“Good. Remember this is between the second and third periods.”
“Perfect,” I say, because that is the word I say when I am one missed cue away from combusting.
“Great. House will be loud. She needs to hit her mark and smile like she owns the place.”
I nod.
Smile like she owns the place.
That’s what I tell Raina.
It’s not what I know how to do tonight.
Because I’m in the same building as Colby Hayes and I can’t tell if he’s mad at me, hurt by me, or already halfway out the door.
Or if he’s waiting for me to say something brave.
Or if I missed the window.
***
The puck drops at 7:05pm.
The Outlaws come out fast.
They’re flying.
The crowd is loud in that electric way Nashville does best, like everyone showed up already halfway drunk and ready to scream.
I keep my focus where it belongs.
On the game.
On the timing.
On the fact that Raina has this great gig tonight that will help her record sales.
Not on Colby.
Except.
I can’t not see him.
He’s everywhere.
He’s the center of every shift.
He’s the guy the crowd reacts to even when he’s just gliding, even when he’s just setting up, even when he’s just existing.
The first period is a blur of bodies, boards and noise.
The Outlaws’ forecheck is aggressive. The opposing defense looks rattled. There’s a scrum in the corner that draws a roar from the stands.
I’m tracking it all with half my attention while the other half is counting minutes.
At twelve minutes in, Colby takes a pass at the blue line and does that thing he does where he makes a split-second decision look like choreography.
He cuts inside.
