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NINETEEN
OCTAVIA
Morgan and I are in our usual seats by the dressing room as we wait for the game to start. When it's time for Oakley to do his warm-up laps around the rink, I make sure to stand with my back to him so he can see the name written on the jersey that hangs loosely from my shoulders. The proud smile that lights up his face is enough to make me momentarily forget where I am.
"Oh my God! Did you see his abs when he lifted his jersey? I think I need a fan to cool me down," says a voice behind me. Being my nosey self, I don't hesitate to listen in on the girly giggles.
"Oh, that's enough out of you, young lady. Tyler Bateman is far too old for you." The second voice is far more mature than the first one and makes me turn my head in search of the two mystery ladies.
I spot a woman two rows back who looks to be in her early forties. She sits comfortably beside a much younger, almost carbon copy of herself. Both women are beautiful, with crystal blue eyes and light blonde hair. The kind of hair that girls like me pay hairdressers hundreds of dollars to have.
The younger girl has the longest eyelashes I think I've ever seen: a small nose that fits her face perfectly, and sleek, sharp cheekbones that I would die for. Both of them are sporting matching Saint's jerseys, although I can't see who they are cheering for from where I'm sitting.
"Whatever, Mom. Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean that I can’t look at other eye-candy.”
"Where did I go wrong with you?" her mother laughs, making my heart clench. I turn back around in my seat in fear of getting caught eavesdropping. However, the woman calls me out before I can escape.
"Oh dear, I am so sorry for my daughter's lack of manners. I hope we didn't disturb you." She glares at her daughter, who is now texting away on her iPhone.
"No! You weren't. I was just looking for...for my friends! They're not here yet!" I stammer awkwardly, desperately trying to take myself out of this uncomfortable situation as quickly as possible.
"Well, I hope they get here soon. The game's about to start. We just got here a few minutes ago ourselves. I hate missing the warm-ups! I'm Anne, by the way." Her mother-like tone warms my heart. I can't help but smile at her.
"I'm Ava. It's nice to meet you.”
"Mom, stop freaking out the locals," her daughter groans and puts her phone away, turning her attention to me.
"Sorry about her. She doesn't get out much. I'm Gracie." She swings her biker boot-clad feet onto the empty seat in front of her and gives me a friendly smile.
"Ava, the games about to start. Tell your new friends that you'll see them some other time," Morgan chides and elbows my rib cage. I roll my eyes and let out a harsh breath of air as my side rovers from the aggressive attack.
"I hope you guys enjoy the game. It was nice to meet you both." I wave at the two of them and sit down in my seat to watch the lights dim.
???
Halfway through the second period, Oakley skates full speed down the ice when one of the opposing defensemen rams straight into his back. My heart falls and I shoot up out of my seat.
I watch with wide eyes as his chin collides with the ice and his right shoulder catches the rest of his fall. The team medic blocks my view as he runs onto the ice beside their coach—carrying a stretcher. My hands shake as I try to move past the shocked onlookers. I don't even notice Morgan holding my hand until she pulls me through the growing crowd. When we finally reach a clearing, my jaw drops.
Oakley is lying on his back, clutching his right shoulder and grimacing in pain. He yells at the ref—blood flying from his mouth and splattering the ice around the puddle that rests beside his head. His coach turns to the ref, his face red with anger.
The medic kneels beside Oakley and tries to get him to sit up. The arena is dead silent in anticipation before Morgan calls my name, capturing my attention. I wrench my eyes away from Oakley to look at her. She is staring past me at the fight now taking place on the ice.
Tyler has the player who hurt Oakley by the throat, punching him again and again. He knocks the opponent's helmet off and kicks it off to the side with his skate. The remaining referees frantically try to rip Tyler off, without much luck.
Adam shouts to get his attention and Tyler drops the player so quickly you would think he was on fire. Tyler spins around and heads off the ice. When he reaches the hallway beside us, he nods his head at me. I watch as he stalks down the hallway, out of sight. I look back to the ice—but Oakley is gone.
"Go. He'll be in the medical room. Find Tyler, he'll be able to take you to him. I have to wait for Matt. I'll meet you at home," Morgan rushes, all but shoving me out of the crowd.
I make it to the main ground of the arena and hurry towards the locker room. My hands are slick with sweat and I have to repeatedly rub them on the smooth material of my leggings in hopes of calming myself down.
He has to be okay. He'll be out for maybe a couple of games, and then he'll be fine. It'll be like nothing even happened. I blow out a breath of air and thank my lucky stars that it's empty up here. The last thing I need right now is to be pushed and shoved around by passionate hockey fans.
I reach the dressing room, and my heart picks up at the sight of Tyler waiting by the door. He's still wearing all of his gear as he leans against the black painted wall. His eyes are closed, and long hair hangs carelessly in his face. His lips are turned downwards, and his bushy eyebrows are pulled in tight. He's more than just a little upset. I drop my eyes to his knuckles; the once white bandages are now stained a deep red.
"Hey," I breathe. I move in front of him and wrap my still shaky hands around his waist. The friendly hug starts quite awkward, probably because Tyler isn't much of a people person, let alone a hugger. After a few seconds, he relaxes and wraps his massive arms around my narrow shoulders. He leans into me and I smile. "Are you okay?"
If I've learned anything about Tyler over the past two years, it's that although he has no problem standing up for his friends and teaching some asshole a lesson, he'll always beat himself up afterward. He doesn't open up much, but I know that his home life isn't the best.
