“You never were,” I rasp to myself, and I don’t mean just last night, instead the first moment we met. And I know I feel the same about her.
Harlow seems to grasp the meaning behind my words as she quirks her lips to the side. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Making me sleep.” Her eyes dip down to the fork that she’s fiddling with. It’s the way her voice weakens that makes me not answer her, as I feel she wants me to patiently wait and listen.
Her mouth parts open and a sound scrapes from her throat. “It was two years ago…” She doesn’t seem sure where to look until she flicks her eyes to me. “I-I…” she quivers then swallows, gathering courage. “It was late, and I was walking to my car, when out of nowhere, this guy… he was too strong.” She blinks her eyes rapidly. Not wanting to remember yet, she wants to share. Harlow avoids looking straight at me. “He took advantage of me in the worst possible way. I didn’t just end up with ripped-up clothes. My world was ripped away from me, and my life changed after that. ”
I wasn’t going to push for her to share, but she has, and it feels like a rock hits me between my stomach and heart with every word she says as she relays the events of that night. I appreciate that she’s opening up, but I honestly don’t know what I can say. The rage inside of me is hard to simmer, even though my intuition has already prepared me for how dark this memory for her would be.
She must pick up on that. “The police never found him, and I let it go after a while. Completely shutting out the thought that he’s walking around somewhere was my first step to finding a sliver of normalcy. Maybe I’ve moved on for the most part. Well, I mean, stopped being angry or asking why. Yet the panic attacks still hit when I least expect, and the feeling of suffocation just restricts me at moments that I can’t predict. So, there you are. You don’t need to try to piece the details together, and we never have to replay it again.”
I stare at her blankly, in awe that she unwrapped the mystery to me. “You didn’t need to explain, but I appreciate that you did. Doesn’t mean I hate that it happened any less.”
Harlow dips her gaze down before striking back up. “I never really talk about it… except with you it seems. My friend Flo knows and the therapist I tried a few times only seemed to overanalyze. Why are you, Stone, a key for a lock I thought could never open?”
I reach over the table to touch the top of her hand. “I’m not sure. But I am.”
Her eyes catch mine again, and they seem heavy yet optimistic.
We shouldn’t sulk in this serious conversation for too long. I want to see her smile again and to relax or be distracted. Diversion seems to be my talent today. “Hey, you’ve never seen a hockey game, right?”
Harlow sniffles a sound as she rolls her eyes. “Remind me of my failed book research. But no, never have.”
I cluck my tongue. “Let’s go to a game tonight. My brother can easily get me an extra ticket. I was going to watch it anyway.”
“Uhm, sure, why not?” Her mood inches up the ladder to a barely-there smile appearing as she agrees.
“Awesome, and before then… we could walk around?”
Her smile crawls a little wider. “Sounds perfect.”
* * *
The soundof the crowd keeps us stuck in the adrenaline of the hockey game. We’re sitting where there are a lot of Spinner fans, and the curses at the referee and other players that quickly changed to cheers could give anyone whiplash.
We spent the afternoon walking around, holding hands, because suddenly I’ve gone a little chaste, and checking out Pike Place Market. Then, after heading to a coffee hotspot where Harlow had tea—sweet of her to tag along for my coffee needs—we headed back to the hotel and took a cab to the arena.
“I don’t quite understand.” Harlow is studying the ice where players are heading toward the attacking zone.
“It’s called a power play. Because someone on the Seattle team got sent to the penalty box for two minutes, they are one man down. Which means the Spinners have more players on the ice. Therefore, a better chance to score,” I explain as I look forward, only to glance up to the VIP boxes where I see my brother busy looking out the window and speaking to a man next to him.
“Okay, that makes sense. But why are there literally like twenty people on the bench when only six play on the ice?” Harlow grabs another handful of popcorn from her box.
“Because you never know when someone will get hurt, tired, or the coach needs to swap players due to performance. Especially, if the goalie gets hurt, then they need to have another player ready. That’s why you have alternates.”
She brings a finger up to the air. “Okay, I think I’m getting this. And the captain isn’t an official role but pretty much is the lead on the hierarchy of players on the team. More, a morale booster who just so happens to play exceptionally.”
I laugh. “You’re doing well. I should give you a test after all this.”
Harlow lolls her head to the side when she gives me side-eye. “Truthfully, this is all kinds of exhilarating. It moves superfast and is kind of entertaining. It’s almost like if you blink, you miss something. Although I would hate to be sitting behind those clear wall thingies down by the ice. You’re too close to the fights.”
I curl my arm around her shoulders, and she doesn’t seem to mind. “It’s called the boards, and it’s probably one of the best seats in the house. You are aligned with all the action, as if you’re on the ice. Not to mention, you have more chances of getting a few words from the player when they leave the ice. When I played, I mostly focused unless a kid was there with a sign pleading for anything, a stick, a puck, a wave. There was also an old lady once who had a sign saying it was her first time at a live game after sixty years of waiting, which was kind of cool.”
Harlow gives me a knowing look. “Miss it more than you thought?”
I contemplate for a few seconds. “I always will, but it’s the hockey part which I can still do in my free time, just not with a group of guys that are a team with a close bond. I don’t miss the schedule, the training, chance of being traded, the media, and how it’s all kind of grueling. But actually, back in Lake Spark, a bunch of retired players get together a few times a year, mostly for charity games.”
