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Fucking Baylor.
Dylan leans forward again. “The orange one I was playing with today?” he asks. “I thought his name was French Fry.”
“I’m going to fucking shove a potato down Baylor’s throat next time he forgets his name,” I mutter to myself.
Jackson cackles behind me but Dylan pats my shoulder in solidarity. “Violent. I like it.”
Their mom clears her throat at my side and I grimace. Fuck. Forgot she was here too. Why do I keep forgetting that?
The girl with Xander smiles and effortlessly takes over the conversation, asking to see photos of Potato–using his correct name–and the awkward tension evaporates. I learn her name is Emery, she’s still in highschool, but comes to all the home games because Tate and Zac are her older brothers. She complains about being stuck with Xander, who continues to be a dick to her, but she’s too sweet to really say anything he deserves.
I’m not though.
“So how much do you charge hourly?” I ask him, after he reminds her once again to complain to her brothers and stop whining to him.
“What?” he asks.
“For babysitting?” I answer, checking my nails. “You seem to spend most of your time doing that. I hope you’re getting paid for it.”
His jaw tightens as understanding dawns on him. “You knew?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re in my bar every night. You were either stalking me on Baylor’s orders, or you have a serious drinking problem.”
He curses under his breath and Isla tenses at my side. Of course she was in on it too. I sigh. Can’t even be mad about it, really. I thought about it once I realized how Xander was always around, but I decided to let them have this one.
“They said you were going to be a pain in the ass about this,” Xander accuses.
I shrug. I almost was, but… “It’s not like you bother me.”
“Must be nice,” Emery scoffs and Xander bumps her with his shoulder, but before the conversation can continue the lights dim and the music is turned up. Baylor’s mom grabs onto my arm as a sudden hush falls over the crowd.
“This is always my favorite part,” she whispers. And damn does she have taste. There wasn’t much fanfare for the other team, but the music pounds through the speakers, lights flash, and anticipation hums through my veins as the announcer introduces the Westbrook Wolves with a booming voice. With each name and number of the starting lineup called, the cheers grow louder and louder until finally Tate steps on the ice and the entire arena must be on their feet.
Isla and I trade shocked looks, no words even needed to describe just how unreal this is. How did we make it a whole year without realizing how big hockey is at Westbrook? Sure, we had heard about it in passing, but this is more exciting than any other college related event I’ve ever been to. Shit. This feels like something out of a movie.
The rest of the game continues to shock the shit out of me. At least this time around, I know a hell of a lot more about hockey than the last game we watched thanks to all the practices and drills I’ve been forced to endure. I understand the periods and positions now. Though every time they switch lines, it still amazes me how effortlessly they do it. Just falling into play easily as if they never even stepped off the ice.
Baylor’s mom also spends a lot of time explaining plays and different calls to Isla and I and it’s like having our own hockey encyclopedia at our side. She pats me on the knee when I thank her for the fiftieth time as the boys once again all leave the ice in between periods and the zamboni comes out to resurface the ice again. “Baylor was the only one of our boys who played hockey,” she starts. “Even though we lived in the midwest, I had no idea what we were getting into when he came home one day and asked to play.” There’s a smile on her face as she looks back at what must be a fond memory. “George was always such a fan of hockey, he was ecstatic that one of our boys wanted to play, but I didn’t understand the sport much.” She sighs, patting my knee again. “It’s hard not to fall in love with though. That rush is quite addicting.”
I can’t help but agree with her. I’ve always loved sports, going to games, the thrill of competition. There isn’t much time for me to enjoy it anymore, but I can appreciate it all the same. But there really is something special about hockey.
Isla leans over me. “What made Baylor want to play then?”
His mom points to Wells on the ice. “Your boyfriend, dear.” She chuckles at our surprised expressions. “Those two have been attached at the hip since they were in diapers. Grew up closer than brothers. The Davis family were always huge hockey fanatics, all their kids played. Even Wells’ little sister. And well, if Wells was doing it, you could bet Baylor was right there at his side.” When she catches Isla smiling at me and my nose crinklesback she laughs. “You girls must have been the same way,” she guesses correctly. “I can see the same bond between you two that those boys have. It’s so important to have relationships like that in your life. I’m glad you girls have each other.”
Something tugs in my chest as warmth spreads over my cheeks. Isla grips my hand in hers and squeezes. My throat feels tight as I nod. “I am very lucky to have Isla,” I agree and she sniffles, leaning in closer to me. Always the emotional one, I squeeze her hand back.
Baylor’s mom gets that look in her eye as she watches us. It’s one I’m starting to recognize when her curiosity gets the best of her and I prepare myself for what it is she’s going to ask. “You know, you haven't said anything about your father. Did he pass away when you were young as well?”
Huh. I guess I haven’t. I run my fingers through my hair, readjusting it as I think about it. “I guess I just sometimes forget that I have one,” I admit. Isla stares at me in awe. We never talk about my father. Not that we really talk about my mom, but I don’t know if I’ve ever really had a conversation about him at all.
Baylor’s mom looks taken aback as she rests her hand on her chest, but I just shrug. “I don’t really remember the man.” I know the pieces are all there, but even as I try to see them in my mind’s eye, they don’t fit together quite right. “He left,” I say, still trying to work through the timeline. “I’m not really sure when. Before my mom passed?” I shake my head. “No, maybe it was after.” I shrug again, defeated but more apathetic to it than anything. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it really matters. He’s not around. Hasn’t been for a long time.”
“Oh, wow.” Baylor’s mom sigh is heavy with empathy, but she really shouldn’t feel bad. I don’t. “I just seem to keep making you talk about difficult things. I’m so sorry.”
I wave off her concern, even as Isla clings to me tighter. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Her look is skeptical, especially when her eyes glance down at where Isla holds me tightly, the question in her eyes, but who knows if she’ll ask it?
