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It gets worse as I hear the players with the slicing of their skates on the ice. Unwanted memories surge forward and consume me. I shake my head and back out of the room. I have to get out of here. Now. Outside the room and in the hallway, I fall onto my butt, rest my forearms on my knees and my head on my arms, and try to take deep breaths. This proves that it was idiotic to think that I could do this. Sylvia comes to check on me, but I’m too lost in my own head to answer. Air seems to evaporate and I struggle to breathe properly. All I see is red, and all I feel is panic and horror. I stare down at my stomach, repeatedly reminding myself that there is only a yellow shirt and not pools of blood on ice instead.
Eventually, I calm myself down, lifting my head to see Sylvia sitting next to me.
“Better?”
I nod.
“You should probably go see someone,” she says gently.
No, what I should do is avoid what causes me to react like this. “I’m just going to sit out here. I can’t...” I wince as if I can still hear the skates on the ice. “I can’t deal with the sounds. You don’t have to sit with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
She heads back inside the room. To distract myself, I pull out my phone and play a game. Should I even stick around to meet Marc? I can’t even listen to him play. What’s the point of seeing if there’s a spark? It’ll never work. I can’t be supportive when I can’t stand the sport anymore. I should get up and find another way home, but I don’t even know if I’m capable of standing right now. Back and forth, I struggle with what to do. Apparently, I don’t decide in time. Sylvia comes out with a smile, lets me know the team won, and then we’re heading to the bar.
I order an amaretto sour to calm my nerves. Who knew I’d be nervous about this, especially with all the false bravado I was able to muster at the party? Two women approach our table and Sylvia introduces me to Theresa, Nathan O’Donnell’s wife, and then to Meredith Quick, Noah Ramsey’s fiancée, who kind of looks familiar for some reason. I’m too anxious to think about why she might be familiar, though. A few more women arrive, but I stay quiet, choosing to listen to their conversations. I finish two drinks before the guys arrive.
“Ladies,” I hear as an arm lands on my shoulder, causing me to tense. “Your favorite Rebel is here.” The voice is sexy and manly. It’s the kind of voice where if you ever had phone sex, you’d want this voice on the other end. I wince a little because if I tried, it could sound just like Baby Blue. Gulping, I find courage to turn to look at him.
All I can do is stare.
Blond hair.
Slight crooked nose.
Blue eyes.
Oh my god.
It’s Baby Blue!
“You I don’t know,” he continues talking. “What’s your name, beautiful?” If possible, his grin grows, looking exactly as I remembered.
My name? What is my name? I rack my mind but can’t think of my fucking name!
“Marc, this is Elizabeth,” Sylvia quickly jumps in. “We call her Lizzy, though.”
This is Marc?
Holy shit.
Baby Blue is the guy Sylvia wants to set me up with?
Baby Blue is Marc.
Marc is a hockey player.
Therefore, Baby Blue is a hockey player.
No, no, no, no, no!
Marc leans in, smelling fresh and clean from his shower, and softly kisses my cheek. “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” he whispers in a voice so low and seductive I have to stop myself from shivering and melting into a puddle. He pulls away, seemingly unaffected, and waves the waitress over.
He looks so different with a suit on instead of that speedo. But he’s still so handsome and beautiful. Yes, he’s a man—a beautiful, beautiful man.
This needs to stop.
