Chapter 10
LIV
The game has been so riveting that I stay in my seat between the first two periods, looking up stats for each team.
For reasons you can imagine, I’ve never really been a big fan of hockey or hockey players. My parents dragged me to a couple of games in high school, but I only remember burying my nose in a book and trying to disappear into the crowd.
Now that I’m actually watching, thanks to Mr. Russo’s generous season ticket tip, I think I finally get it. It’s fun to see these massive guys moving so gracefully on the ice. And their joy and despair over every moment of the game is mesmerizing.
Men never seem to want to show their emotions, but I guess ecstasy and sorrow are allowed in the arena.
The guys on the Nitro are pretty fast. Fast enough to have me worried until the second or third time one of them runs into Van Morgan and bounces to the ice like they hit a brick wall.
The crowd is pretty wild too. I guess things are a little over the top with Caleb here, but the way the whole place roars over every movement on the ice makes me think this is just what hockey fans do.
I steal another glance at the guy sitting below me. I definitely dumped my Diet Dr. Pepper on him on purpose, but he doesn’t seem to suspect a thing. I’m pretty sure I’ve waited on him before. No one suspects the sweet girl from the diner could be so treacherous.
It was a sad waste of my favorite beverage, but worth it to see Caleb Stone laugh.
And maybe it’s just me, but it sure seems like he loosened up out on the ice too.
He’s actually having an okay game, at least as far as my amateur eyes can tell.
He looks so big and calm out there. Caleb has had a few shots that looked pretty close to me, but hasn’t managed to score yet.
And he ends up in the penalty box again, but not for fighting, which is good, I think.
Overall, he’s not having the worst night ever.
Though if you listen to the crowd, you’d get a different perspective.
“His teammates don’t trust him,” a man says assuredly to his buddy in the seat beside me.
“Can you blame them?” the buddy asks. “He’s a loose cannon.”
“No self-control,” his friend says, nodding.
I guess Caleb getting into a fight immediately didn’t really help with his image.
How is it that I made it through four miserable years of high school taunting without touching a hair on anyone’s head, and he couldn’t make it through ten seconds of trash talk?
When the second period ends, the Stallions are down by one, and I decide to stretch my legs. I’ve just gotten away from the crush of the crowd when I hear someone calling my name.
I turn to see Hailey and Tessa waving to me. Tessa comes to all the games since she works for the team, and of course Hailey is here because her brother gives her tickets whenever she wants them.
My heart squeezes at the sight of the two of them—Hailey with her mane of titian hair and Tessa, the tiny blond with the big smile. I’m so lucky to have such amazing friends and roommates.
“Hi, guys,” I say, jogging up to meet them.
“Liv,” Tessa says happily. “There you are.”
“Come on,” Hailey says. “We have to show you something.”
“What is it?” I ask as she grabs my hand.
“Hurry,” Hailey says.
“The churro stand,” Tessa puts in.
“I don’t want churros,” I say.
Actually, I do want a churro. Who doesn’t? But I don’t want to fight the press of the crowd or risk missing the beginning of the final period.
“Come on,” Hailey says.
I don’t normally make a habit of arguing with her. Hailey is used to getting what she wants. But I’ve never seen her so bent on getting a snack.
Finally, we reach a stand with a churros sign.
But in a glance I can see that it’s closed. Honestly, it doesn’t look like it was even open today.
The two of them look at me expectantly.
“Sorry,” I say slowly. “It’s closed. No churros.”
Is that why we were in such a hurry? Did I make them miss it?
“Exactly,” Hailey says. “No more churros, ever. I called the venue. It was a small family business, but Miguel and Valeria have retired. So the stand is available.”
I can’t imagine why that’s good news, but Hailey’s expression tells me that she certainly thinks it is.
“You can open up a cupcake stand,” Tessa says excitedly. “It’s perfect.”
“Oh,” I say, shaking my head. “I see. Wow, that’s a cool idea, but I couldn’t really do that.”
“Why not?” Hailey asks.
“Well, first of all, I already have a job,” I point out.
“You’d only need to be open during games,” Tessa says. “You’ve been at the diner forever. Robert would work out your schedule.”
“Yeah, but I’d need a way to take payments and probably a contract or something,” I say. “It’s too complicated, and probably too expensive.”
“How will you know if you don’t ask?” Tessa says.
“Won’t they want to give it to someone who’s proven?” I ask, looking at the stand again. It’s in a great location between the hot dogs and one of the doors to the seats. “There are a million caterers and small restaurants in town who would want this.”
