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My eyes immediately start searching out Boone but it’s kind of hard to recognize him with their helmets on. Finally, it’s his number I locate—twenty-eight—as he whizzes by and I keep my gaze pinned on him. He makes two loops and on the third, he skates right up to the bench on the other side of the glass from where I’m sitting. He throws his legs up and over the low wall and then his glove is pressed against the glass as his eyes focus on me. “You good?” he yells so I can hear him.
Before I can answer, several of the fans sitting to my left, right and behind crowd in, yelling Boone’s name. He ignores them, gaze locked onto mine as he waits for me to reply.
I manage a small nod.
“See you later,” he mouths. Then he winks at me and turns away, hopping back over the wall and joining his team for warm-ups.
“How do you know Boone Rivers?” an older man asks from my left and I turn to face him. He’s sitting four seats down from me.
“He’s a friend.”
“Never seen a player come up and talk to someone like that before,” he muses.
“Well, we didn’t actually talk.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend Boone as if he did something wrong. I mean… did he?
The man smiles and looks away, and I have no idea if some important etiquette was just breached. I watch the rest of the warm-up, calling Aiden once so he can follow along at ice level and then once again before the game starts.
I’m not sure I understand half of what goes on during the game but it’s thrilling, nonstop action once it starts. A completely different experience watching it here at the arena versus on TV, and I cannot wait for Aiden to see the Titans in person.
The best, however, is watching Boone. I mean, I know he’s talented as he’s on the first line and Aiden taught me enough to know those are the best players. But watching him so up close, he seems like Superman out there—skating at the speed of light, hitting slap shots that fire like bullets and shrugging off hulking players trying to slow him down.
The Titans beat the Wild 2–1 and although Boone didn’t score a goal, I admit it’s complete bias when I say he’s the best player on the team. I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact he’s responsible for many of my brother’s smiles, he helped get my father into rehab, and he’s shown more care for me than anyone has in my entire life—immediate family excluded.
I follow the crowd up the steps and out onto the main concourse but from there, I follow the instructions Boone gave me last night when he called after checking my father in. He asked if I wanted to hang with him and the team for a bit after the game and I readily agreed. If I was taking a night off from the hospital, I was going to make the most of it because this likely wouldn’t happen again.
I make my way to an escalator that carries me to another floor where someone greets me at the top with a clipboard. My name’s on it and I’m given a lanyard pass, taken via elevator to the bottom floor, and ushered into a lounge that’s apparently close to the locker room. I’m supposed to wait for Boone here and he gave me a heads-up—there would be lots of people waiting along with me.
The lounge is set up for family members and friends to hang out until the players emerge from the locker room following games. I’m not shy or an introvert by any means—you can’t be when you run a restaurant—but it’s a little intimidating walking in.
I make it no more than three paces through the door when a stunning redheaded woman approaches me. “Lilly?”
“Um… yes… hi,” I say tentatively, having no clue who this person is or how she knows me.
She holds out her hand. “I’m Harlow Alston. Boone told me to keep an eye out for you.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaim, ignoring her hand and throwing my arms around her shoulders for a hug. She laughs and returns the embrace. “It’s so good to meet you.”
Frankly, I’m loath to let her go as she’s the one who worked her magic to get my dad into detox last night as well as into an outpatient program that is very hard to land a spot in without some pull.
When we separate, I start gushing. “I cannot thank you enough for all the help you’ve given my dad—through Boone, of course. I’ve been so lost about what to do and between you and Boone… well, you set us on a path that feels like we can see some light at the end of the tunnel.”
“I’m so happy to have helped,” she says, taking me by the elbow and leading me over to a grouping of chairs in the corner. She nods at one for me to sit in and takes the adjacent one.
God, she’s beautiful, wearing a pair of black dress pants, a dark purple silk blouse and high heels. She’s an angel in my book for all the help she’s bestowed. I feel frumpy next to her in my black sweater, faded jeans and a pair of slip-on Chucks that were once white but are now sort of dingy brown because they’re so dirty.
“Boone’s told me all about you and Aiden. And your dad, of course. I know that he feels very protective of you and your brother.”
“I honestly don’t know how we got so lucky to have him drop into our lives the way he did. He’s made such a positive impact on Aiden.”
“He’s a great guy. As genuine as they come.”
“Who’s a great guy?” a female voice says just before a curly-haired blond flops into one of the other chairs. She’s wearing a Highsmith jersey, and I only know this from the number. Aiden was gifted one of his jerseys.
Coen Highsmith is actually Aiden’s favorite Titan.
“Boone,” Harlow says and then nods my way. “Tillie… this is Lilly Hoffman. A friend of Boone’s. Lilly… this is Coen’s wife.”
Tillie’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile gracing her pretty face. “I didn’t know Boone was dating anyone.”
