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There’s a weird rushing noise in my ears. I can’t believe I just told him that over text. Or worse, maybe he already knew. It could be one of those things that he was trying to hide from me or protect me from.
The urge to spill out more has me typing and erasing. It wars with doubt.
Jacob
If I ever meet that bastard, I’d do unfathomable things to him.
My skin heats.
But at least I know the two haven’t met.
Lucy drops down into the seat beside me, handing me a beer and popcorn. She’s got a beer of her own. Theo returns a few moments later, his gaze sweeping his wife. Doing inventory? Making sure she’s okay? It’s kind of sweet.
Not necessary. Apparently, I have a restraining order against him.
Jacob
Still married?
Name?
We never talked about him? Before?
No, but we’re going to.
I swallow. I don’t know what there is to talk about. I don’t reply, and he doesn’t push. The time has passed quickly, the little counter ticking down to the start of the fourth period.
I’m actually anxious for them.
The Titans, that is. There’s this energy in the arena that only picked up in the last few minutes of the third period when they drew even with the Guardians’ score.
Now it’s tied, and my heart is in my throat.
“Do you feel this at every game?” I ask Lucy.
The roar of the crowd as the players re-emerge interrupts her answer, but she nods emphatically.
“It’s addictive, isn’t it?”
Is it?
I ponder that. I suppose, in a way, living for the excitement of the game, the rush of the tied score—or even better, when your team is on the verge of winning—would be indulgent. That’s why people buy season tickets, right? To experience a sort of high.
Jacob comes out, his mouth guard hanging out. He finds me in the crowd and waves. It draws attention, and I instinctively sink lower in my seat. I glare at him through the glass as he passes, but his smirk just widens.
The game resumes.
I can’t take the stress. It builds in my throat, and I have to cover my mouth with both hands. If I didn’t have glasses, my eyes would be covered, too.
The time ticks down. After a certain point, the crowd gets on their feet and stays up. I rise, too. Lucy and Theo, on either side of me, are screaming at their team.
Jacob gets the puck. He takes it down the far side of the rink, racing toward the Guardians’ goalie. It’s practically one-on-one, with the other players surging to catch him. He shoots, and my heart stops.
The puck slips just under the goalie’s leg pad and into the net.
They won. They’re not out of this race, not out of the playoffs.
Lucy slaps my back. “On to game seven,” she crows. “We better see you in NYC.”
