19. Emmy
CHAPTER 19
EMMY
“I can’t wait to see Dan play,” Mimi says as she dips a hot pretzel in cheese sauce, waiting for the team to skate out for introductions at the first game.
I’m crammed between Mom and Mimi, all of us wearing matching jerseys with Dan’s name and the number twenty-nine. We’re sitting near the wives and girlfriends of the hockey players or WAGS as they’re called by the team. Dad is on the other side of Mom, shoveling popcorn into his mouth. Half the crowd is wearing Dan’s jersey tonight as the hometown hero.
I read a book on my phone, ignoring the loud music and constant flow of local folks who ask my parents how it feels to see their son play hockey. They’ve forgotten that my parents have watched his career since he was a kid, and now they track his NHL games on TV.
This is their proud parent moment—the payoff for years of travel hockey clubs.
Until recently, I haven’t cared for keeping track of hockey stats. But now I very much care. Not just because I’m seeing Dawson, but because of the agreement I made with Gold Dog.
Suddenly, the lights dim, like a dark theater before the curtain opens, and a spotlight comes up on the ice. The announcer’s voice introduces the team as “Ice Ice Baby” plays, and everyone cheers wildly. When Dawson’s name is called, he skates across the ice to his team’s goal, shooting me a big grin.
Mom turns and stares at me, like she’s finally putting things together. “Is he smiling at you ?”
“He’s most definitely smiling at her,” Mimi answers. “The whole town is watching.”
Some of the wives and girlfriends turn to stare. Even Angel from the Happy Horizons Ranch shoots me a grin when she sees that Dawson is singling me out.
I slump down in my seat, trying to ignore the attention. I know those same people will talk when Dawson leaves and finds his next date.
I hate that I assume I’m not his last, that he’ll date dozens more women after me.
My only consolation is that for the next few hours, I won’t think of the future. He’ll be too busy blocking shots, and every time he does, I’ll be mentally tallying whether he’s reached the magic number I agreed to with Gold Dog.
The game flies by. When I look at the scoreboard during the third period, it shows that Dawson’s blocked thirty-eight shots so far.
I watch as an opponent from the Canadian Lumberjacks steals a loose puck and hustles down the ice toward Dawson. He flicks his stick, and in an instant, Dawson drops his heavily padded knees and blocks the puck.
The fans for the Ice Breakers scream in relief. We’re tied, and it’s anyone’s guess who’ll score next. I’d forgotten how hockey scores can change faster than the weather in the Pacific Northwest.
“Close one,” Mom mutters with relief.
I jiggle my knee up and down, and Mom puts her hand over my leg to stop it.
“Are you nervous?” she says.
“Why would I be nervous?” I say in a lighthearted voice.
“Dawson is doing a great job.”
“Yeah, it’s why he’s being moved up to Seattle.”
Mom glances at me for a second. “I heard you’ve been seen out with him.”
She’s fishing for info. I need her to think this is not a big deal. He’s someone I’m sort of dating, but it’s not serious. I don’t want Mom to pry into my personal life, or she’ll try to tell me what to do. “We’ve been hanging out together while he’s here. Just for fun.”
For once, mom doesn’t watch the game, but turns her whole body toward me. “So you’re dating?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
“Did Dan tell you how Dawson’s dad controls his life?”
I look at Mom. Dawson has hinted at this but never told me specifics. “He’s mentioned it in passing.”
“Then you know his dad hires dates for him?”
I blink. “What?”
Mom shakes her head and watches the action on the ice. “I could hardly believe it when Dan told me. Apparently, there are these dating services for rich people and celebrities. They provide dates for award shows, galas, and public events. His dad likes for Dawson to have a model on his arm. It’s a PR thing. The press eats it up.”
“But Dawson could date anyone,” I whisper.
“I know, but he doesn’t want to. So his dad sends these girls instead. All press is good press, right?”
So that’s why Dawson has a reputation for being seen with so many women.
“He didn’t hire you, did he?” Mom asks in alarm.
“Of course not!” I mutter under my breath, glancing around to make sure no one else heard. “I’d never stoop to being paid to date Dawson.”
