Page 29 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Well?” She folds her arms across her legendary breasts. She has nothing to worry about in comparison to me. She always looks like a siren because she was born that way with a wild flare, everything about her big and loud. The exact opposite of me, except we’re both serious students. And we’re both big hockey fans. She’s from Revere and dated a hockey player for years before he left to play in Europe, skipping the college experience. She’s still getting over it almost four years later and still carrying a chip on her shoulder as sharp as a skate blade that she wields freely at any men who dare to show her the wrong kind of attention. Neither of us are sure what she’s looking for. But it’s not another hockey player. She’s remained crush-free since I met her our freshman year. I can’t lie to her. I just can’t.
“Okay, let’s say our engagement is . . . not what it seems—”
“I knew it. What the fuck are you doing? Is he behaving respectfully? Do you want him to? This changes everything, Viv—how are you going to handle it when it’s all over?”
“All good questions. Unfortunately, I have no good answers.” My phone alarm goes off because I set it so we wouldn’t be late. I knew we’d need the reminder. “We have to go.” I shrug into my new fluffy fake fur coat that I’ve grown to love and we head for the door.
“At least I’ll have a new wardrobe out of it when all’s said and done.”
She pats my back. “Don’t worry, we’ll deal with it. And you never know what might happen.” She winks at me as we head for the street to find the Uber I ordered ahead because I know Grace hates to walk.
* * *
“These seats are awesome.We’ll fucking feel like we’ve been hit when they crash the boards.” Grace bounces up and down in the seat. I laugh, glad the excitement of the game distracts her from talking about the fake engagement and relieved that she’s agreed to keep it quiet, even from her mother.
“We’re closer to the ice than usual today,” I say and I wonder why. We’re usually a few rows back. Tonight, we’re right at the boards and it’s a little unnerving. Looking over behind the bench, I catch Mary’s eye and she nods. Then she flashes me an evil smile and I know she has something up her sleeve, I know she’s the one who arranged our seat change.
As if I’m not already nervous enough with the press release of the engagement out there, now I’m waiting for the second shoe to drop, dreading it. We got to our seats late and missed warm-ups and the anthem, but I’m okay with that, because sitting waiting doesn’t feel healthy for my wildly beating heart.
The ref drops the puck then and the action starts. In spite of the excitement, I’m in my comfort zone watching the game, especially with Grace as we hold hands and jump up and down when the Brawlers score near the end of the first period and the score at intermission is one to nothing.
“Finn’s made a dozen saves. He’s in the zone,” Grace says. “Let’s go get some refreshments to celebrate.”
Standing to leave, feeling happy with all the worries about Finn and our engagement receding and seeming like nothing, an airhorn sounds and the announcer comes on with his usual hyper-energetic voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating the newly engaged Finnegan Reed and Vivian Frost. Let’s give a round of applause for the happy couple.” The Jumbotron goes wild with fireworks and then, to my utter horror, it zooms in on a shot of me, standing, looking like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
“Smile, Viv, for pity’s sake,” Grace says without moving her lips, prodding me with her elbow.
If I weren’t so pathetically well behaved, I’d go over and give Mary a piece of my mind because I know without a doubt she’s responsible for this Jumbotron camera ambush. But I smile and wave because people are looking. And the crowd around me is clapping and reaching over and shaking my hand and patting me on the back. After a minute, with the warmth of the crowd, as generic as it is, my heart returns to normal and I feel lighter.
Then I remember how misplaced all those well wishes are and shame starts to flame up, but I know better than to give into it so I crush it back down. This is all for a good cause. It’s for Finn to stay on the team and get a shot at the Stanley Cup. As Grace and I make our way to the Garden Club bar for refreshments, I promise to make the most of my time as his fiancée by doing as much volunteer work as possible with the team’s gravitas behind me, even if it means putting my novel on hold.
When we get inside the relative quiet of the exclusive bar after dozens of strangers congratulate me, shake my hand, and even hug me along the way, Grace lets go of my arm.
“That was intense. I feel like your bodyguard,” she says.
When I see Mrs. Sherry Boylston across the room, staring, I say, “Keep up the guard duty, Grace. Look who’s coming our way.”
“I wasn’t that thirsty after all. Let’s get you out of here,” Grace says. She turns me around and we walk back out the door.
“I’m going to have to face her sooner or later,” I say. “She’ll see to that.”
“Better it’s on our own terms, out and among the people, your new fans,” Grace says. Taking a look, I see Sherry in the doorway.
“We better get going then.” We head for the promenade back toward our seats where lots of people mill around. A shooting contest is underway on the ice and the announcer is busy talking it up. I say under my breath, “Did she follow us?” Grace turns to take a look while I keep my eyes on the ice.
“Shit. She’s on her way. And she has company.”
“Who?”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“Who already?”
“Michelle Day, the supermodel—or at least she used to be. Looks like she still could be. I heard her daughter lives in Boston.”
Before I have a chance to react, I hear my name being called out. Loudly. People turn. Gathering myself, and with a hand on my heart which is beating fast but steady, I say, “Hello, Mrs. Boylston.”
