Chapter Forty-Seven #2
Wyatt is playing on home ice, against number-five Notre Dame, in front of a loud, packed crowd that will make the whole arena feel electric when the puck is dropped.
I smile. This game belongs to him. Not his dad. This big moment is all Wyatt’s.
And I know he’ll make the most of it.
***
The student section is chanting from behind the net, the band is playing, and we’re getting on to the Notre Dame players in the third period. It’s been a game of the goalies, with save after great save being made on both ends—resulting in a 0-0 tie.
With only five minutes left in the game.
UGH, THE STRESS!
Wyatt has taken two shots in this game, with one hitting a post, and the other being denied by a fantastic save from the Notre Dame goalie.
“I don’t want this to go to overtime,” McCall says, putting her hands together under her chin as she watches the game. “I hate going to overtime.”
“I know! It’s too stressful!” I say.
“No, not that. You only get two points instead of three if you win,” McCall says.
I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I’ll take her word for it.
I look back toward the OCU bench and see Wyatt jump over the boards with two minutes and twenty seconds left in the game.
He’s back on the ice with Antoine, the really good player who is projected to be a first-round draft pick, and Oakleigh.
The game with Notre Dame has been physical, and I’ve jumped more than once when I saw Wyatt slammed up against the boards.
But every time he skates away, as if nothing had happened to him at all.
The guys work the puck toward the goal and pass it around, trying to find a shot.
Oakleigh sends it to Antoine, who is on the far side of the ice.
I watch as Antoine shoots the puck across the ice, right to Wyatt, who takes a shot the second the puck hits his stick.
Everyone watches as it sails across the ice, goes up and over the goalie’s shoulder, and hits the back of the net.
Wyatt drops to one knee and pumps his fist as the goal horn sounds and the arena erupts into cheers.
I scream and jump up and down, then my friends grab me and we’re all hugging and jumping, and Wyatt skates over to the Golden Sharks bench and bumps fists with all his teammates as the band plays the OCU fight song.
“One-timer!” McCall screams excitedly. “Wyatt scored a one-timer!”
Again, I don’t know what that means but I’ll look it up later. All I know is Wyatt has scored and might have just won the game for OCU.
Now the game can’t end fast enough. Nobody is sitting in this arena, and I think I’m losing my voice from screaming so much.
The puck is dropped again at center ice, and I stop breathing every time Notre Dame comes back toward their goal.
I keep willing time to somehow move faster, and I watch excitedly as the final seconds tick off the clock and the horn sounds.
OCU has won the game, and Wyatt scored the winning goal.
The arena continues to cheer, and we stay to watch the players celebrate on the ice. I can’t stop smiling. Or take my eyes off Wyatt. I blink back tears as I watch his joy in this moment.
His moment.
I immediately message him:
I’m so proud of you, Wy. This is your moment. YOURS. I love you so much.
I put my phone back in my clear tote bag. People begin to file out of the stands, no doubt to go hit up the bars in celebration. I’ll have to kill some time before going to the area to wait for Wyatt, because he’s going to have to do post-game interviews, and the post-game press conference, too.
I also know I’m going to run into Wyatt’s family in that same corridor, and the anxiety I managed to put away for a while is now creeping back to the front of my mind.
“Want us to hang out for a bit?” Maddie asks, reading my mind.
“What? No, you don’t have to do that,” I say, forcing a smile on my face.
“Um, yes, we’re going to do that,” Sofia says.
“Come on, we can go people watch in the concourse,” McCall says.
“I love you guys,” I say. I’m so lucky to have these girls as my sisters. Not in the Phi Mu Phi way, which they are, but in the true sister kind of way.
We head up to the concourse and wander around, then hang out and talk for a bit, and finally, I know it’s time for me to go meet Wyatt’s family. I’ve seen photos of them, so I’ll walk up and introduce myself when I see them.
And pray that the reception from his parents isn’t as frosty as I anticipate it will be.
“Are you sure?” Maddie asks.
“Yes. It’s Friday night. Go find a party!”
She laughs. “I’m going back to the house. I’d rather find a sheet mask than a party.”
