Chapter Two
It’s the last six minutes of the third period of game seven in what has been an exciting, very evenly matched series between the Phoenix Bears and the Colorado Avalanche, and I’m still in awe of the fantastic seats my best friend and business partner, Shay Milton, scored for us.
“These seats are so damn good, girl,” I gush for about the tenth time this evening. “I still can’t believe you were able to nab these for us.”
Okay, it’s actually only been five incidents of me blurting out this sentiment in awe—well, before this time, of course.
Not that it matters. Shay knows me and is aware I’m a gusher, especially when I’m impressed.
Chuckling, she just shakes her head, her long dark ponytail bouncing, and agrees, “Yeah, I got lucky on the fan resale site that someone was selling them. They are pretty great, Willa.”
Not only are these seats fantastic—center ice, first row up against the glass—but the game has been a good one, a real nail-biter.
Not in the traditional sense. There hasn’t been a bunch of goals. No, in this case, both teams are so defensively locked down that no one has scored…yet.
It feels like the first team who does will probably win the game.
Then the series will be over.
That’s why my Bears have to get a goal, damn it. I’m a Phoenix girl through and through, having been born and raised here. I even attended college at Arizona State.
That’s where I met Shay. We were assigned as roommates our freshman year and became fast friends.
We roomed together all through school, dorms and then apartments. Now that we’re twenty-six and college is far behind us, we no longer live together, but we do run a successful business—wedding planning.
Though, after a rough breakup last month that kind of fractured my heart, I wish day in and day out that it was something else. It’s tough seeing all those happy couples so in love.
That’s why I’m taking a break for a few weeks. I leave in three days. It’s our busy season, yes, but Shay understands.
She more than understands, actually. She’s the one who insisted I go. She even made my reservation for me.
And damn, she outdid herself.
Using a joint travel fund we both started a long time ago, she went big and booked me a stunning beachfront property on a private island in the Bahamas.
From the pictures she showed me, the house is stunning.
Think bright white contemporary with lots of glass, breathtaking views of the ocean, and a totally private pool area and beach.
I can’t wait.
I don’t even care that I’m going by myself.
I just need a break and some time away.
I wish it was for more than three weeks, though.
Speaking of weeks, a guy on the opposing team named Weeks gets slammed up against the boards when Shane Thoma, one of the Bears players, checks him hard as fuck.
It happens right in front of us, shaking the glass. In fact, it’s so intense that all of the people in the front row jump back in our seats.
“Whoa, what a check,” I blurt out.
Shay, meanwhile, is yelling, “Yeah, that’s how you do it!”
I realize then that not only did Shane get in a formidable check, but he now has the puck.
Annnnd he’s heading toward the Avalanche net unimpeded.
“Go, go, go,” I murmur under my breath.
Shane shoots, and for a beat, it’s like the puck is in slow motion. It looks like it’s going to go in above the goaltender’s left shoulder, but at the last second—again, like in slow-mo—the jerk raises his glove and catches it.
“Fuck, that was our chance,” Shay laments as she slides back into place.
I realize then that I, too, was on the edge of my seat, as was most everybody.
Slumping back, I look up at the Jumbotron. “Crap, there’s only a little over three minutes left,” I say.
“Looks like we’re going to sudden-death overtime,” Shay responds.
I blow out a breath. “Well, that will be exciting.”
It should be. But damn, I just wish we could win the game in regulation. The stress is making me antsy.
As I shift around in my seat, unable to stay still, the Avalanche begin to dominate.
“Come on,” Shay screams, banging on the glass. “Let’s get it together, guys. At this rate, we’re not going to make it to overtime!”
She’s right. It’s like the wheels are coming off. The Bears players are making mistakes, looking disjointed.
That’s why it’s no surprise when that damn Weeks guy gets the puck on a breakaway and powers his way to our net, where he shoots…and scores.
Fuck.
A collective sigh of disappointment rolls throughout the arena, as there are now only two minutes and ten seconds left.
That goal we almost got from Shane Thoma really hurts now.
The Bears pull it together and start playing a more cohesive game, but it’s too little, too late.
Time ticks down, and the Avalanche win the game 1–0.
I let out a groan, and Shay says, “Hey, look at it this way—at least now you won’t miss any Bears’ playoff hockey while you’re away.”
She’s right about that. Our team is now done until next season.
“True,” I reply with a resigned sigh.
Though I’m sad the Bears couldn’t move on to the next round, I’m happy that they made it this far.
It really is a great accomplishment.
But what makes me feel even better, and the loss not sting as much, is that in three short days, I’ll be sitting on the beach in my bikini, enjoying some peace and solitude while I mend my broken heart.