Ham grins, planting his feet in front of me, blocking my path. “You really thought I’d let you do this alone?”
I shake my head, wishing I could kick him in the shin like when we were kids. “You escorted me out of my job this morning!” Emotion surges so fast it tightens my throat. “You really thought I’d let you sit by me?”
“I was doing what I had to do to get you safely away from Mom. You know it was time. If you’d stayed any longer, she would have yelled and made a scene.” His gaze drops to the jersey then lifts to my eyes. “I’m here now to support you,” he says simply. “And Ty. Work is work and that’s business. You guys are family. If you and Ty want this, I’m here for both of you.”
“Well, technically, work is family too, because it’s Mom,” I grumble.
“Come on, Lottie. I’m not letting you do this alone.” He looks toward the door and the screaming crowd. Then he turns back to me, opening his arms for a hug. “Truce?” He’s not an affectionate guy. We aren’t like that. We are more siblings whoare rivals. I’m so touched that he’s stepping into this drama for Ty and me that I hug him hard, right there in front of everyone.
Until someone elbows me hard in the back.
“Ouch.” I startle and look around. People are piling in, and it’s getting close to puck drop. I flick a finger toward the rink. “We better find our seats.”
We don’t speak as we walk together, finding our places as the players spill out onto the ice for warm-up. Ty skates out last, the C on his chest catching the light. My chest flips as it always does when I see him looking so hot. Only now, I don’t fight it. I smile and absorb it.
In all the years of hanging out with Ty, I didn’t pay much attention when he’d ramble on about hockey. I regret that now because I don’t know what’s going on.
The puck drops.
I know that much.
Someone from the Stripes team grabs it, and the crowd roars. I lean forward, trying to follow the blur of motion. The Stripes score first. It’s clear this arena doesn’t have any favorites tonight—half of it cheers while the other half boos. I’m not normally vocal, but I sort of love the booing, and I join in.
Then something happens fast. One of the Stripes players appears to mess up, and a Star player rockets the puck into the net. I jump to my feet with everyone else, cheering. I understand when a goal is made.
I focus in on Ty, who slams his stick against the ice. I’m so glad to witness this in person. It totally beats stealing glimpses on my phone.
The first period ends with a lot of shoving that looks like it should be illegal but apparently isn’t. No one goes to the penalty box. I assume it’s fine. I hold on to my phone during intermission, thinking maybe Ty will text me, but he doesn’t. Clearly, he has a game to focus on.
Ham leans over and casually asks, “Do you think Mom is watching the game at home?”
“Ah, no,” I scoff. “Why would you even think that?”
“I told her I was coming with you. She didn’t say anything, but you know how she is. If she can’t win, she’ll find a way to get even.”
“She’ll never watch a hockey game.” I actually giggle, as that’s the funniest thing I’ve considered in a long time.
When the second period begins, so does my emotional turmoil.
The Stripes score again. And again. Andagain. I’m pretty sure that’s the technical way of describing it. It’s basically a commercial for how great their team is.
The arena is screaming, but I sit back down with the score at 4–1 and my optimism wobbling. I want Tyson’s team to win. Regardless, I’m so proud of him and the way he carries himself.
I watch the puck move from one team to the other, and then one of the guys gets tripped with a stick. Even though I’m pretty sure it was an accident, a fight breaks out.
Helmets fly off. Everyone around me jumps to their feet, screaming like fighting is the main event. I scan the crowd for half a second. When I look back, three guys are tangled together. Eventually, the refs pull them apart. There’s more booing and cheering, and I’m not sure who won the fight—or if I’m supposed to boo or cheer—so I bite my tongue.
After that the momentum shifts, which leads me to believe the Stars maybe won that fight, because they start scoring. Pretty soon the board says it’s 4–4. I’m on my feet again, yelling Tyson’s name like he can somehow pick my voice out of twenty thousand people. My heart motors so hard. I just know this is their comeback. Everything falls into place.
Oh—nope. I thought too soon. The Stripes sneak in one more, and they go into intermission with a 5–4 lead.
I exhale shakily.
“It’s just a game,” Ham says. I’d almost forgotten he was sitting next to me, and I give him a side-eye.
“Maybe for you, but I want Ty to have this victory after everything I put him through this week.”
It’s his turn to side-eye me. “You really think that?”
