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I reach over and poke her in the ribs, causing her to squeal. "One of these days, we're going to have a real fight."
The skeptical look she gives me makes it clear she doesn't take my threats seriously. Leia pats me on the back in mock sympathy and says, "Sure, sure. I'd win, you know. I've got at least forty pounds on you." At 5'8", she would have a significant advantage over my 5'2" self without breaking a sweat.
Leia moves on, bouncing up from the bed, and starts telling me about where we're going to have dinner tonight. She insists that it's a place where everyone goes, and we need to blend in with the college crowd.
While I understand the importance of branching out from my comfort zone, I can't help but feel nervous about being in unfamiliar places and around new people. "We should head to the arena quickly before dinner. My dad said he needs to talk to us."
My unease grows as I contemplate what her dad could possibly want to discuss in person. We saw him last weekend, and he had nothing important to say then.
I can feel the sweat starting to form on my skin. I know I have an eventful few hours ahead, and I need to remain calm. I put on a reassuring smile, trying to ease Leia's concerns. I don't want her to worry so much about me anymore, even if it's challenging.
"Sure, let's go."
* * *
As Leia and I stride through the front doors to the arena, waves of nostalgia wash over me, recalling the times we used to watch our brother's games. It's a rare occurrence for me to attend Elliott's games, but I'd forgotten how much I cherish hockey and witnessing it in action.
Rounding a corner, we ascend to one of her dad's primary offices. He maintains another one connected to the locker room, but this upstairs workspace serves the business side of his role. We've spent time in this office before when boredom got the best of us. Leia's father, Lane, has been Willow Park's coach for the past ten seasons. Lane stands as we enter, extending warm hugs to both of us.
These embraces always resonate with me, filling a void I don't get from my own parents. It's disheartening that something as simple as a hug can stir such profound emotions, but that's the reality I confront.
Each of us takes a seat in front of his desk, and Lane dives into the reason for our visit without any preamble. He outlines the two-part charity event the team is organizing, overseen by his wife, Evelyn, Leia's mom. While Evelyn typically doesn't require our participation in her charity work, it's evident this time is different. Lane provides the dates for the first event, focused on underprivileged youth, where they'll have the chance to play and learn about hockey. The second event, a few weeks later, will involve the children's parents, offering them a unique bonding opportunity.
The details hit close to home for me, igniting a longing for a bond with my parents that I'll likely never experience. It may seem futile, but it's an unchangeable desire.
Returning my focus to Lane, I realize he has paused, scanning his cluttered desk for something. After some fruitless searching, he sits up straight in his chair, releasing a few expletives. Clicking his tongue, he reaches for a random stack of papers and grabs a blue key, tossing a crumpled piece of paper in my direction.
"Can you get the red binder from my other office?" he asks.
I glance at Leia, who's engrossed in her phone, as I accept the key and slip it into my back pocket. "Sure, no problem. Will anyone be in there?"
He reassures me, "Everyone's gone for the day, so you don't need to worry about running into anyone. And be sure to lock the door when you leave."
I'm not thrilled about traversing the locker room to reach his office, but I hope Lane is right, and no one's around. I leave his office, arriving at the men's locker room doors in less than five minutes. I say a silent prayer, then cautiously push the door open, racing through the room with my gaze mostly fixed on the floor until I spot Lane's office.
I step inside and am met with the chaos of his workspace. Papers are scattered, precariously hanging off the edge of his desk. I promptly begin searching for the elusive red binder.
When I open the bottom left drawer, I see the corner of the red binder peeking out from a stack of papers. This man desperately needs some organizational assistance. Lost in my thoughts and tidying up the mess, I don't notice the knock at the door. As I glance over the desk, my heart skips a beat when the door swings open, revealing a massive man with dark brown hair, broad shoulders, and a muscular physique.
Frozen in place, I stand gripping the strap of my bag and the edge of the desk, unable to utter a word. The man, unimpressed, repeats, "What are you doing in here?"
Desperately wanting to explain and share a laugh with him, I find myself paralyzed, unable to articulate my thoughts. His gruff voice breaks through my paralysis, "Hello? What are you doing here? You're not allowed to be in the men's locker room, let alone the coach's office."
I'd like to believe this situation isn't as intense as it feels, but I'm currently staring at the most attractive man I've ever seen in my life while making a complete fool of myself. Unfortunately, this man believes I'm up to no good, and I must appear guilty as sin. Leia is going to have a field day when she learns of this encounter.
Desperately needing to clear the air, I manage to stammer, "Well, okay." It's not what I intended to say, but the anxiety has me sweating and my hands trembling.
He appears disconcerted and appalled by my reaction, his facial features reflecting a mix of confusion and annoyance. I take the opportunity to push past him and escape, darting out the door before he can catch up with me.
Once I've put some distance between us, I speed walk back to the offices. I push through the door, and Leia and Lane instantly turn their attention to me. I'm certain my face gives away my feelings, and they exchange amused glances as if I'm overreacting. Unbeknownst to them, I'm far from fine, and they don't realize the anxiety that coursed through me while talking to that imposing yet oddly attractive man.
A man who, upon reflection, is likely a hockey player. It dawns on me that he probably assumed I was up to no good regarding hockey. I can already imagine him reporting me.
Leia is the first to speak, inquiring, "What happened?"
I stammer out, "Someone walked in when I was crouched behind your desk. He kept asking why I was there, and I tried to respond, but nerves got the best of me. I've come a long way in managing my anxiety, but I'd prefer it didn't happen at all."
Lane chimes in, looking unfazed, "Did you get the binder?" He knows how to redirect the conversation to prevent my anxiety from spiraling further. It works every time.