“But you like him?” she asks, almost hopeful.
Mom has wanted me to settle down for years. It kills her that I’m living with Mimi instead of doing what she did, which was get married out of college and start having babies right away. But I’m not her.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say. “There’s no future for us. He leaves for Seattle after these charity games are over. Besides, I don’t fit into his family. They’d expect someone who has greater career aspirations than being a struggling writer and a low-paid bookstore employee.”
“There’s nothing wrong with doing those things,” Mom says.
But it’s not the same as either of my brothers’ career. My dreams have always felt like afterthoughts.
I look up at the scoreboard. The score is still tied. In the last few minutes, Dawson has blocked two more shots. He’s up to forty-one now. Dangerously close to the magic number.
My stomach twists. I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet Gold Dog and share my real identity. There’s comfort in hiding behind our messages. I’m afraid that if we meet, it won’t be the same. We won’t have that connection anymore.
As the other team gets the puck and heads straight toward Dawson, I grip the edge of my seat.
Dawson readies himself, his eyes locked on the player driving toward him. I hold my breath.
He slaps it toward Dawson, and it scoots right under his knee and sinks into the net.
Dawson’s face falls. The Lumberjacks’ cheering section goes crazy. They’re up by one with only twenty seconds on the clock.
“Come on, Dan!” Mimi yells.
Noah takes the puck, but there isn’t time to shoot. The horn blares for the end of the period.
Mom and Dad both groan. Mimi’s shoulders slump.
But inwardly I’m relieved.
I still have more time before I have to meet Gold Dog.
We head to the press conference after the game where I stand in the back, waiting on Dan.
One photographer glances at me. “You’re Dawson Hayes’s girlfriend?”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would you think that?” I’m being cagey, hoping he’ll leave me alone.
“Because of this.” He waves me over and holds up his screen so only I can see. It’s the picture of Dawson and me kissing the night we fell in the stream.
My face heats. “You took it?”
He gives me a proud smile.
I lower my voice. “What will it take to convince you to erase that?”
He studies me. “How about you answer a few questions about Dawson, and I’ll delete it?”
He’s blackmailing me for a picture. My stomach clenches in disgust.
I nod and glance over at my family. “Depends on the questions.”
He pulls out his phone to take notes. “Are you and Dawson in a real relationship? Or are you one of the hired girls?”
I frown. “What do you mean, hired girls?”
“Stop pretending like you don’t know. Dawson’s dad pays me to keep quiet and post the pictures like they’re real. But this one...” He holds up the picture of us. “Looks very real.”
Mom shoots me a glance. She wants me to tell him the truth. That we’re really dating and I’m not a hired girl. But I can’t talk about Dawson’s dating life without his permission. These reporters have no business prying into his life like this.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I say.
“Why didn’t you wear his jersey?” he asks.
This one I can answer. “My brother played tonight. In case you didn’t notice, the entire town is wearing his jersey.”
“Are you going to wear Dawson’s jersey to another game?”
I hesitate. This isn’t something Dawson and I have discussed. Wearing a jersey means you’re officially a couple. That seems like a commitment I’m not ready for.
“We haven’t talked about it yet,” I reply truthfully.
A movement by the locker room door draws the man’s attention away from me.
Dawson pushes through the crowd, his gaze locked on this guy. “You want to ask questions about my jersey, you come to me.”
He’s freshly showered, his hair still wet and tousled. But man, does he look good. I can faintly smell his mountain stream scent from here.
The photographer glances from Dawson to me.
“I asked if you were seriously dating. She avoided answering me.”
“That’s because she’s smart,” Dawson replies. My chest swells with pride.
“And your jersey? I notice she didn’t wear yours tonight.”
Dawson doesn’t miss a beat. “Family comes first. I’m glad she’s supporting Dan. I would expect no less.”
“What about later?” he asks. “Will she wear your jersey to another game?”
“That’s her decision.” Dawson’s eyes flick to mine.
My heart cartwheels.
“But when she does, trust me, she’ll be the one making it look good.”