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That’s the least of what it will be.
After fifteen minutes, both teams return to their benches and the lights dim. A spotlight falls in the center of the arena as music blasts throughout the building. The visiting team roster is announced first. The atmosphere becomes even more amplified as the Wildcats take to the ice one player at a time. The hometown crowd goes wild, cheering and clapping.
Bright light once again floods the large space as the first lines for both teams take their positions. Ryder skates to the blue line. All the insecurities he’s admitted over the past few weeks circle through my head. More than anything, I want him to have a good game and find the same kind of joy he used to have while playing hockey.
The puck is dropped and both centers fight for possession. At first, our team has it, but then the small black disk is knocked loose and stolen by the other team’s right wing as he races down the ice. Ryder skates backward, keeping his attention focused on the guy. Air gets trapped in my lungs as the other player attempts to deke him out, faking one way and then the other.
Ryder leaps forward, his blades digging into the ice as he knocks into him. The puck goes flying as they scrabble over it. Everyone in the stands jumps to their feet and cheers as Ryder scoops up the small black disk and takes off, flying across the ice. He winds up, looking like he’ll try to place it in the upper left corner of the net. When the goalie starts to slide, Ryder pivots to the right. But it’s too late for the goalie to catch it, and the puck whizzes past him before hitting the back of the net.
The fans filling the arena go crazy.
A horn blasts as Ryder slows, circling around the back of the net. Even from the stands, I can see the grin lighting up his face. It’s not uncommon for a defensive player to score, but it’s been a long time for him, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. What I notice throughout the rest of the game is that he plays with more confidence. I don’t know what finally clicked in his head, but I’m happy for him.
Just as the buzzer rings, signaling the end of the third period, the players clear the bench and swarm the ice. The Wildcats pulled off another win. Ryder gets a bunch of slaps on the back from his teammates.
I draw in a lungful of air to steady my nerves before quickly unzipping my jacket and tossing it to my seat so that my McAdams jersey with Ryder’s number is clearly visible. Then I hold the posterboard I’d rolled up and carried into the arena.
The sound of my heartbeat fills my ears like the dull roar of the ocean as a few of his friends catch sight of me before nudging him and pointing. His eyes widen behind the cage as he slowly skates toward the bleachers and comes to an abrupt halt in front of me. My heart kicks up its tempo, slamming painfully against my ribcage. Heat floods my cheeks as people swivel and stare. A cartoon figure of a wildcat dancing on the jumbotron is replaced by livestream feed of me.
Holding my sign with shaky hands.
Bile gurgles up in my throat.
There’s no question about it—I’m definitely going to be sick.
This was a mistake.
Had I been thinking clearly, I would have texted instead to see if we could meet up for coffee and talk. I wouldn’t have publicly humiliated myself by trying to make a grand gesture to win him over.
I’m not sure how I’ll ever show my face around campus again.
Ryder’s gaze stays pinned to mine as his smile blooms into more of a grin. He taps his chest twice before pointing a gloved hand at me. When cheers go up, my knees weaken until it feels like I’ll slide to the sticky concrete beneath my feet.
“Breathe,” Carina says, pitching her voice just low enough to be heard over the roar of the fans. “He’s totally into it.”
For the first time in days, I flash her a grateful smile as relief pumps through my veins.
It doesn’t take long for the crowd to disperse. Most head for the exit and into the crisp night air. People will definitely be out en masse celebrating at the bars tonight. Dozens of friends and family wait for the players to shower and change. Small groups of girls wearing jerseys are there as well.
I chew my nails, impatient for Ryder to make an appearance. The moment he walks out of the locker room, my heart kicks into overdrive. His expression remains inscrutable as his gaze locks on mine.
What if he changed his mind?
What if he wants to let me down easy so that I’m not publicly humiliated in front of ten thousand spectators?
The more distance he eats up with his long-legged strides, the more nauseous I become.
When we’re only a handful of steps away, my tongue darts out to moisten my lips. I need to get in front of this.
Now.
“Ryder—”
Before I can force out the rest, he captures my fingers with his larger ones and tugs me close until I’m pressed against the steely wall of his chest. Then he lifts me off my feet and spins me around in a tight circle until I’m dizzy.
As soon as he grinds to a halt, his mouth crashes onto mine. When his tongue steals across the seam of my lips, I open so that they can dance and mingle. Everyone around us fades away until the only person I’m aware of is Ryder and how good it feels to be back in the warm circle of his arms.
I’ve missed this so much.
