Page 182 of Offside Rules

"They’re warming up, Baylor. It’s going to be a long game if you're going to be this anxious."

"I know… I’m just nervous, and excited. He’s so happy that he got cleared."

"Then why are you standing?"

"Because the man in front of me is standing."

The man turns around.

"Sorry."

"Oh, no. You’re fine." I touch Ellie’s arm. "She’s the problem."

He laughs and sits, which leaves me without much of an excuse. The anxiety in me doesn’t know what else to do but stand, otherwise my knee is going to bounce like crazy.

I lower myself into Wolf’s seat anyway.

His jersey hangs over my jeans, and my hair keeps catching beneath the collar every time I turn my head. I wore it down because he likes it that way, although I’m starting to remember why I usually put it up.

Ellie hands me the popcorn.

"Eat something before you wear a hole through that sleeve."

I look down. I’ve been twisting the cuff around my fingers since our rideshare over here from the shop.

"I’m fine."

"You asked me whether his shoulder looked stiff while he was standing still."

"Well, did it?" I ask, my heart thumping so loud against my chest.

I just want this night to go well for him. The last time I saw him in a professional game, they were pulling him off the ice. It’s a hard image to erase.

"He’s cleared to play."

"That doesn’t mean he won’t get hurt out there."

"He’s a hockey player, Baylor. He’s going to get hurt. I can just about guarantee it."

"You’re not helping…" I tell her and then take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself.

He’s a professional player who has done this most of his life. He knows the risks, he knows how to protect his shoulder if he needs to, though he says his shoulder hasn’t felt this good in years. Still, knowing hasn’t stopped me from watching every move he makes.

The last time I sat in this arena with my family, he left on a stretcher. Tonight, he’s skating backward beside Hunter, laughing at something I can’t hear.

I’d like to enjoy it without remembering the other part.

I’m working on it.

Wolf spots us on his next pass. His eyes find mine, and he lifts his glove. I wave back, plastering on a smile so he doesn't know that I feel like my whole heart is out there on that ice.

The arena fills around us, people squeezing past knees with drinks and food while the music plays loud enough that I feel it through the seat. Across the ice, the players on the other team circle their net.

I barely glance at them.

There was a time when I would’ve come here hoping somebody put Wolf Ziegler on his ass. Tonight, I’d prefer they keep a respectful distance.

Maybe send him a strongly worded email if they need the puck.