I take a breath. “No. Of course not.” This is supposed to be the biggest moment of my life. No—it is the biggest moment.
Rigsy grins. “I’m gonna find some tickets on StubHub. So is Martinez.”
“Really?” I give him a nervous smile. “But no pressure.”
“Duuuude.” He leans in and slaps me on the arm. “I’d be there no matter what. This is big.”
I take a calming breath. “Yeah, it is.”
Rigsy folds his arms and leans against the door frame. “You call your mom?”
“I’ll call her from the car.” She might care. I grab my hockey bag and unzip it.
“Cool. Are you gonna tell him? Forest, I mean?”
I take another deep breath. “Not sure. I mean—it’s tempting. He’d lose his mind.” I know Forest would be thrilled about this. He’d be excited for me, and he’d mean it.
Rigsy looks troubled. “He should lose his mind, right? He should be, like, drop-everything-and-run-for-the arena happy. Because if a guy is really on your team, then he shows up for all the important stuff, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I echo, looking away.
“Tough call,” Rigsy says quietly. “Either way, I’ll see you tonight, okay? I’ll be screaming from the cheap seats.” He gives me a mock salute and then disappears back into the weight room.
I toss some gear into my hockey bag. I need to get out of here and head for that meeting in Denver. But I sink down onto a bench instead and pick up my phone, Forest’s smile swimming in my mind. If I call him right now with this news, he’ll say something like, Way to go! Knew this would happen someday.
He wants me to succeed. He cares about me even if he won’t really admit it. I know this. He knows this.
And yet he won’t acknowledge it. Not in the way that I need. Yes, need.
I finger the edges of my phone and stare at Forest’s avatar, my thumb hovering.
How did Rigsy put it? If a guy is really on your team, then he should show up for the important stuff.
I kept telling myself Forest would meet me in the middle, while he kept telling me in plain English that he couldn’t change his stripes.
I take another deep breath. “Okay, Forest,” I say to the empty room. “I’m listening. Finally.” I drop the phone into my bag.
Thirty-Nine
It Was a Sex Injury
Forest
The bar is packed tonight with Cougars fans, half of them in jerseys, all of them drinking. It’s going to be a good night for drink sales. It will also be a long one, because Scully has a sprained wrist with a splint on it, and he’s pouring drinks at half speed.
When I asked what happened, he told me it was a sex injury. Then he winked, which made him look like there was something in his eye.
I’m not sure if he was joking, but I was too busy making drinks to ask for details.
“Izzy!” I holler to our cocktail server. “Can you spare a few minutes to clean some glassware?”
“Sure, pal.” She cracks her gum and ducks under the bar. “I can’t deliver the drinks, anyway, if you guys don’t start mixin’ ’em faster.”
“Sorry,” Scully mutters. “It’s a shame we don’t have an injured reserve list, like in hockey.”
“What would that even look like?” I ask, slamming a shaker down.
“Are you kidding? I’d be day-to-day with ‘shaker wrist.’ Izzy’s got ‘chronic tray shoulder.’ You’ve definitely got ‘bourbon elbow.’”
