Page 30 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Grace elbows me and says under her breath, “TV camera closing in at three o’clock. Watch what you say.”
As if I ever don’t watch what I say. Maybe that’s the wrong approach with Mrs. Boylston. It’s not that I want to be someone I’m not, but I truly can’t tolerate her single-minded persecution of Finn, pressuring her husband and team management to trade him for no other reason than he injured her pride—which needed a good kick in my estimation.
“Vivian, it’s so good to see you,” Sherry Boylston walks right up to me and gives me an air hug as if we’ve met before, as if I’m one of her crowd. She’s wearing a fake smile, an enormous diamond, and a Brawlers jersey—Finnegan Reed’s number thirty. That boils me and I only hope my forced smile doesn’t look like a sneer because the TV camera operator has lodged himself front and center accompanied by a man with a microphone.
“Congratulations on your engagement, honey. Welcome to the Brawlers hockey family.”As if.Either there’s something about the Boylston’s relationship with the Brawlers that I don’t know about or she’s truly delusional. She’s still beaming and takes my hands in hers. The last thing I want to do is be caught holding hands with her on camera, but I can’t pull them away without making a scene.
“This is my good friend, Michelle Day.” We nod at each other. Of course, I recognize the former supermodel and wonder what the heck she’s doing with Mrs. Boyle. We can’t shake hands because Sherry won’t let go even when I give a subtle tug.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“You too. Lucky girl to land that hunk of a man.”
That makes me smile for real.
“This is my friend Grace—” I start the introduction, but Sherry doesn’t even look at Grace as she interrupts me.
“I’m so excited for you. Let me see your engagement ring.” Then she lifts my left hand, unnaturally high for all to see, aims it towards the camera and exclaims. “No ring?”
The woman knew I had no ring because she held onto my hands long enough and tight enough to find out. In spite of the heat that runs up my body, I grit my teeth because anger, a rare and crazy thing, takes over me.
“I have a ring,” I say. “It’s being sized.” Then I yank my hand from hers and smile.
“Of course it is. Which jeweler did you go to? I love Long’s.”
“We went to Shreve, Crump & Low.” Grace elbows me. I don’t know what possessed me to name the most exclusive and expensive jewelry store I can think of, except darn foolish pride. Clamping down on the panic as the potential repercussions close in on me, I double down on my smile and I no longer care how much like a sneer it may be.
Sherry maintains her sinister smile and I wonder if other people can see it, like her friend Michelle Day. Doesn’t she notice Sherry’s meanness?
“Of course,” Sherry says. “Our Finnegan would only want the best, wouldn’t he? I can’t wait to see it. When will it be ready?”
Tamping down the panic, I do my best to be vague. “I’m not exactly sure. Finn is handling those details.” Congratulating myself on the actual reasonableness of my non-answer, I stand up straighter, still holding onto Grace like she’s a lifeline to reality. Except she knows the engagement is a fake. And somehow Sherry Boylston also gets the fakery of it all and I’m not sure what that means, what she’s going to do with that suspicion. But I know it’s not good. She’s a woman scorned. I hold back a shiver.
“We’re having a fashion show next week, to benefit the foundation. Michelle has generously donated her time and will be the star of the show of course. All the players’ wives and girlfriends will be there. You’ll join us, won’t you?” Sherry pulls a square card from her no-doubt designer bag and hands it to me.
It’s an invitation, but I don’t bother reading the details. “I’ll check my schedule.”
Her eyebrows flare up and she looks like I’ve slapped her.
“Come now, dear, you must attend. I’m sure the team would want Finn represented there.”
“Of course. I’m sure I can arrange my schedule,” I say. Even though I know she’s mean and has some evil intent behind her invitation, I can’t back down. She’s trying to get Finn in trouble and I can’t let that happen. I don’t know what she’s up to, but I know it’s something. Indignation spurs on my anger and protective instincts. Finn may not be my real fiancé, but by gosh, he’s mine for the duration and darn if I’m going to let this witch get any satisfaction. It’s her nastiness that got him into this situation.
Maybe I owe her gratitude for that, but I’ll save my thank-you note for later, after the season is over and the Brawlers are Stanley Cup champs.
With a confident smile I can feel down to my toes, fueled by my fondness for Finn and determined to see him through this season unscathed, I say, “I’ll be there.” Then I turn away and, clutching Grace, drag her in the opposition direction through the crowd. Ducking through a door, we clatter down the stairs to the space under the stands. We get through security with my friends and family team badge and my hold on Grace tightens so they know she’s with me. The security guard nods as he lets us through and I think he recognizes me. I feel that blip of ownership, of belonging to this special community, of belonging to Finn.
Promising myself to savor that for the duration and hold onto it for future reference, I pull Grace to the friends and family room before she hits someone and slip my key card through the slot. It’s dark and empty because no one comes here until after the games, usually, and that’s perfect. I turn on the lights and slam the door closed behind us.
“Oh my God, Vivian, that lady is up to something. What a bitch.”
I smile, glad for the support and for someone to share what I’m going through.
“Out of spite, she wants to get Finn traded.” That’s all I need to say to see Grace’s eyebrows lift to the ozone of her forehead.
* * *
We’re backin our seats and by the time the game ends in a three-to-one victory for the Brawlers, Grace and I are jumping up and down for joy and back to full enthusiasm because the win has catapulted the team into first place in the division.
