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“Oh, of course, I would hate for you to give your mother any time. I suppose I will have to hear of your life on the sports channel, too. Your father and I are so disappointed.” The line went dead, and I pulled over and let my head fall to rest on the steering wheel. I didn’t even remember what I was going to the store for, but I couldn’t go back to the house, for fear of the reporters still being there.
Pulling into the parking lot of a bookstore, I turned off the car and let my head fall back on the headrest. This was a mess. The last eight weeks had been a mess. Why had I just let Boone push his way back in. I had been happy alone. Was I secretly hoping this would happen? Was my mom right that I just had to scratch the itch that was Boone?
My phone rang, and I hit the button again. “Hello?”
“Find any good books at Page Flips? I just saw your car. Want to meet for lunch?” Boone’s voice was enough to pull me back in, even given the thoughts my mother had put in my head.
“Umm, I just got here. I was just about to go in and look around.” I didn’t remember the last time I had read a book, and I had even less idea what to look for. A vehicle pulled up beside me and I didn’t pay much attention to it.
“Why don’t I come with you?”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” I said as someone knocked on my window. Turning, I stared into a face as familiar as my own. Opening the door, I ended the call and took his hand and walked out of the bookstore. “My mom called.” We stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot. “That’s why I’m here. I need to pull over.”
“So you weren’t book shopping?” I shook my head. “What did she say?” I saw him tense up.
“Why don’t we go home? This isn’t the place to talk.” I suggested. He nodded, and we separately made the drive back to the house.
Thankfully, the reporters were gone, and we walked hand in hand. “What did she say?” We barely walked in the door and he was asking again. I told him word for word what our conversation was as he paced the kitchen. “Well, what are you going to do? I know that look she got to you.”
“I don’t know Boone. Maybe I need some space.” I looked at the floor and knew the words I just said crushed him.
“Last time you asked for space, you were gone for eight years. If you do this again, I guarantee I won’t come back.” His face was pained, and my heart flipped.
“After the press thing, leaving work to follow you around, I don’t know my own thoughts. I can’t deny this has been amazing.” The words fell out of my mouth. I knew they had been the wrong ones.
Boone nodded, “has been. Sounds like you already made up my mind. Look, I have to get to the hotel for the night. The coach wants us focused. So tell you what, if you want this to continue to be at the game tomorrow night. If you’re not there, I will know where we stand.”
“Boone, that’s not something you need to worry about. It’s game seven. You need to focus on that.” I pleaded with him as he walked to his bedroom and packed his bag.
“Tomorrow, Gin.” He walked back out the door without another word.
CHAPTER31
GINNY
I could only finda random seat at centre ice. It cost a small fortune, but I didn’t care. I had missed the first period, the most important game in Boone’s career, and I missed a third of it. The radio kept me company as I listened to it driving to the rink and ran as fast as I could to my seat as I pulled on the Boone’s jersey from his days in Badelton. It was the one I had worn when he was in the minors and I had my mom send it to me last week. The second period was horrendous. Boone couldn’t get anything started for his line. The other team had his number and double teamed him every time he got close to the puck. As if a miracle occurred, the puck trickled over to Boone’s stick, and he was off across the ice. It was like the waters parted and he was skating in slow motion, alone on the way to the net, then from the penalty box, a Jaguar player tripped Boone. The crowd erupts when the whistle blows, and I’m no exception. Yelling at the other player as if he could hear me about it being a dirty play. The ref sent the player right back into the penalty box, but Boone was moving slow. It’s the same leg he broke all those years ago. He went down on his leg funny and my stomach dropped. The crowd sat, and I remained standing, straining to see what he was telling the trainers, looking up at the big screen over centre ice, trying to read lips. A whistle blows and I sit back down as the teams get ready for a face-off. A loud horn sounds, signalling the end of the second period.
“They’re saying Boone might have sprained his knee.” The man next to me announced for everyone to hear. Closing my eyes, I tried to calm my nerves. The trainers on this team were the best. I’d worked with them closely over the last few years with other people, but they weren’t me. I knew his legs inside and out, but there I was nothing I could do. Even if I could get to the dressing room, they wouldn’t let me in and I would just be another over protective WAG.
