Chapter 4 #2
A redhead to my left leans over. “Girl, just send it. Who knows, he might need some last-minute words of encouragement.”
I lean back in my seat, clearly unaware of whatever they are talking about, and remove myself from the conversation casually.
“Here, I’ll do it with you,” the redhead offers, whipping out her phone with a shrug. “I already sent my love, but I’ll do it again.”
Feeling like I’m missing something important here, I speak up. “What um…what are you talking about?”
This time, they both look at me like I’ve just dropped from another planet.
“I’m…new here,” I stutter, my chest suddenly tight again, like I’m admitting something awful.
The girl on my right throws her hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Amber. Welcome to Northwind—you do go to Northwind, right?”
I chuckle. “Yes.”
“Lisa.” The redhead on my left says next.
“Okay, so super quick before the game starts.” She points to the ice.
“The guys who skated over here earlier—that was Kane Andrews, captain, center, my future husband, and Hunter Beauford, alternate captain, defenseman. A solid second choice if you like that man-whore type.”
“Let’s be real, who on the team wouldn’t be a solid choice?” Amber adds.
“Number nineteen,” I say with no context or reason.
Lisa laughs knowingly. “Mmhmm, that’s Kane, and if you want to wish him luck, or you know—” she elbows my arm “—send love, you can do it on the Send Me Love app.”
She swipes open her phone and holds it out to me, clicking on the small jersey icon with his number. It opens up to some sort of comment feed.
Scrolling up, she shows me an endless stream of texts, ranging from wholesome cheering to flirtatious remarks. Some of which use a sexual play on words...and not very creatively.
I look at the growing number at the top of the comment section.
337.
“Wow. That’s just this season?”
Amber gently taps my hand. “Sweetie, that’s just tonight.” Her eyes light up like she forgot the most important part. “Oh and when the guys respond—which is super rare—they display it on that.” She points up to the jumbotron.
“They display the message?” I ask, like it would be any secret otherwise, since all messages are on a live feed.
Lisa chuckles. “No. A whole bunch of hearts pop up on the screen with that popping sound. The. Crowd. Goes. Wild. It’s super fun—and rare, but that’s what makes it exciting. The athletic department is obsessed with it.”
“That…sounds…” I trail off, not quite sure the right word to use here.
“Like the team’s full of themselves? Yeah well, half the team’s probably NHL-bound. It’ll only get worse from here. Might as well feed their egos.”
My brows twitch. This can’t be just an ego thing. It sounds fun, sure, and definitely keeps the school engaged, but NHL-bound? Rivals that play dirty? That’s a lot of pressure.
“You’d appreciate this, new girl,” Lisa nudges. “It was Kane’s idea last season.”
“The cheer app?” I ask.
“Send Me Love,” she corrects. “And yes. He and Hunter sort of invented it. Which is odd, given neither of them ever respond to a message.”
Ever?
“Well,” I shrug as if to point out the obvious. “There are hundreds of them. At least on number nineteen’s feed.” I avoid saying his name for some reason, feeling like it would be too telling if I did.
“True,” Amber admits. “But not even a like or a heart? He does read them though. Every single one,” she adds with a sure nod.
A guy sitting in front of us glances back with a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does. All of them,” Lisa cries out, horrified. You would think from her reaction that the guy just told her there’s no Santa Claus.
“Im-possible,” the guy shouts over the noise.
With the uninvited newcomers in our conversation, I sink further into my seat, lifting my hood over my head as the trio argue. Taking the time to breathe and recharge.
The music quiets down and the announcer comes on. The Knights fly back onto the ice. Another team in red joining them a moment later.
The cheers around me turn to boo’s but it’s all a distant blur as I seek him out.
My heart kicks up when I find him. Kane.
The way he moves, sharp and certain, like the ice belongs to him. It’s so smooth and effortless. Letting the ice carry him.
His whole presence cuts through the noise. Or maybe it just does that for me.
Looming close again, he bangs his stick along the boards.
The crowd screams back, their voices colliding until it’s just a wall of sound.
Somehow the arguing continues, with the guy in front going, “Oh yeah, that looks like a dude who just read three hundred plus messages and is ready to kick ass.” He and his friend laugh at our expense. My new friends roll their eyes.
Honestly, I agree. That boy did not just read all those messages. His eyes would be bloodshot.
Still, I shake my head along with the girls with a light laugh.
Then I realize, what if all this laughter is really at my expense? At what a cliché I am to notice the captain of the hockey team. Join the club and get in line, new girl.
My stomach drops and my arms grow cold.
Even if I know it’s ridiculous. I’m hearing most of this conversation. None of it’s about me.
So why does the arena feel smaller? Louder. A little hard to breathe in.
The lights blur as I squeeze my eyes shut. Just for a second. Just long enough to get my bearings.