Now I’m sitting in this arena, watching the game in real time. Waiting to catch a glimpse ofhimand wondering if I’m going to regret this. I probably will, but not for any reason other than I’ll regret my part in this and my cowardice.
When Ryan tugs on a lock of my hair, I shift my attention from the ice to him. He’s smiling up at me, a toothy drooly smile, and tears prick my eyes because I know that this is the right thing. Eli deserves to know his son.
Even if he hates me for keeping the pregnancy and birth from him for two years, he still has a right to know. And Ryan has a right to know his father, too. I messed everything up. I just hope I’ll be able to at least patch it.
The announcer speaks over the loudspeaker, but I can’t make out what he says. Then I watch as the men in blue and white start skating out. It’s them. The Cleveland Vortex. And when they turn around, my eyes scan the names on the backs of the jerseys until I find his.
ABBOTT
15
The game is probably fun, and I would likely enjoy it if I weren’t focused on the anxiety of what is to come and also on watching Eli. Every slam against the wall, every time he passes the puck, I gasp, and then Ryan starts to gasp with me.
Except Ryan thinks it’s a fun game we’re playing.
It’s comical. Again, I would laugh if I weren’t scared shitless.
When the game is finished, and they win, of course, I watch as they all skate toward the locker rooms. I’m not sure what to do next. I head to the bathroom and am washing my hands when I notice a group of girls around my age. They’re all huddled together and giggling.
I do something desperate and maybe stupid. I eavesdrop on their conversation. They’re all going to go out to the back door, where the players are going to exit and wait for them. Something it seems they do often. I hear a few of them talk about how they’re going to try and get one of them to go home with them—I try to ignore that part.
I follow them, keeping as much of a distance between them and me as possible so they don’t realize I’m following them. I’m sure they do. Honestly, I’m not very covert, especially with a sleepy toddler.
I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea. Maybe I should have tried to find out where he lived and showed up at his house instead of here—standing outside of the arena, next to a bunch of women in tube tops, leggings, short shorts, and high heels.
Then there’s me.
Next to all their sexy outfits, I’m wearing wide-leg jeans, a long-sleeved body suit, and I have a baby on my hip. Definitely not passing the vibe check with the rest of the girls here, but I’m not like them. Not in any way except maybe age.
Nervously, I shift from foot to foot as I stare at the door, both wishing it would and hoping it doesn’t open.
With mixed emotions, I watch as it slowly opens, and the girls around me start to scream. The moment they do, my gaze shifts to Ryan. His bottom lip starts to tremble, and I know he’s going to start crying.
I move down the line of women in hopes that if we stand a little bit away, the noise won’t bother him so much. And secretly hope at the same time that we aren’t noticed, and I can slip away.
But that wouldn’t be right, even if I hope it happens that way, just for my own selfish reasons. The men begin to file out of the arena while the women cry out with a shrillness that causes my own spine to straighten.
Covering Ryan’s ears, I hope it doesn’t bother him too much. I watch as they walk, some of them stopping to talk to the women while others just act as if they don’t see them.
They walk out, one by one, and this is when the panic begins to set in because what if I don’t recognize him? I mean, I’ve stared at his pictures online and that one selfie he sent me so many times that I’m certain I could recognize him in a crowd, but now I’m not so sure.
Then, as if something is calling me to him, I notice an almost glow around him. Just like he said he saw around me that night atMidnight Hour.I recognize him instantly. It’s Eli Abbott in the flesh.
The past two years have been good to him, really good.
I think he looks even more muscular than he did before. Sexier, too. To top it off, he has a beard. Which should have made it harder to recognize him, but it didn’t, at least not for me. I’m drawn to him and only him.
I also don’t look like I did two years ago, either.
But I definitely don’t look better.
I’m curvier than I was, for starters. My hair isn’t as long as it was back then. Ryan and his need to grab and tug have made it to where I find myself going into the salon, what feels like every other month. Cutting a little more off each time.
Staring straight at Eli, I wait for him to step away from the women. He’s not really engaging with them, his gaze looking over their heads into nothingness. I take a moment to truly observe him.
This is his environment. This is his life. He’s a celebrity to them.
When I take a step backward, then another, Ryan starts to babble, something he does when he’s tired, and right now, I know that he’s exhausted. The overstimulation of the game has finally left, and now he’s ready to sleep.
