whisper, carrying him.
He burrows his face into my neck. “Did we win the game?”
“Not tonight, sweetheart. But we still had fun, right?”
He nods, barely awake, arms wrapping around me tighter. “You make the best fun, Mama.”
I tuck him into bed as soon as we get home, smoothing his hair off his forehead.
“G’night, Mama. Love you.”
I press a kiss to his temple. “Goodnight, lovebug. I love you more.”
He’s asleep before I finish pulling the blanket up. I linger next to him for a long minute, watching his chest rise and fall, and then finally shuffle to my own bed.
Alone in the dark, I let myself cry.