THAT POOR KID
TALLULAH
Toronto was lit up for one of the last major hockey events of the summer. Toronto Blades vs. Edmonton Eagles, hosted at the Everett Center. Nick tried to play it off like it was nothing.
Nick Kurosawa
Hey youre coming to the game tonight right
Me
Yes
Nick Kurosawa
Its at six
Me
I know, I’m coming to the game
Nick Kurosawa
Six is start time but you should probably be there at five
If youre coming
Me
I’m coming to tonight’s game, Nick
Nick Kurosawa
Okay
Be there at five
Its cool if youre not coming
No its not cool please come to the game im trying to be nonchalant but i am very chalant about this come to tonights game
Me
I’m coming to the game. Pinky promise.
And I don’t think chalant is a real word in English?
Nick Kurosawa
Just come to the goddamn game tallulah
Grinning, I read his new message, walking into Everett. I was with the WAGs of his team. None of them had jerseys on, and they were all wearing heels, while I had on a pair of sneakers and Nick’s Kurosawa jersey.
I tugged on the sleeve of one of the tallest, Jennifer, the captain’s wife. My voice was a whisper. “Was I supposed to wear heels too? And no jersey?”
“You’re so cute,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around mine.
“No, lovebug, you’re fine. The longer you do this, the less you wear the jersey.
They bounce between so many leagues and teams out of season, it’s easier not to wear it.
” She gave me a soft smile. “It’s cute. It’s always a sign of a new relationship. ”
I flushed. “Oh, um—”
Her eyes darted from mine and she stiffened. “Tomasini.”
The rest of the WAGs craned their necks before heading to the bleachers, moving like a herd that’d been spotted.
“What’s he doing here?” Eden whispered. “He never comes to the games.”
I peered around them, catching sight of Tomasini.
He was in the middle of a small crowd, signing autographs, flanked by an assistant.
Tomasini’s dark hair poked out from his baseball cap, his perfect smile on display.
He didn’t look any different from the other older hockey players I knew.
It was weird to think that so many people were scared of him.
“Tallulah.” Jennifer directed me, squeezing me between the wives. With a snap of her perfectly manicured fingers, she urged people to change seats, sitting me in the middle. “Stay here.”
I blinked, confused. “I always sit on the aisle?”
“Not today, lovebug.” Jennifer took the seat next to me, laying a protective arm over the back of my chair. We watched Tomasini take his place on the other side of the aisle. Jennifer dropped her voice to a mutter. “Not with him around.”
“When is he leaving?” I asked quietly.
“Not soon enough,” Eden retorted. “He threw a stapler at Krull’s head yesterday—”
“Eden,” Jennifer warned, her voice sharp.
The mood among the WAGs darkened immediately. The silence was so weird in such an excited crowd. There were so many eyes on me. Everywhere I looked, another WAG was gazing my way, face drawn in sympathy, like we were at a funeral for one of my loved ones.
“I—I don’t understand,” I said, turning back to Jennifer. “Tomasini doesn’t visit the Blades? Because he’s not their real coach?”
The change was tangible. Something or someone was holding them back from telling me.
Telling me what?
“Tomasini is coaching them?” I said, confused. “He’s coaching Nick?”
“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Jennifer whispered soothingly. “It’s all very hush hush.”
My stomach churned with the knowing glances between them. How often was Tomasini dropping by?
I felt sick.
The game against Edmonton began and I tried to focus, keeping my attention on the Kurosawa jersey leaping onto the ice.
It didn’t help the anxiety swirling in my stomach.
My family were die-hard Oklahoma football fans, not hockey.
Fridge taught me so much, and even then, it felt like it was an entire world I was just beginning to understand.
A player rushed at Nick and something happened—my heart leaped to my throat. Whatever he did was too quick, I didn’t understand. Refs yelled, too many players moved close.
Jennifer lurched forward. “Jesus Christ!”
“What happened?” I panicked, eyes on Nick as he skated to the bench. A minor penalty was called overhead, a player on the opposing team was sent to the penalty box. “What happened?!”
“Motherfucker clipped Nick—”
“Clipped him?”
“It’s a low hit, below the knees—” She shook her head. “Good on Nick, nicer than I would’ve been—”
“What do you mean?”
“After a penalty like that, a lot of the refs here will turn a blind eye on retaliation. Nick could’ve hit him, no consequence.
You don’t gain anything by taking advantage of the system like that.
It riles up the other team and people get reckless,” she explained.
“I can’t think of anybody who’d pass it up. Smart kid. Less injuries.”
