I don’t know how they spend so much time in there andnotget sick. All I know is you couldn’t pay me to go back. I wonder if it’s the memory that’s making me feel sick now? This feels different though. Lessnauseaand morepain. Ugh, I really hope he didn’t tell his parents about that. I’d prefer not to be known as the girl who can’t handle a men’s locker room. As a nurse, thatwould be the height of embarrassment. I can handle bad smells. Usually.
I see the number of the section matching my ticket up ahead and bolster myself for what’s to come.It’s just a hockey game,I remind myself. And Matt’s here. Not really in reach, but here nonetheless. I take solace in that fact and continue to the open concrete doorway leading to my seat.
Matt told me his parents like to sit high up in the lower bowl because it has the best view. They offered to switch to the club level for my first game, but I insisted we follow their normal routine.
I hold my breath as I leave the hallway and step into the stands. I take in the large rink, the sea of black and gray jerseys, and the surprisingly cold temperature. I suck in the crisp air, finding it oddly refreshing. I can see why Matt likes it so much.
Glancing down at the row letters, I follow them until I see mine—row P. It’s got a few rows behind it, but most of them are in front, leading to the ice. As I scan it looking for his parents, I notice something else.
There are a lot of people withAndersonon their back. Alotmore than any other jersey I’m seeing.
I knew he was popular, but it’s hitting me just how many fans Matt has. I glance around at the crowds filling the arena and can see his numbereverywhere. I suddenly feel like I would have blended in better wearing his jersey instead of my jeans and sweatshirt. I think of all the time I spent rifling through my drawers, leaving my room looking like it was freaking robbed, and make a mental note to just buy a stupid jersey.
“Ellie!”
I look back to my left and see Matt’s parents and Nate standing and waving in the middle of the row. Their obvious enthusiasm sends a jolt of warmth through me. I slide over to them and give quick hugs to his parents before sitting next toShirley. Peter is next to her and Nate is on his other side. He gives me a wink before he sits back down.
“It means a lot,” Shirley leans over to say closer to my ear, “that you came.” She squeezes my hand.
I have a feeling Matt warned them not to bring up the article, which I’m grateful for. I squeeze her hand back. “Do you think he’s going to get his thousandth?”
“Well, he’s one away. And I have a feeling he’s going to want to show off tonight.” She winks at me. “So I think the odds are good, but you never really know. This is a tough team and the Bears need to beat them to stay in contention for a wild-card spot. It’s a good game to be here for, either way. High stakes usually means good hockey.”
I looked it up the other week after I met his parents and they mentioned why they were in town. Only fourteen players have gotten a thousand assists. Ever. And from my perspective there’s something so fitting about Matt hitting this specific milestone. Mr. Selfless. I know he’d say it’s just him playing smart so they can win however possible, but I can see through him. Setting upotherpeople to score that much still takes some level of altruism.
And I remember Matt telling me they needed to win tonight to have a shot at the playoffs, which I know he cares about a lot.
I’m jolted out of those thoughts as the arena goes dark and a loud countdown takes over the Jumbotron. Music blasts through the speakers and an announcer introduces the away team, followed by the Bears.
I press a hand to my aching stomach and brace myself for my first ever hockey game.
I’ve really been tryingto focus on the game, but the pain in my stomach has gotten so much worse. I know now it’s more than nerves. Food poisoning, maybe? I really hope it isn’t appendicitis. I still feel sweaty, which should be impossible with how cold it is in here.
I try to catalogue my symptoms—a self-triage, if you will—but I keep getting distracted by the noises of the arena and sweet Shirley explaining the game to me. No one on either team has scored yet in the first period. I don’t have any frame of reference for if that’s normal or not, but things seem tense.
She’s describing the latest penalty to me when she stops midsentence. “Are you all right, Ellie?”
I try to smile in reassurance, but the pain has gone from moderate to something far more extreme. And as soon as I go to speak I feel a wave of dizziness take over.Shit. I need to go home and lie down until this passes. Or maybe I should head to the hospital to make sure it’s not my appendix? Walking is out of the question, which means calling an Uber. Or maybe Dev could come get me? Neither is ideal, but at this point I just need to get out of here.
“I’m actually not feeling great. I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick to splash some water on my face,” I tell her. I have her number now so I can text her why I had to leave afterward.
“How about I go with you? You look a little green.” Concern is etched on Shirley’s face. I grab my jacket and push off the armrest to stand up. I want to tell her not to worry, but my mouth is suddenly so dry I can’t speak. I can’t even swallow.
I finally straighten and orient myself to exit the row. My vision tunnels and I stagger one step forward. I move to take another step, but I never feel my foot land. I hear my name behind me, sounding oddly far away.
And then everything goes dark.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MATT
I’m skatingin aimless circles as the refs review a penalty when commotion in the stands catches my eye. As a player, they teach you to tune it out—the fans, the noise, anything other than the game, really. Staying focused at all times is important, not just when the puck is live but between plays too. And normally that doesn’t pose a problem for me. Especially at a game as important as this one.
But the commotion taking place is in the section my mom, dad, and Nate are in. The one Ellie is in. It’s taken a lot of effort not to continually check in since it’s her first game, but now my eyes are glued to all the fans standing, desperate to see what’s going on.
I can see arena staff are making their way over.Shit, that’s usually not good. Movement on the bench draws my attention and I turn quickly to see Ed, our head of medical, listening to his radio and moving behind the bench to get to Coach. They converse with a clipboard in front of them and then Coach looks out at the ice, searching for something. His eyes land on mine and stop. They flick to the scoreboard and then back to Ed.
A sinking feeling takes hold in my gut.