So I sat and waited.
Flashing lights, loud announcements, and music blared around the arena as the teams came back out onto the ice. I watched for number seven, player after player returning to the bench, and finally the last player out was Boone. “Lady, you don’t even look like you’re enjoying this game.” The man next to me leaned over and said. I couldn’t help but smile.
Holding my hand out for him to shake, “I’m Ginny Boone. I’m a little stressed out right now.” The older man put his arm around my shoulder and patted it.
“He’s all right, just watch. It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way. Hank Kent. I will keep you updated if I hear anything.” He waved his small radio for me to see, and I nodded.
I felt like I could hear the puck slap the ice when the ref threw it down to start the third period. The ranges looked rusty, like they sat for too long. The defence wasn’t keeping up to the Jaguars, and they scored two seconds into the period. A groan from the crowd could have registered on the Richter scale, I thought. Lines changed but Boone didn’t go on, it didn’t surprise me, if he was hurt they would keep off the ice for as long as possible. Hank patted my knee and smiled when I looked over at him. Seconds ticked by, skate blades scored the ice and the puck hitting sticks memorized me as I was glued to every pass, every play, when I saw him hop over the boards. He was skating flat out as hard as he could. If there was any issue, he was hiding it well. My leg started bouncing involuntarily, and I stood with the rest of the crowd when he had the puck. Once again, the Rangers had caught the Jag’s sleeping and Boone looked like he was flying. The goalie’s eyes were locked on the puck. Boone lifted his stick, and the goalie dropped to the ice. There was an audible gasp in the arena as Boon lifted the puck off the ice and floated the puck over the goalie’s left shoulder. A deafening cheer erupted in the building and I heard myself screaming with them. Hank and I high fived, then everyone else around me joined in.
It was now a tie game.
Back at centre ice, the ref dropped the puck and the battle for the rest of the game began. Shots on net were blocked by each goalie, the crowd never once let off the volume. The clock ticked to one minute left. I had been around long enough to know a minute in hockey might as well be sixty minutes. The entire game could change while everyone else was thinking about going into overtime. Each player was digging as deep as they could, trying to make sure their team came out on top. Game sevens in the finals were not the time to give up and wait for the overtime period. I watched the puck sail through the air to the Jag’s end. One of our players got to the puck and sent it back to the blue line, and it landed perfectly on Boone’s stick. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t let it sit, didn’t look to pass. I held my breath, sure if I even moved it would jinx him, his stick hitting the puck could have been heard around the world. The puck sailed through the air as the clock ticked down; it hit the back of the net with so much force I was sure I could hear it; the buzzer signalled the end of the game, the red light behind the net spun and the crowd erupted as the lights in the building flashed, the announcer yelled into the microphone. “Goal scored by number seven, Garrison Boone.” The crowd chanted Boone, Boone, Booooooooooone. I hugged Hank and the person to my left, who I didn’t know, and watched the team throw their sticks, gloves, and helmets before they piled on the goalie. Deep down, these serious pro hockey players were just little kids playing the game they loved.
As they stood, the big screen panned the family skybox where the wives, parents, and kids were going cheering, crying and hugging one another. I saw Boone look up and then quickly back down when he didn’t see me. Suddenly I was lit up with a light and my tear-streaked face appeared on the screen. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. Grover hit his shoulder and told him to look up. I watch Boone’s face register the fact that I was in the stands. He followed the spotlight to where I stood and I saw the smile grow on his face even more. He tugged on his jersey and I shrugged. He pointed at me and skated over to one usher and pointed at me. Moments later, a woman in a black suit came to the row I sat in and waved me down to the stairs. She almost ran as we caught up to the family heading to ice level. Sarah there her arm around me and we cried together.
“I wasn’t sure you were here,” she whispered in my ear.
“I was halfway here and forgot my pass was at the office. I had to get tickets online last minute.” We laughed and hugged as we walked out of the tunnel.
