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“Um…Kingston definitely is. Maverick Hagen is the team captain, and he has a girlfriend, and another teammate is married. I think his name might be Marko? That’s all I know.”
My sister gives me a thanks-a-lot look. “That’s not helpful, Indie.”
I give her a look right back. “So you gave me all kinds of shit about dating a hockey player, and now you want one for yourself?”
“I might. The new guy at the firm isn’t ever going to ask me out, so I have to keep my options open.”
I quickly eat a few pieces of popcorn to keep myself from responding further. I refuse to bicker or talk about life choices with Rue tonight because, well, I’m happy and nothing is going to ruin this mood. I’m about to watch Pike play hockey live for the first time ever. I’ve watched some clips of game highlights on my phone, and I’ve seen a couple games on TV, but it doesn’t compare to this.
Thousands of devoted fans in black-and-gold jerseys and hats are cheering as they watch the pregame advertisements and previous game highlights being displayed on the Jumbotron. The seats Pike got us are in the second row—it’s surreal, knowing he’s going to be out on the ice soon, goaltending a game I’m watching in person.
Pike said I can watch any home game I want from the VIP suite reserved for players’ families, but I’m not ready for that yet. And I also wanted to experience the true ambiance of a game by sitting in the stands, surrounded by other fans.
One of Nolan’s day care teachers is babysitting him at home, allowing Rue and I to have a night out, and Rue and Pike will meet for the first time when we go out after the game tonight. To say I’m nervous would be an understatement, but it’s time.
Pike and I have been officially together for a month now, mostly meeting each other for lunch when he’s not on the road. We’ve only been on a couple of evening dates, but we talk and text practically every day. Though we don’t get a lot of opportunities for sexy times, when we do, it’s off the charts hot.
The lights go down in the arena, cuing up some special-effect strobe lights and music. It reminds me of a concert. The crowd loves it, and I find myself cheering, too. A pregame video show starts playing—each player’s picture appears on the Jumbotron, accompanied by some statistical information about him and his player position. When Pike’s picture comes up, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride. That’s my man right there.
God, he’s amazing. I can’t believe how far we’ve come from me yelling at him in this very arena over something he didn’t even do.
As Pike is introduced over the loudspeaker, he skates onto the ice and looks over to where Rue and I are sitting and smiles. I feel every inch the smitten girlfriend I am, wearing a shirt with his name on the back and getting mushy over him looking for me.
The Saints aren’t in contention for the playoffs this year, so this is one of the final games of the season. In a couple weeks, my mom is coming to stay at Rue’s for ten days to help take care of Nolan while Pike and I go to Paris. I don’t think it will really set in that I’m going to the Louvre Museum until I’m actually there.
Rue leans over to me and whispers in my ear while pointing up at the photo on the Jumbotron. “I like him.”
His name is Dane Taylor. His facial expression is devoid of any emotion. He looks like an intense player, dark hair shadowing even darker eyes. Pike doesn’t talk about him much, so I’m not sure what that says about Dane.
* * *
Who knew hockey was such an intense game. There’s only seconds left in the third period and my sister grabs my arm as a player from the opposing team, Vancouver, fires a shot at the goal Pike is guarding. Both of us hold our breath in anticipation. He drops to one knee and sticks his glove up in the air, making an unbelievable save. The crowd goes crazy.
Hockey is a lot more exciting than I realized. By the time the game is over, the Saints have won 3–1, and Rue and I are both a little hoarse from all the cheering.
Pike said he’d send an attendant to direct us to a lounge area so we can meet up with him when he’s done showering. On cue, a woman who looks to be college age comes to collect us.
“How did you guys like the game?” she asks.
“We loved it!” I say. “I can’t wait to come to another one.”
I picture Nolan sitting next to me in the future, cheering and having as much fun as I just did. I’m not ready to bring him here, but the thought of being ready someday makes me feel hopeful. Nothing in my life could ever feel whole without my son being part of it.
