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“Nah, man. You have no clue. It’s like I’m a fish in one giant fish bowl. As soon as people find out who I am, everything changes. I have never had a normal life.”
“Your dad is…” He smiles at the thought of my father. “Well, your dad is a great man. I looked up to him when I was a kid. You know I never missed a single game while your dad was in the league.”
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Seeing that my father had such an impact on Murph’s life tugs at the corners of my mouth. That’s the one thing never gets old. The fans are the best part of sports. My father always said that. He said that without his fans he would’ve had no one to watch him, and without their support, he would’ve been a kid with a dream and his talent would have gone to waste. I believe in that wholeheartedly.
“I think you might love my dad more than I do,” I joke.
“That’s possible. Your dad is the man. He’s the reason I wanted this job in the first place.” Murph puts his hand on my back and guides me down the steps and to my seat.
I slip the jersey over my head and tug on it until it’s down to my knees, making it appear if I’m wearing a dress. Looking like a total asshat in this outfit, I could care less. It’s part of the fun to show my team spirit in the most obnoxious way possible.
Pulling Murph into a hug, I lean in to kiss him on the cheek. The shimmery clear gloss coats his skin, forcing me to wipe it off with my hand after I peel my lips away. I can’t send him back up to the offices with my dad, looking like he was making out with a chick in a back hallway. That would not go over well with the boss man.
The stands of the Wells Fargo Center are packed. With the Flyers playing against Pittsburgh, the arena is mostly a sea of orange, gold, and black. It’s so cold in here that my nipples are poking a hole through my bra. You’d think after basically growing up in an ice skating rink that I would be used to subzero temperatures.
But I work here almost every day of the week, even when the rink switches over to a basketball court or concert. My dad managed to talk me into helping him, which turned into a full time position that has made me a permanent fixture in the building. It’s not this cold on days we have concerts or when the Sixers play basketball. Those nights the place is practically scorching from all the bodies rubbing up against one another.
“I’ll catch ya later,” Murph says, squeezing a hand down on my shoulder. “Are you working tomorrow?”
I flash a wicked smirk in his direction. “I work every day. I have no life.”
“Works out well for me. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
I nod, and he releases his grip, his hand falling down at his side. “Count on it.”
After Murph disappears into the crowd, making his way back up to the executive offices, I take my seat in the front row at center ice. The player’s wives and girlfriends like to sit in this section. My dad would prefer it if I sat up in a box with him, but I like to be part of the action.
I want to see the mouth guard fall onto the ice when the gloves come off and shit gets real. I want to be so close to it all that I can see the sweat on the player’s brows, witness the technique in their stick handling so I can take it all in. You can’t see the worried look on a player’s face when they’re down to the last minute and need to score from a damn box. Nope, I need to have the full experience.
The men on the ice are so graceful on skates that even with their large frames, they make it appear effortless. I have a hard time peeling my eyes from the rink. Watching them glide along the ice as they warm up for the game reminds me of all the times I waved at my father from the crowd as he did the same thing with his team.
Not even realizing I’m sitting next to Candice, Gerard Spencer’s wife, I accidentally elbow her in the rib as I get adjusted in my chair. The back is hard as a rock, and no amount of movement helps me get comfortable.
“Regan,” the blonde sitting next to me with long curly hair says to me as she clamps down on my wrist, “Oh, my gosh, girl. It’s been ages since I last saw you.” Her Southern twang is thick when she speaks. “How have you been, darlin’?”
Without hesitation, I peel my eyes from the ice and turn to my seatmate, nonchalantly shaking her hand from my wrist by shifting in my chair. “Candice,” I say, in the fakest voice I can manage that makes my pitch sound a few octaves higher. “I’m doing good. How have you been? Spence is looking awesome this year. He’s playing really well.”
She holds her hand up to her heart, her mouth wide open. “Bless your heart. You are too sweet for words. Spence will be so thrilled to hear that.”
To Candace, anything that comes from my mouth is like hearing it from my father. In some ways, I suppose it is close enough, considering he passes his opinions on to me. Being in charge of public relations for the team, I get more insight into my dad’s mind that most. He tells me exactly what message he wants me to convey for the organization. But that’s not my only job. Somehow, I have managed to add event planner in the other duties as assigned column of my job description.
“We’re lucky to have him on the team.” This part I speak from my own experience with Spence. He’s a great player, and like most of the guys on this team, he’s underrated because the Flyers never make it into the playoffs.
This year everything is about to change. We’re on a roll this season, practically steam rolling the competition. But the damn Penguins and Capitals are always on the top of our division and hard as hell to beat. My God, I hate them. I listen to my father complain about them enough.
Candace squeezes my hand and smiles, showing off a set of pearly whites and red lipstick drawn onto her lips as if airbrushed onto her. She’s one of those girls that never has a hair out of place. Unlike me. I am the pure definition of a tomboy. My face is completely free of makeup, not a single piece of jewelry, and my blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail to keep it off my face. The only time I dress up and play the part is when I have to make press announcements, attend special engagements for the team, or if I have a date, which is almost never anymore.
“So, while I have you down here, do you mind me asking you something?” Her accent is thick, and she really has the Southern belle thing going for her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s won a few beauty pageants in her day. “Spence has been looking forward to this game for weeks, and I know it's not up to you, but do you think you can ask your dad to let him play a little more? That would mean the world to Spence.”
She calls her husband by his last name, but so does everyone else who knows him personally.
“That’s not up to my dad. If Coach wants to move him to a different line, that would be entirely up to him.”
“But your dad calls the shots.”
Just like that, Candace made this moment between us awkward. For most of last year, Spence was out with an injury that had kept him on the bench. While he’s on track to get back to his old self, there’s nothing I can do to help him get more time on the ice.