Sofia laughs, too. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
“Nope. I have lots of them to choose from,” Maddie says.
“I’m in. I’m tired anyway,” McCall says.
I hug my friends goodbye and watch them walk out of the arena, then turn around and pop into the ladies’ room, taking some time to touch up my makeup and fix my hair.
I stare back at my reflection. Okay, so the jersey isn’t an ideal look for dinner out with Wyatt’s family, but supporting him was my number-one goal tonight.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I fish it out to see Wyatt has messaged me back:
We fucking knocked off Notre Dame! I can’t believe it!
That’s just like him to think of the team effort, rather than his goal. Another message appears:
You must be my good luck charm, Gracie girl. Just finished doing media. I’ll be out soon. Rachel is keeping an eye out for you. Love you.
I swallow hard, trying to push down the nerves that are in full force now. I type back an “OK” and slip my phone back into the bag. I run my fingertips over the G on my necklace, hoping Rachel will be a good buffer between their dad and me.
I walk over to the area where Wyatt told me to go and find groups of people waiting for the players to come out. I nervously scan the crowd, and then I spot them.
Wyatt’s family.
There’s a beautiful, willowy brunette girl wearing an OCU hoodie.
Standing next to her are Wyatt’s parents, Trey and Stephanie, both dressed in OCU sweatshirts.
Trey is a good-looking man, with dark hair that is graying.
His mom has her platinum-blonde hair cut in a chic, short style. They’re all talking together.
I stand still, running through the scripts in my head I had created for this moment, but my throat seizes up at the idea of saying anything. Maybe I can just wait for Wyatt. Hide back here in the shadows and come forward when I see him walk out.
Rachel turns around and looks over her shoulder, and the second my gaze meets hers, I know my option to hide is gone. “Grace!” she calls out, moving toward me.
My anxiety subsides a bit as I see the open, friendly expression on her face. She reaches me and sticks out her hand. “Hi, Grace,” she says, her smile revealing a dimple in her left cheek, just like the one Wyatt has. “I’m Rachel. It’s so good to meet you!”
I shake her hand. “Likewise. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Same,” Rachel says. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Mom and Dad.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore the anxiety that is clawing at my chest.
Wyatt’s parents stop talking as soon as we approach. My face grows warm. I know they’ve been discussing me. Wyatt’s mom puts a pleasant smile on her face, but his dad?
His dad’s mouth is in a tight line as he stares hard at me.
“Mom, Dad, this is Wyatt’s girlfriend,” Rachel says.
I pray my hand isn’t too sweaty as I extend it to his mom. “Hello, Grace Walsh, nice to meet you.”
She gives me her hand and it’s a very limp handshake. It fits the personality Wyatt has described for her, to be honest. “Hello, I’m Stephanie,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, as well.”
Then I turn to his dad, whose hard glare is making me grow nauseous. “Hello, Mr. Jacobs. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I extend my hand.
He doesn’t extend his. My face burns hot with embarrassment.
“Dad!” Rachel hisses, mortification flashing across her face. “Don’t be like this!”
Panic builds in me. Players are just starting to trickle out of the dressing room.
“I think,” his dad says slowly, “it would be best for you to leave, Grace.”
My stomach bottoms out. I stare at him in disbelief. Of all the scenarios I had dreamed up in my head, this was not one of them.
“Dad!” Rachel snaps, her voice shaking with anger. “You have no right to say that! Mom! Do something!”
People are starting to turn around and stare at us, which horrifies me, because they are no doubt listening, too. Stephanie Jacobs stands meekly next to her husband, a generic smile plastered on her face. “Lower your voice, Rachel, people are watching,” she says.
“I’m here because Wyatt asked me to be,” I say with a calmness I’m far from feeling. “Wyatt wants me here. He wants me to know the people most important to him, and that’s his family.”
Trey levels a hard, unwavering look at me. “What if I don’t want you here?”
It’s like I’ve been slapped in the face. Rachel spouts off something, but I can’t hear her over the pounding of my blood in my ears.
“If you care about Wyatt, if you care about him at all,” Trey Jacobs says, lowering his voice as I look back at him, “you’ll leave. Now.”