“We’re supposed to be going to the game tonight,” he says, sounding a little nervous.
“What game?” I frown. “My box lacrosse game isn’t until tomorrow night, and our Lancer games don’t start for a while.” At least thirty days.
“The Yeti game. They’re having us walk out on the ice.” His tone makes it sound like a question.
“I don’t know if you’re messing with me, but I’ve heard nothing about this.”
Clark groans. “Did you not look at the app?”
“What app? I’ve got nothing.”
“Open. The. App.”
I vaguely remember Clark saying something a few weeks ago about how instead of texts, we’d use an app to communicate as a team. The old me downloaded the app, but never opened it. When I do, a flood of messages immediately loads.
The hard part is that I’ve been covering extra shifts before the Lancer season officially starts, so I must’ve completely missed them talking about the game tonight.
“Oh, crap. Can you give me the summary?” I ask, juggling a tray of plates as I head toward the back to drop them off.
“Jessa pulled some strings to get us out there. It’s a promotion—get people excited, get them to come to games. We can announce the FanFest event.”
“Is that the name of what we discussed at the diner?”
“Yeah. Hurry up and meet us at the house,” Clark says.
“That’s cool,” I say, “but I’m at work. I might have to sit this one out.”
“You can’t. Youhaveto come.” Why is there a hint of desperation in his voice?
“No one’s going to notice if I’m gone,” I argue, grasping for reasons. My managers have a soft spot for me but leaving them short-handed right now isn’t ideal. Saturday nights are not the time to call out.
“Burton,” Clark says, “they’ve got a guy on the hockey team who’s basically your equivalent. Youneedto be here.”
“My equivalent how?” I ask, curious what he means by this.
“He’s the one who takes over when one of his teammates gets hit. Like the protector.”
Raising an eyebrow at his logic, I hold up my pointer finger to one server waving me over. “I doubt anyone is getting plowed over tonight, Clark. You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t ask for much?—”
“Except for the brainstorming session. And help winning Jessa’s heart. Those were pretty big asks,” I say, grinning.
“I promise to sign something for the restaurant or pay for whatever you miss.”
I groan and stop walking, staring at the floor while I decide.
“What does me being the protector mean when we’re just walking out on the ice for a minute?”
“I, uh, think the crowd will understand your role on the team is a lot like his.”
“So, he’s one of the best players at his position,scoring goals like the net personally offended him?” I try to hide my smile.
Clark groans. “I guess, man. I don’t know that much about the team, but we need you here. We can announce that participants can personally challenge you at the event.”
I don’t say anything for several seconds, trying to decide if this is worth the time to negotiate my getting off work early.
“So?” he asks. “Are you coming?”
