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Following the game would be a little easier if I knew the players better than I do. Right now, I only know Noah is number twenty-four and Marc is nineteen. It doesn’t help that my eyes are on Noah every time he jumps onto the ice.
The puck lands on his stick and he doesn’t hesitate to shoot. There’s two minutes left in regulation. I hold my breath until the horn sounds, sending the crowd to their feet. My voice goes hoarse from screaming and cheering.
I was never a hockey fan until I met Noah. When we broke up, I didn’t watch any games. I only bought and wore a few of his jerseys every now and then. I tried watching a game once, one of the teams Noah wasn’t associated with. For a long time, I thought it was odd that I felt nothing watching the game, that it didn’t excite me like it once did. But now, I realize why.
Noah wasn’t playing.
Sure, I like hockey, but the reason I loved it was because I loved watching Noah play and be in his element. After tonight, I know I’ll be here for as many games as I can make it to. I want to support him and fall back in love with the game.
Before I head home, I send a quick text to him.
Me: Good job getting the game-winning goal! I’ll be ready to celebrate when you get home.
As soon as I hit send, my phone lights up with an incoming call. My lungs freeze and my hands begin to tremble as I recognize Vance’s number.
COMING HOME TO my apartment has become my new favorite thing because the love of my life is in there waiting for me. It’s the most exciting part of my day, even after the fun and excitement of the first game of the season. I want to celebrate with Mere since the team will be leaving tomorrow afternoon for an away game Saturday.
My keys clink as I stick the correct one into the deadbolt and turn it before moving on to the doorknob. Darkness greets me. Maybe she’s in our room, still wearing my jersey. I close and lock the door, set my keys on the end table by the couch, and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. I’m already hard with anticipation of what may be waiting for me on the other side of the closed door.
It creaks as I push it open. She’s curled in a ball on top of the covers with Leo cuddled to her chest. She’s still wearing my jersey, but sex is pushed down a notch on my to-do list when she sniffles and glances over at me. What the fuck happened between when she texted me and now?
I toe out of my shoes and climb on behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Sorry, Noah. I was hoping I’d be over it by now.” She rolls to face me, Leo settling in and falling right back to sleep.
“Over what?” Damn, I’m tired of seeing those green eyes watery to the point that tears are falling down her face.
“One of my stupid old friends gave Vance my new cell number, so he called me. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want him back in my life in any way. Why can’t he just take the hint and leave me the hell alone?”
“So answer the phone and tell him off,” I suggest, but she shakes her head.
“I don’t want to talk to him, Noah,” she stresses again.
I’m at a loss. If he wants to get up with her that badly for whatever fucking reason, he’s going to keep calling. “Did he leave a voicemail?”
She nods, another tear falling. “I don’t need to call him back. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Then don’t.”
I run my fingers down her arm as my thoughts deviate from the topic of conversation to the feel of the coarse cloth of the jersey.
“Sorry for ruining the celebration,” Meredith says. “I fell back in love with hockey tonight. You were great out there.”
A shit-eating grin appears. “You’re just saying that because you love me, so how amazing I am is amplified.”
She laughs. “You sound like Marc.”
I slip my hand underneath the jersey, disappointed when I feel another shirt, but I don’t let it stop me from tickling her side. Her knees pull in and Leo, annoyed that he can’t sleep in peace, crawls up our pillows and around to behind my back. She’s giggling as she tries to push my hand away.
“You can’t tell me in our bed that I sound like my teammate.”
“Sorry!” she squeals.
I stop tickling her, but some of her laughter persists.
“I love you,” she says in this airy, breathy voice with a dreamy like smile. Her mind isn’t on her troubles anymore.
“I,” kiss, “love,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “too.” My hand roams further up her chest.
