26. We’re Okay
WE’RE OKAY
ANDERS
Fucking Aviva.
“Since when do you hate coming to games?” She mutters, giving me a weary look.
Her auburn curls are blown out, sitting voluminously on the top of her head. She’s wearing a full face of makeup and a personalized leather jacket all of the other WAGs are wearing tonight.
“You look stupid,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes and pinches my cheek. “You need food.”
When we go to get our tickets scanned, there’s usually no problem getting through. This time, though, they stop us.
“Is this your plus one?” The ticket attendant asks, making eyes at Aviva.
She rolls her shoulders back and gives the poor minimum-wage worker a smug look. “He’s my plus one, actually.”
“But your name is Anderson de Sousa, correct?”
“Yes. She’s Aviva Mazarkarakis.”
He flags another ticket attendant, who comes up and offers us a strangely polite smile.
“Right this way,” she ushers us. “You two have proper identification, correct?”
“Is there something wrong?” Aviva asks. “Because my boyfriend is on the team and he can clear things up.”
The attendant brings us over to a smaller room and points us in the direction of a help desk.
“What the—”
“You guys can pick up your credentials here,” she smiles before walking off.
“Aviva, what’s going on?”
Her eyes widen and she shrugs. “No clue. But credentials,” her mouth pulls into a grin. “Look at us, babe. We’re legit.”
We walk up to the player’s relations desk and get our IDs scanned. I vaguely recognize the desk attendant, but she’s obviously been expecting me. “Mr. de Sousa! How’s it going?” Her tone is too cheerful for the way I’m feeling right now.
“Good,” I smile back. On the inside, I’m questioning every single conversation I’ve ever had with the people who work here. Maybe she was one of the people who would sit and color with me during Luca’s morning skates…but that was ages ago.
Shelby hands Aviva and I our badges. “You remember where the family room is, right?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, confused. But I know almost immediately this isn’t because of Malloy. This has Parker Morozov written all over it. He thinks that giving Aviva and I credentials is really going to win me over.
I mean…credentials aren’t special. Not for me. I’ve had credentials since Luca adopted me. I’ve sat my ass on the cold bleachers a million times, being handed off to one of the arena staff or team managers.
“This is amazing,” Aviva squeals. “It’s literally perfect. I’m full beat and everything,” she tells me. “Let’s go take pics for Instagram.”
Oh my God. Every bit of confusion fades when I realize what game he’s playing. This isn’t even about fucking credentials. Now he’s using my friends to get to me…
He’s crazy. This is crazy. I’m losing my mind.
Aviva practically drags me down the hall until we reach the tunnel. Even after we’ve taken our fair share of pictures, I can’t stop thinking about it.
Parker’s never done this before. But the part that's really getting to me is that he didn't just think about me. He thought about Aviva, too. He probably found out about the jackets and figured she'd want pictures. Made sure she got credentials, too…
I suddenly grow suspicious of Aviva, who still has her phone up in the air and is taking selfies.
“Aves,” I mutter. “Is there a specific reason why you begged me to come to this game?”
She shrugs to evade the question, but she literally has the world’s worst poker face.
“Oh my God.”
He didn’t.
“Okay.” Her mouth curls. “Let me explain—”
He fucking did!
“Aviva.”
She holds her hands up in surrender. “Calvin just said it was really important you came to the game. Isn’t your brother’s team playing against them tonight?”
“My brother plays for Minnesota,” I sigh.
“Oh,” she murmurs, shrugging it off immediately after. “Whatevs. Let’s go get some soft pretzels.”
The game is tied three to three. Ottawa’s been having a fantastic season. Better than the Sents for sure.
Malloy’s gotten a lot of time on the ice, which I know Bish is probably loving.
There’s nothing better than passing the torch to your little protege.
It looks like Parker’s little buddy is doing just fine out there as well.
He’s a beast as center, and I can tell Parker has a lot more fun playing on a wing.
We’re finally down to the last minute on the board. Where we’re standing, it looks like Ottawa will be going home very happy tonight.
Against reason, my eye has been glued to Parker the entire night. He isn’t playing as confidently as he usually does, even without the stress of playing center.
And then it happens. Spencer Leery, Ottawa’s center charges right at Parker. Both players hit the ice hard, but the part that makes me stand straight up is the fact that Parker hits his head on the ice.
Everything happens so fast.
Parker stands up and shakes it off. They finish playing. Ottawa scores. Game ends.
But Parker hit his head. Why the hell isn’t he being checked out? Did the spotters not see him?
I saw him. I saw it happen.
Before I know it, I’m pulling my phone out of my pocket and texting him.
Me
please tell me ur getting your head checked out
Aviva and I are already on our way back to the hall outside the locker room. She needs more Instagram pictures with her sweaty goon of a boyfriend, so it works out I guess.
My phone buzzes and I check it immediately.
Pet’ka
It was a light tap
I’m okay sweetheart. Promise
I huff.
Me
i don’t believe you
Pet’ka
Come see for yourself
Me
we’re literally already outside the locker room
He emerges a moment later in all his sweaty glory with a lazy grin plastered to his face. “You look gorgeous,” he tells Aviva immediately. “The matching jacket’s a nice touch. I think there’s more of you guys up in the family room taking pictures.”
“I was just headed there,” she mutters, turning to give me one last look. “Give me ten.”
Parker leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest, giving me an amused look, trying not to smile and actively failing.
A few years ago, Luca took a really bad spill.
Broken ribs, nasty concussion…he missed the last few months of the season because it took him longer than expected to heal.
Probably because he continued playing with broken ribs for a whole other game.
He’s always been indestructible in my eyes.
Seeing him so fragile unsettled me in ways I couldn't explain.
“Is this funny to you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“Then stop making that…face.”
“I’m just really happy to see you,” he shrugs. “Thanks for coming.”
I narrow my eyes at him for a moment, fully taking it in. He hit his head and he’s so fucking stubborn that he’s refusing to get checked. If he has a concussion, then...fuck.
“I’m alright,” he tells me again, softening a little. "They checked me the moment I came back to the locker room."
"Who?"
Parker blinks. "The trainers."
“Well, did they do the protocol?"
"Anders—"
“Don’t lie to me.”
He shakes his head solemnly. “Never.”
I take a deep breath, nodding. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” He takes a step closer. “We’re okay?”
“We’re okay,” I murmur. “But you scared me.”
“I’m sorry.” His arm twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to me. I lock my gaze on him and stare deeply into his eyes. For a minute, the only thing I can focus on are his lips. His mouth is set in a small, sincere pout.
Maybe I haven't been as finished with him as I thought.
He went out of his way to get me to come to his game. Then he hit his head and the second I thought something might be wrong, I forgot I was supposed to be angry.
The sound of someone calling out for Parker tears me from my train of thought. Parker looks over his shoulder and scoffs. “Shit.”
“Go,” I tell him. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay,” he murmurs. When he gives me one last look, it’s full of relief. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”