“Van and I would vouch for you,” Hailey says right away. “Besides, you have so many followers on your channel. I’m sure that will help.”
My head is shaking before I can even decide what it is that I don’t like about her argument.
Hailey is being uncharacteristically quiet and when I glance up she looks… disappointed?
“Just think about it,” Tessa says gently, wrapping an arm around me and leading me away from Hailey and the stand.
But I get the feeling that she’s disappointed too.
“I like my life the way it is,” I tell her. “I don’t need headaches. I’m doing fine.”
“No one is trying to pressure you, Liv,” Tessa says. “Just let yourself dream about it a little. You can think up all the reasons in the world to say no tomorrow. Now, did Mr. Russo really give you tickets right by the penalty box?”
“Yeah,” I say with a smile, trying to picture my favorite regular sitting close enough to yell at the players when they wind up in the box. “I wonder why he didn’t keep them for himself.”
“Maybe he got even better seats,” Tessa says.
“Hopefully,” I tell her.
Hailey catches up with us and she doesn’t mention the churro stand again. We all head back to our seats and I’m on my own once more to watch the rest of the game play out.
Caleb manages to stay out of the penalty box this period, and the Stallions look like they’re trying, but they just can’t seem to get on the same page. There are a lot of missed passes, and a lot of silent scowls. When the final buzzer sounds, the Nitro win, two goals to zero.
As the crowd begins to shuffle out, some people are complaining that fifty-eight didn’t score, but the whole arena feels muted compared to just before the game. It’s a shared heavy feeling, not quite like a funeral, but I haven’t experienced this kind of largely shared emotion very often.
Maybe at the theater seeing Frozen for the first time as a teen, when we all realized it was a different kind of love story than we’d expected. But that was positive and fun. This is something else.
I surprise myself by waiting for everyone else to leave so I can sit with the feeling, and then head out the long way.
I pause for a second when I pass the churro stand.
As the place empties out, I gaze at the stainless steel and glass cart. It really would be just right for cupcakes.
You’re not that kind of person, a little voice in the back of my head reminds me. You don’t like attention and crowds.
Finally, I head out with the last of the fans. There’s a refreshing breeze outside and fall leaves dot the cracked asphalt of the parking lot.
I hop in my car and open my windows to let in the crisp fall air as I head toward the back exit of the lot, since there’s a ton of traffic up at the light.
That’s when I see it.
There’s a crowd of people gathered around one of the players who’s exiting the back of the arena. And they don’t look happy.
“Go home, fifty-eight,” a man screams. “Go ruin some other town’s team, you thug.”
Caleb. Of course.
My first thought is that he is home. Don’t these people know he grew up right here? But I get the feeling this is not the most intellectual argument.
Caleb has barely made it outside the door. He’s as big as a lumberjack, but his shoulders are down, defeated.
I pull over without thinking, cutting him off from the crowd as a couple of people yell and jump out of the way.
“Get in,” I hiss, waving to him.
He looks up and his eyes widen when he realizes it’s me.
“Come on, Caleb,” I tell him.
“Get out of the way, Liv,” a woman shouts to me. It’s Arlene from the nail salon down the street from the diner.
“I’d like to see you play hockey any better, Arlene,” I tell her as Caleb relents and opens the passenger door. “No offense.”
“Let him defend himself,” the yelling man insists. “He shouldn’t need a woman to speak for him.”
Thank goodness, Caleb is already in the car, or he might have actually gotten into it with this guy.
“I can’t believe that you of all people would defend him, Liv,” Jasmine Hart yells at me.
I pull out quickly, my tires chirping on the asphalt, before she can say anything more.
“What was that supposed to mean?” Caleb asks. “Did you lose a lot of money on that championship game too?”
I just shrug. Now definitely isn’t the time to get into it.
“You did a good job today,” I tell him, hoping it’s enough of a distraction.
“I didn’t put anyone in the hospital,” he jokes darkly. “But we lost.”
“Do you have another way out of there for next time?” I ask. “Daisy shouldn’t see people talking to you that way.”
He blows out a long breath, and it’s only then that I see a hint of the real weight he’s carrying.
“She’s went home with my mom,” he says after a moment. “I actually don’t think she made it through the whole game.”
“It’s a long time for a little kid to watch,” I say carefully.
“She’s never seen me play before,” he says softly. “I wish she hadn’t been there today.”
“She didn’t go to your Philly games?” I ask him.