“All right, I have to get downstairs so I can take some video of the team as they take the ice for warm ups,” I say. “I’ll see you at the end of the game, hopefully to celebrate McCabe’s 500th goal.”
After I flash my Rebels ID for the security guard, I take the elevator to the lower level where the locker rooms are and find the spot where I know Tatum always stood to take photos before games. But as I stand there waiting, I realize I could get much better shots if I were closer to the ice, right where the hallway opens to the rink. The lighting is better, and the players will be lit up as they come out of the tunnel.
I move in that direction and immediately realize there’s a distinct disadvantage to this spot. In order to be out of the way as the players come through the tunnel, I have to stand in view of the entire arena, fully exposed to the crowd. No wonder Tatum preferred the alcove off the hallway.
But there’s no time to move back there now. The lights behind me have already dimmed and the white and blue spotlights are flashing across the ice as a single bright beam settles on the opening in front of me. The announcer tells the crowd to give it up for last season’s Division and Conference Champions, and the cheers are deafening.
The players come out one-by-one, each giving me a smile or a thumbs up for the video they know I’ll be posting. But when Aidan steps forward, just out of the spotlight as he waits for his name to be announced, he glances over at me. His eyes land on my chest, where theCon McCabe’s jersey is prominently displayed near my shoulder.
His entire face hardens. “Take. It. Off.” His words aren’t audible over the noise from the crowd, but I know exactly what he’s said.Is he jealous?
That thought has my eyebrows dipping together in confusion, and he must think I didn’t hear him, because he steps toward me, leaning down to talk directly in my ear. “If you’re trying to make me jealous by showing up in my best friend’s jersey, you’ve got my attention. So take it off, or I can’t be responsible for how I play tonight.”
“No way. It’s McCabe’s celebration tonight.Everyoneis wearing his jersey.”
“Except you. Take it off, or whatever happens out there on the ice will be on your conscience.”
“Bullshit. You’re an adult and in control of your own actions.”
“Not with you, I’m not.”
His name is announced, but he doesn’t make any move to step into the spotlight.
“Go,” I insist, trying to push him away.
“Tell me you’re going to take it off.”
“Oh my god, you jealous fool,” I keep my voice low. “Fine. Now,goooo.”
He turns and steps onto the ice, and my attention focuses on McCabe, who was right behind him. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he hasn’t missed what happened. The funny thing is, he doesn’t appear even a little bit surprised. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s amused.
Hartmann and Colt follow behind McCabe, and then the lights come back on. I shield my eyes from the sudden brightness. When I turn back toward the tunnel, AJ’s receding figure is at the end of the hallway. Which means she probably just saw what happened with Aidan also.
Well, shit.
We’re only halfway through the second period when McCabe sinks the puck into Buffalo’s net. Coming around the back of the pipes, he sinks to his knees and slides until he’s nearly at center ice. His teammates surround him, celebrating his 500thgoal, and then he skates toward the edge of the ice to high-five the entire bench before hopping over the boards so the next line can come on for the face-off.
By the time the period ends, we’re leading by three goals. The team is on fire, except for Aidan, who’s playing like shit. I’ve spent the last two periods up in the media booth wondering if I caused that, but also trying to figure out why it bothered him so much that I was wearing McCabe’s jersey just like thousands of other people here.
No distractions. That’s what he promised AJ, Wilcott, and my dad. And here I am, distracting him. I didn’t do it on purpose. It honestly never occurred to me that he’d mind.
I’m chewing on my lip, wondering if I should go down and try to get some photos of them coming back out before the third period, just so Aidan can see that I’ve taken the jersey off. Of course, I wasn’t planning to walk around the arena in leggings and a tight long-sleeve shirt without having the oversized jersey on, so now I’m super self-conscious. But it seems entirely selfishof me to let my own insecurities keep me up here in this room when I could go down there and set his mind at ease.
I take the jersey and fold the top over so that the only thing visible is the Rebels logo on the front, and tie it around my waist. Then I head down to the lower level, positioning myself near the tunnel that leads to the bench. I’m set up with the video recording as the players enter the hallway single file, each of them with hard looks of determination on their face. Unlike before the game, no one acknowledges me this time. Not even Aidan. But I still notice his eyes sliding over to me as he approaches and his lips curving up as he passes me. At least I won’t have to practically edit him out of the footage this time.
When he goes on to get an assist and a goal in the next period, AJ finds me in the media room. “Make sure you post about that goal,” she says. “A veteran player returning from injury to score a goal in the home opener is newsworthy.”
“It’s already set up. I’m just waiting a little longer to post it, so people don’t miss the post about McCabe’s 500th goal,” I tell her.
“All right, good. What do you think got into him this last period?” she asks. Her tone is completely neutral so I have no idea if she’s insinuating something.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “You’d have to ask him.”
“Oh, I will,” she says with a small laugh. “I heard you were down in the tunnel getting some footage before the third period. Maybe seeing you was what turned things around for him?”
“AJ, I really don’t think?—”
I’m interrupted by the screaming of the crowd, and we both turn to see a fight breaking out on the ice. I’m half-expecting Aidan to be at the center of it, so you can imagine how surprised I am when he’s the one holding Jake MacIntyre back, head bent as he talks him down and keeps him from joining in.
