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But, all we have to do is maintain the score we’ve got.
In the remaining minutes, we’re unstoppable. The people in the stands are losing their minds, on their feet, waving their hands and cheering. The final score gets called, and pride overtakes every member of our team. I’m fucking ecstatic, having scored the final goal.
We’re going to Colorado. As fucking winners. Something we haven’t been in a long time.
Chapter Four
Faith
I can’t believe they won. They won, and we’re supposed to be cheering for Boston. But I can’t help but root for Arizona. They’re going on to the next game as winners, and I feel that, in some crazy, miniscule way, I was part of it.
Tristan scored during that game as if he was doing it with his eyes closed. The guy’s talent and skills were on form tonight. Last year, he wasn’t with it, that much was obvious, and there were rumors that he was still grieving over his wife. What better reason to not have your heart in the game, when it was shattered from grief and bereavement?
Watching him on the ice was a magical experience. It’s one thing to witness him in action on television, but on the ice, in front of me? Hell, yes. While keeping an eye on his kids, I make a plan to look up everything I can about him after the game’s over. Now that we’ve had contact, I feel the need to know everything I can about him.
Even if I didn’t manage to say a word to him.
The kids are screaming cheerfully, bouncing up and down in celebration. The crowd is leaving as quickly as they came into the arena. No one likes hanging around afterward, especially when your team loses. And not just by a little bit, but a lot. Wow, the intensity in that game was crazy.
“We better start packing up.” Dad sighs, not so much because Boston lost, but mainly because this means the end of the night for us. I know what he’s thinking—or, rather, hoping—and I’m hoping it, too. That we made more money tonight than we averaged last season. I added a lot more drink options and other goods to our menu that we didn’t offer last season. And last year, I didn’t know much about this business. I’d thought it was just Dad’s way of getting me back into hockey. Until I discovered that it was a means of survival, a way to help pay the bills. My attitude changed towards it after that, and it changed how we did things and what we made available to customers.
“I think we had a good night.” I’m talking to Dad, but the kids think I’m talking to them.
“I’ll say,” Darcy beams. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And, besides, you're a lot nicer than Isobel ever was to us.” She smiles at me.
She has the prettiest eyes when she smiles, as if her whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh?”
She nods dramatically. “Isobel was only nice when Dad was around.”
She tugs at my hand to distance me from her brother. There’s only so far we can go behind the concession counter, though, and it’s pretty likely he can hear us, even at the other end. Thankfully, Dad distracts Ferguson by getting him to help pack things up.
“I think she only wanted to get close to Daddy. But he wasn’t interested, so she got fed up with pretending to like us.”
She’s like an adult in a child’s body, talking to me as if I’m one of her peers. I smile at her, thinking that maybe there’s some truth in what she says. Still, I can’t get over the fact that the woman left them here like that.
When I don’t answer immediately, she continues to try to explain. “Daddy liked her, but not like that, if you know what I mean?”
I nod, winking back at her.
She smiles. “I like you, Faith.”
I chuckle at the young girl. “You’re too cute not to like.”
She scowls me. “I’m not a kid. I’m nearly a woman, like you.”
Oh my god, how is she only six? “Right,” I nod. “I’m sorry, Darcy. You’re absolutely right.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. You’re not the only one who gets confused about that.”
I smile, then we start packing everything up. I look around as I work, but I still don’t see Tristan. Panic stirs in my gut, but I keep my cool, not wanting to alarm Dad, or, most of all, the children.
Did Tristan forget about his kids?
I feel silly even thinking that, and even sillier that we didn’t exchange cell numbers. I wonder if his kids know his number. I look at them again, patiently sitting on the wooden chairs, waiting for him to turn up.
Dad smiles, trying to keep a brave face as he scratches his balding head. “Hmm. I wonder what’s taking him so long?”
I shake my head, noticing he refrains from saying Tristan’s name.
