Clarabella just laughs. “She’d be burning that fucking church down.” She looks at Shelby. “Don’t even try to lie.”
“Not even going to try,” Shelby says. “Have you discussed with him what happened with the fiancée?”
“No,” I gasp. “Not one part of me wants to know about his relationship with his fiancée.” I look at them.
“Well, another reason to talk to him again,” Clarabella says.
“It’s over,” I tell them and I look at Presley, who is the most sensible at this moment, “with everything.”
“So we aren’t going to the game tonight?” Addison asks, and I just look over at her.
I take a deep breath, looking at the flowers and the tickets. “Just for the game.” I look over at everyone squealing, pointing over at the white box. “But I’m not wearing that fucking thing.”
matthew
The soft alarm bells wake me from my dream, right before I take Sofia. My eyes flicker open in the darkened room. I look around for a second, making sure it was a dream and not reality.
I reach over, and the covers are cold. “Just a dream,” I mumble, grabbing the phone from the bedside table and turning off the alarm before throwing the cover off myself and getting out of bed. When it’s a game day, I always get a two-hour nap in during the day. Usually, I have trouble falling asleep, but because I didn’t sleep well the night before, I crashed as soon as I put my head down. It could also be because I saw Sofia right before I went to bed, or it could be that I’m feeling in my skin for the first time in a long time. I can’t explain it, but I’ll be asking my father about it this weekend when he comes down.
Pressing the button to open the dark-out shades, I make my way to the walk-in closet. Half the closet is empty of course, since it’s so big. I turn and go to my suit rack, grabbing a blue suit. Taking the hanger off the rack, I place it on the island in the middle of the room that has drawers. Sliding the pants off the hanger and slipping into them, I turn to grab a white button-down shirt. Tucking it in, I button it all the way to the top, then open the top drawer and grab a dark-blue tie. I finish getting dressed, then I run my hands through my hair before walking out of the house and into my car.
I get to the rink and see the camera crew set up there to take pictures and videos of the guys arriving. I grab my phone and walk in, nodding to the crew before texting Sofia.
What time are you going to be here?
I don’t know if she is going to answer me. Fuck, I don’t even know if she is going to come. From the look on her face when she came out of her office before, I’m lucky I wasn’t struck down by lightning. Right before I put the phone down, I send her a picture of a flying pig.
I undress five seconds after arriving, which defeats the purpose of arriving in a suit, but rules are rules. I make a pit stop in the team kitchen, preparing a protein shake before I go into the gym and get on the bike. I start to pedal slowly, warming up my legs, and decide that I’m going to scroll Instagram. My fingers are already typing in her name. I see that she is private, and the little circle picture is of her with three other people, but I can’t see or zoom in. I press follow and send her a message.
Hi, friend.
I laugh at my joke, also knowing how mad she is going to get. I put the phone down as I watch the huge television screen in the room. I speed up my pace, pushing myself but not that hard. I slow my pace before getting up and joining some of the guys to warm up. When it’s time to go and suit up, I check Instagram to see if she accepted my follow, only to be shown that I have to request to follow her again. “Oh my God.” I chuckle. “She denied me.” I shake my head and go to the messages, seeing she saw the message and left me on unread.
My heart skips a beat because I know how good the chase is going to be, but better yet, I know how worth it it’s going to be when I make her mine. I put my phone down before undressing and getting into my gear. The music in the room is blaring as I close off my head, it’s time to work.
Grabbing my gloves and my stick, I skate out onto the ice. My skates glide over the shiny surface; there is nothing quite like skating on fresh ice—I mean, it comes after pond ice, which is the best thing I’ve ever skated on. During Christmas break we’ve started to rent houses up north where the family skates all day long. It’s the best.
My eyes scan the people standing around by the boards, fans holding up signs and banging on the window. I don’t see her. I stand on the side, waiting for someone to pass me the puck before I skate to the goalie and take a shot. I’m skating back to the side when I look up to the seats she has tickets for, and then I see her. Standing there wearing black pants and a black leather jacket with a scarf around her neck, she has her hair loose and looks ahead with a beer in her hand. The one thing she is missing is the jersey with my name on it. All in due time, I tell myself as I wait for her to find me on the ice. When she does, my face goes into the biggest smile I think I’ve ever had. So big my cheeks hurt. I give her a chin up and then smirk at her.