They are great seats. Center ice. Right behind the glass. The perfect view of the game andevery player.Both teams are lined up, waiting for the National Anthem to be performed, and I breathe out a small sigh of relief that I made it before the start of the game. My eyes survey the players in red first, and I immediately find Everett.
For a split second, my heart stops and my breath catches. He has the same hair and beard from the photo. I remember him being tall, but in his skates he’s even taller. His bulky uniform and pads leave a lot to the imagination, but I know I wouldn’t have to think too hard to picture what he looks like under all of it—perfectly sculpted body, slutty thigh tattoo that made me weak, and a small trail of hair leading straight to his…
“Where’s Raph?” my sister asks, interrupting the thoughts I know I shouldn’t be having.
“He’s number seven,” I say, gesturing absently toward the line of players wearing purple and black.
Raph is just shy of six feet—a fact he absolutely hates. He has light skin, dark hair and eyes, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a beard. He’s handsome, but sometimes it feels like that’s all he is.
“And what’s Everett’s number?”
“Eleven.”
Andi begins to laugh, popping a few peanut M&Ms into her mouth. “Tonight’s going to be interesting isn’t it?”
“Just because I know his number doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it doesn’t,” she deadpans, shaking her head. “Oh, look it’s you!” My sister points to a large screen where a photo from the “Waltz Of The Snowflakes” scene is displayed advertisingThe Nutcracker.
“I didn’t know they had an ad here,” I say.
“So, now that you’ve been moved up to Sugar Plum, are you going to have to do both roles?”
“No. My understudy will take over for me, and I’ll takeover for Marie.”
“That’s so exciting! How are you feeling about the switch?”
“Nervous, but really excited. I’ve wanted this role since I can remember, so the fact that I finally got it, and I get to perform it in the Christmas show, feels unreal. I just hope I do it justice.”
“You will.” She smiles and pops a couple more pieces of candy into her mouth.
The announcer comes over the loud speaker and introduces the performer who will be singing the National Anthem tonight, and cheers roll through the arena. We stand, and my feet ache as the singer belts out each line of the song, holding a few of the notes longer than she should.
I really should’ve opted for a more sensible shoe.
When it’s over, the crowd erupts and a hype video with loud music begins to play from the jumbotron. Everyone around us stays standing, but I fall back into my seat and my sister does the same.
“So, what trading cards did you get?” Andi asks, sipping her beer. Crossing her legs, she leans back in the chair, eyeing the card packet I’m still holding.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I begin as I tear it open. “That interaction was so weird. My cab driver on the way here had the same pink hair, violet eyes, and was also named Stella. What are the chances I meet two people with that description on the same night?”
“Impossible. I think you’re exhausted from long dancing days, and your mind is playing tricks on you. Her eyes were definitely blue, and I don’t think her name was Stella.”
Pulling three cards from the packet, I flip the first one over.
Andi covers her mouth so that the sip of beer she just took doesn’t spray all over the glass in front of us.
“You got Everett. I’m dead.” The photo on the card is a picture of younger Everett, back when I knew him and he played for the Crowns the first time.
What are the fucking chances?
Taking a deep breath, I flip over the next trading card. Everett again, but this time he’s wearing his Texas jersey.
Is this a joke?
“Wait, I thought the whole point of these cards was that you got Crowns players. Why did you get a Texas Stallions player?”
“It’s Everett,” I say softly. “That’s why he and I stopped hooking up, remember? He got traded to Texas.”
