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So, I asked him to pretend the whole episode never happened, and that's precisely what he's doing—he's pretending for my sake.
Pushing the depressing thoughts from my mind, I unzip my suitcase. The team will be camped out in this hotel for the next four days. Game one is tonight, and the media is in a frenzy making predictions for the series. The pundits are split evenly. Half think Toronto lacks grit and a couple of top pairing, depth defenders. The other half believes Toronto is a different team than the one who lost in seven games to Boston a year ago. This time, we have Ryan—a superstar forward who can score—and we're a year wiser.
If I'm honest with myself, I'm on the fence. Whether or not we win this series will depend on how much discipline we have and how badly we want to win. We need to do more than just out skill Boston. We need to out will them.
"You almost ready?" Holly asks, gathering her cell from the charger along with our arena passes and her trusty clipboard.
I nod, sliding my blazer over my shoulders, absently rubbing the rings under my blouse for good luck.
By the time we set up in our box, it's almost time for puck-drop. The Starlings are here, as well as the WAGs. April Owens waves from the other end of the suite. I think her hubby, Jake, will probably retire within the next two or three years. Sunny Zingle is here, sporting her usual athletic wear. I should start taking her yoga classes. That girl has an outstanding ass. She travels with the team on and off, teaching yoga classes to help loosen the guys up and relieve tension.
"Holly," a cheerful voice calls from the box entrance. Angie and Matthew Valentine breeze in to give her a big hug. Holly is Luke's mom's new BFF. That woman cannot wait to have another daughter in the family.
"You came," Holly beams throwing her arms around Angie. Like us, the Valentines are huggers.
"Of course, we came," Matthew says, as being here to cheer on Luke was never in question. "I'm not going to miss my son clobber the Boston Grizzlies."
We all laugh and make small talk before the singing of the national anthems begins. The Starlings open a bottle of champagne to share with everyone, toasting the start of what will hopefully be a long playoff run.
I'm so busy taking photos of the crowd and the players lined up on the blue line that I don't notice one late addition to our group. When a light hand touches my arm, I instinctively think it's Holly. When I turn, I'm shocked to see the woman I used to think of as a second mother.
Martha Gunner hasn't changed one bit.
She still has her son's dark hair and striking blue eyes, although little bits of grey are woven throughout. Her smile is the same, warm and welcoming, which surprises me because I thought she would hate my guts after what I did to her son.
"Avery," she beams, throwing her arms around me, squeezing tight. "It's so good to see you again."
I freeze, unsure of what to do. I stand there, arms at my side, shell-shocked but recover quickly and return the hug and mean it. Martha was always an A-plus hugger. No limp spaghetti arms from a Gunner. Her hugs were always as strong, fierce, and protective as a mother should be. Her familiar floral perfume envelops me, and a wave of nostalgia swamps me, making my throat tight.
"Martha! Ryan didn't tell me you were coming!" I pull back and scan her face for any anger or resentment, but there's none.
"It was last minute," she laughs, kissing me on both cheeks. "And I asked him not to say anything just in case I didn't make it on time."
I introduce Martha to everyone, and Holly gives Ryan's mom a big hug. She was as much of a staple around the Gunner household as I was. Martha grabs Holly's left hand to gush over her engagement ring, which draws Luke's parents over, and they launch into a round-about version of how Holly and Luke got together.
As the game starts, everyone gravitates toward the front of the box to watch the game. The first ten minutes are fast-paced, and Boston has difficulty keeping up with the Northmen's speed. Unfortunately, Eric Bammer, one of our bigger forwards, takes a penalty and the Grizzlies score on the power play to go up one-nothing. The crowd goes berserk, cheering for the home team and taunting our guys.
As the game settles in, Martha wanders back over to me, a friendly smile curved up on her lips.
"I'm so happy Ryan's playing for Toronto," she says, sipping from a glass of champagne. "He's wanted to come home for a long time."
"Oh?" I reply. "I didn't know that."
"Didn't you? Aside from wanting to play for his favourite childhood team, Ryan wanted a chance to win the Cup." I nod in agreement, not sure what Martha wants me to say.
"And, of course," she continues, "there was you."
I shoot her a look, trying to feign ignorance. She must know Ryan and I are back together. It's been in the news, and I'm positive Ryan has told her. They're very close.
"You don't have to play innocent with me, Emerson Avery. I know your tells when I see them," she chuckles. It's the same sound her son makes when he knows I'm lying but finds it amusing.
"Don't forget, I spent the better part of your teenage years watching you sneak in and out of my son's bedroom window. Do you know how often I had to open the front door for you and pretend you didn't just leave the house?"
Martha laughs loudly as heat splays across my cheeks. I can't believe I'm getting embarrassed about something that happened ages ago. Granted, until about thirty seconds ago, I thought I'd stealthily gotten away with it.
"There's no need to be embarrassed, Avery. I may be Ryan's mother, but I wasn't born yesterday. Your mom and I knew where you were sneaking off to and what you were doing. Who do you think bought Ryan his first box of condoms?"
I choke on a slip of water and sputter just as Toronto scores the tying goal. The box erupts with cheers as we watch the reply on the jumbotron. Ryan did a perfect job keeping the puck in the attacking zone and tiring out the Boston players. He takes a tricky shot that gives off a juicy rebound, and Daniel Drake one-times into the back of the net.
