Page 73 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
He sighs. “That was . . . forced. I wasn’t ready.” I say nothing so he goes on. “I was a fuck-up. Satisfied?”
My grin is his answer. “Okay. So let’s go on a real date—or what passes for a real date when we can’t go out anywhere without the danger of being hawked.”
“Maggs and Levi invited me to their new place after the game tomorrow night. Come with me. As my date.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a date,” I say. “Sounds more like family time.”
“Oh, believe me, there’ll be a difference. I’ll introduce you as my date. I’ll make it perfectly clear that you’re not there as Maggie’s friend or the girl next door or a witness for my lawsuit—which you aren’t, by the way.”
Frowning, I start to speak, but he shuts me down. “We’re working on a new strategy,” he says. “Before we’re done, we’ll have plenty of witnesses. So how about the date? I know you’re going to the game with them, so come with me after.”
I nod. Of course I knew I’d say yes all along, disillusionment, disappointment or whatever, because he’s my crush, my forever crush, and I can’t help myself. Hopefully heaven will help me.
* * *
I loveSaturday night games at the Garden. There’s no louder, wilder or more exciting place. It’s only game five of the season, but there’s already anticipation for a bigger, better Stanley Cup run. Looking around as we sit in our prime seats at the blue line, a few rows back from the boards and not far from the Brawlers’ bench, I see some signs supporting Ryan.
“Look at that one,” Maggs says, pointing to a sign being held by a pair of teenage girls. It saysRyan is Innocent and Hot as He?? ??. I smile.
“I’m glad the fans are on his side. Two days ago I wouldn’t have guessed that. The backlash we got in the PR office was enormous. I’m so not sorry I quit that job. Dealing with the shit made me want to weep.”
Maggs pats my hand. “No worries. We got this. There’s a way out and it’s gonna happen,” she says. The crowd cheers as the team skates onto the ice for the National Anthem and the start of the game. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a heart-racing thrill when Ryan looks up in our direction, right at me. Our eyes meet and he smiles. Giddy pleasure runs through me and I feel like I’ve turned into one of those teenage girls. He raises a gloved hand, pointing at me and mouths, this one is for you.
The crowd cheers when I appear on the jumbotron. I want to crawl under the seat.
“Way to go, Ryan,” I mutter. “Make me the center of attention because you know I hate it most of all.”
Maggs is laughing and Levi is whistling with a grin. He says, “Don’t worry, we’re here for you. No one is going to come near you. I think it’s about time he acknowledges you publicly.”
“Sure. Public at a small family gathering. Not public at the Garden.” And not in the middle of the media maelstrom. But then, maybe it’s better this way. I can go through it with him, give him someone to lean on, someone to share the spotlight with—take some of the heat for him.
“Come on—he didn’t know the camera was going to be on you,” Maggs says. “Or I’m sure he wouldn’t have acknowledged you.”
“You’re probably right.” Except he pointed right at me so I’m not so sure what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s thinking he’s playing the game for me, like he said.Keep it simple, Chels. Don’t let your baggage interfere, make it into something bad.
The puck drops and the game is on. We shout and yell and whistle and stand. I also do my fair share of cringing whenever Ryan gets caught on the boards, but he’s a big guy and holds his own. By the end of the second period he has two goals. At every break in the third period the organ strikes up its chords and people yell for a hat trick. The game is tied up and my tension is maxing out. Every time the Brawlers get the puck in the offensive end, I squeeze my friend’s hand so tight she yelps and tears it away.
“This is crazy,” Maggs says. “But I need that hand, so chill a little.”
I laugh—and I almost miss the play of the game. Finn catches an errant shot, drops it and passes it out to the wing. Brady Mack takes the pass, dekes out his opponent with a pass between his legs to Aiden as he crosses the blue line. Then Ryan streaks ahead down the center of the ice blazing fast, going past his defenseman like the guy’s a turnstile. He catches a no-look pass exactly at the moment he comes to a stop a few feet out and to the left of the opposing goalie, then he spins around and whips a shot from the right, faster than the goalie can move back to cut the angle, faster than the defenseman can poke the puck away. The shot is dead-on in the upper right corner and he scores.
As the red goal light flashes behind the net, I jump and I almost fall, but I don’t care, I’m so ecstatic. We’re all jumping and clapping and hugging. The Garden is wild and too loud for me to hear myself when I shout, “Hat Trick!” along with everyone else. Hats fly onto the ice and the team mobs Ryan, hitting him on the shins with their sticks, knocking him on his back and head with their gloved hands as they all skate back to the bench.
Just before he climbs over the bench, as I’m watching, he looks up at me with his big fat arrogant and playful grin glowing. I don’t realize it until Maggs swipes at my face and we finally sit back down that I have tears.
“I’ll assume those are happy tears,” she says.
“Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?” I laugh-cry, and maybe I’m not so sure what the hell kind of tears they are because I’m so overwhelmed. But I am smiling, so I shrug. She puts an arm around me and leaves it there for the last minute and a half of the game where Finn sustains a last minute barrage of shots while the other team pulls their goalie to make a run.
The buzzer sounds and it feels like we just won a playoff game, but it’s only game five. Tensions are running high for everyone, it seems. No one wants to think Ryan is guilty but there’s unease about the accusations, because he is a womanizer. And even with the logic of his having no need to attack a woman, and the support of teammates and others, the stigma of the accusation keeps the media feeding the tension.
The crowd quiets fast as the teams skate past each other, tapping gloves, and file off the ice.
“Is the crowd suddenly too quiet or am I being paranoid?” I ask Maggs.
“If you are, then I’m paranoid too.”
“You’re both paranoid,” Levi says. “Let’s get out of here. We can wait in the basement.”
