Fake Skating(61)

I couldn’t have him thinking I was a hockey groupie or something, so I said, “This morning my mom told me she’s going to the game tonight, and when I asked her why, thinking she felt like she had to go just because I’m sitting on the bench filming, do you know what she said?”

“I’m sure it was brilliant,” he murmured, which made me roll my eyes because he’d always adored my mom.

“She said that she’s going to the hockey game to support the team. That she plans on going to every hockey game for the rest of this season,” I said, shaking my head. “That she plans on going to the Cro before the game tonight because apparently the parents all go there beforehand.”

That made his mouth turn up into a grin. “Why do you seem annoyed by this? This is what all the hockey parents do every game day.”

“But she’s not a hockey parent,” I said. “Her daughter is a manager just to get the extra-credit points.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe it doesn’t actually have to do with you?” he asked.

I flipped him off.

“No, seriously,” he said, giving me a little head shake. “It’s a Southview thing. Like, everybody here goes to the hockey games—they just do. And since your mom grew up here, I’m sure she probably spent her whole life going to them.”

“I suppose,” I said, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that.

All of this was what she’d grown up around; I just couldn’t imagine.



* * *



The Doug felt very different on game night.

The place was electric, packed to the rafters, with music playing, a rowdy student section, and adults everywhere dressed in maroon and white.

Alec was right—it was a community thing.

I set up the camera, and as I waited for everything to start, I was a little shocked by the number of familiar faces I already knew. We’d justmoved there, so it was wild that I recognized anyone at all.

But I could see all the guys who’d been at Alec’s house the night we got to Southview, sitting with people I assumed were their wives and children. And all the adults who’d been at Vinny’s the night before were sitting together—the hockey parents—and that group looked just as rowdy as the student section.

I could see my mom, sitting beside Sarah, Big John, and the twins (who were wearing adorable little number-seven hockey jerseys), and she looked like she was one of them, like she’d always been a part of this.

I forced my eyes in the other direction, not sure how I felt about that.

Because it looked right for her, if I was being honest, like this was where she was supposedto be, but that felt disloyal to my dad, the one who’d taken her away from all this.

My dad, who’d texted me twice since our call, and I’d yet to respond.

Dad: We still need to have that conversation—please text me your availability, kiddo.

Dad: I’d appreciate a response. I AM the one paying for your phone, Daniella.

I knew I needed to respond, but every time I tried, I ended up writing multiple paragraphs that I ultimately deleted because I knew he’d find them too emotional.

And I was too scared to call him.

Man, I’m losing it.

Thankfully, when the puck dropped, I had no choice but to snap out of my own head.

Because the game was unreal. It was a lightning-fast back-and-forth that had me on the edge of my seat, my eyes struggling to keep up with the speed of that little black puck.

And Alec was a sight to behold.

If he was intense at practice, he was sublimein a game. He was insanely physical with the other team, slamming into players as he got his stick in there and fought for the puck like his life depended on it. He got sent to the penalty box twice, although the crowd definitely thought the second time was unwarranted.

My heart was in my throat, and I felt a little emotional—in a good way—while watching him kick ass on the ice.

I was proud of my little friend Alec, who was a certified hockey god.

Southview won by two, and Alec had two assists—in addition to a goal that made me scream so loud my throat hurt.

I’d never had so much fun watching a sporting event in my entire life.

Who was I turning into?

After the game, I found my mom near the locker room with Sarah, Big John, the twins, and a couple of John’s friends.

“What’d you think of your first game, kid?” Big John asked, and I found it adorable how huge his smile was. My entire life he’d always reminded me of a happy Santa, and this was no exception. “That was one hell of a match.”

“I kind of loved it,” I admitted. “And Alec was amazing. It’s tough to reconcile the kid who used to take three naps a day with this badass hockey player.”

“One day he was wasting hours of his life playing video games,” Sarah said, her arms full of the big blanket she was holding, “and the next he wanted to spend every waking moment on the ice.”

“So are you his lucky charm?”

A tiny woman with cute brown eyes and curly black hair—and the most adorable northern accent—asked the question, and she was giving me a sweet smile.

I looked at the guy next to her and remembered them—Ellen and Gary. Big John’s parents, Alec’s grandparents.

“We’ve been talking about how this season he’s playing better than he ever has,” she said. “So we’re wondering if maybe that’s because of you.”