Thank goodness Nick wasn’t needlessly risking himself, but that didn’t disperse the anxiety clawing inside me. As soon as the period ended, I snuck another look at Tomasini in the ensuing crowd’s excitement.
He was gone.
I blinked, staring at his empty seat. Where did he go? To meet up with the team?
A sense of foreboding took hold of me. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
I stood up and Jennifer did too. She peered at me, hawk-like. “Where are you going?”
“I—I want a soda,” I managed.
She reached for her purse. “I’ll come with you.”
“No—uh—” I didn’t want Jennifer to come with me. I wanted to find where Tomasini disappeared to and I wanted to figure out why I had such a bad feeling about this. “When I get nervous, I throw up, and I’ll have to do that first—”
“Oh.” She tried to hide the grimace. “Do you…want me to…?”
“No.” I took quick steps to reach the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”
“If you’re sure…” She stopped me with a hand outstretched. “Tallulah? Stay out of the locker room.”
“Of course,” I whispered. Breathing out in relief, I dodged down the stairs, peering over the railing to the team heading into the locker room.
Nick wasn’t in sight. Neither was Tomasini.
“Where are they?” I mumbled, heading to the first floor. The lines were long. Everyone was getting a bathroom break in or a pretzel before the next period. Security and the people running the little stands waved at me. We knew each other now and I gave a weak wave back.
I was searching for Nick, some hint of that jet-black hair and cocky grin, but he was nowhere to be found.
Tomasini’s assistant stood outside of one of the inner staff hallways, eyes on his phone. It was restricted access, no one was allowed in there, especially during a game. And with the assistant there, I had a feeling I couldn’t ask to go inside.
Except I knew how to get in.
There was a door about twenty feet away that led into the same staff hallway.
I didn’t know what pushed me to do it. Head down, I walked past the assistant, doing my best to disappear in the flood of people. When I reached the door, I slipped inside with no hesitation.
My body was a live wire of tension. If I was caught, I’d definitely get a talking to, and I wasn’t the kind of person who did this. Broke the rules so openly.
I crept down the hallway, and tilted my head at faint noises.
There were…muffled shouts from the door at the end of the hall. My gaze narrowed in on the handle. Blood pounded in my ears, my pulse racing in my veins. My hand shook, but I grabbed the handle, pulling open the door.
The muffled shouting exploded. “What the fuck were you thinking?” the voice thundered. “I didn’t bring you from backwater-fucking-Texas to let the penalty slide. The audiences don’t give a fuck about technicalities—you were supposed to fucking HIT HIM! THE ONE FUCKING THING YOU’RE GOOD AT!”
A figure was waving his arms wildly, screaming at someone in a fold-out chair.
Nick.
His shoulders were hunched over, sweat trickled down his jaw. He was still in his jersey, his face impassive. He was watching Tomasini shout at him—oh my god, was Tomasini going to hit him?
“You—you can’t talk to him like that,” I stammered.
In an instant, Tomasini fell silent. Nick jerked over, eyes snapping to mine. His face paled when he saw me, eyes wider than I’d ever seen them.
Tomasini’s movements were slower, methodical, like a predator sensing prey. He glanced over his shoulder. His flat blue eyes were unnerving, staring into me like he wanted to pick me apart. “Who the fuck are you?”
My mouth was too dry to speak again. I gaped like a fish.
“Nobody, sir,” Nick said quickly, standing up.
Nick said it so fast, I was as taken aback as Tomasini.
“She’s nobody,” Nick repeated, motioning to me. “She’s nothing. She doesn’t matter, she’s game-day staff for the rink.”
Tomasini met my gaze again. “Then get the fuck out.”
I couldn’t move. I was frozen to the ground. “No—no,” I managed, my words shaky. “You can’t talk to him like that—”
“Leave,” Nick snapped, his voice harsh.
Nick had never spoken to me like that, ever.
It petrified me more than Tomasini, forcing me into action.
I bolted from the room, letting the door close behind me, and broke into a sprint, emerging into the busy hallway again.
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. I stepped into the crowd, all these fans unaware of what happened behind closed doors.
How could Tomasini yell at Nick like that?
And why did Nick call me nothing?
From anyone else, I could’ve stomached it. Fine. Whatever. But from him, his words dug like a knife between my ribs. From Nick, those words mattered the most. Tears sprang to my eyes and I hurried to brush them away, moving without thinking.
More tears spilled over and I sniffled, heading for the door. I wanted to leave.
I shoved it open, stopping myself before I took a step outside.
Nick’s words came back to me, his question in the forest—what does anxiety do for you?
The answers were easy enough. Anxiety made me overreact, and held me back from the right decisions. It forced me into action before I could assess situations properly.