"Two younger brothers and two younger sisters," he said. "And a younger stepsister."
"Sounds like your family was busy," I said.
"We were, but it was good. There was always someone to talk to. There was also always someone to take the last of everything. You had to be quick around my family."
He smiled slightly.
"That sounds nice."
I had two or three of everything, but no one to share anything with, including my thoughts. No one except my journal. Something I'd stopped doing when I got married. It wasn't safe to write down those thoughts. If Wolfgang had found them…
Yeah, it wasn't worth it.
I should take up journaling again now he was safely gone. It was a nice outlet for my anxiety. A good way to work through anything. Not to mention I could go back and read old ones and look at how embarrassing past me was. Only slightly more embarrassing than present me. Okay, that yardstick was pretty low at the best of times, but I was working on it.
The elevator dinged and we stepped out, over to a car waiting right outside the front of the building.
"I took the liberty of organizing a driver."
He opened the back door and gestured for me to climb in. Closing it behind me, he went around to the other side.
"I would have been all right with taking the subway," I said.
"It'll be crowded tonight. This will get us there more comfortably. If you want to take the subway home or walk, we can do that."
"That sounds nice," I said.
Too many crowds were overwhelming, but the excitement of a group of people after a concert was contagious. I assumed hockey fans were the same, especially when their team won.
"If you'd prefer to do that now…" He placed his hand on the handle, ready to open the door again and get out.
"No, no, it's fine," I said quickly. "You're right, it will be more difficult to get in if we go with everyone else. This is fine. Nice. Cozy."
I nestled down against the seat and fastened my seatbelt.
Forrest nodded to the driver, who peeled away from the curb, heading down the road toward the hockey arena. It didn't take long, ten minutes at the most.
The crowds grew thicker the closer we got, both in cars and on foot. Fans walked in groups, wearing their team jerseys or hoodies, waving signs and laughing.
Through the glass window I could hear chants of,"Let's go, Rooks! Let's go, Rooks! Let's go, Rooks!"
I couldn't help smiling along with them. If they weren't careful, I'd be chanting along with them too. I guessed I was a Rooks fan now. I didn't even know who they were playing, but I wanted them to win.
"Hockey fans are very passionate," Forrest remarked.
I glanced over at him and grinned. "I feel like every sports fan is. It doesn't matter what sport, people get excited." Same with fans of music. This could have been the hour or so before a big concert. Although, I don't know if I've ever seen or heard fans chanting, ‘Let's go, Ed Sheeran!’ at the top of their voices.
"They do," he agreed.
"Is hockey the only sport you watch?" I asked.
He didn't strike me as the ‘sit in front of the TV all day on a Sunday afternoon watching sports hour after hour’ kind of guy.
"I watch a bit of football here and there," he said. "And a bit of baseball. Don't tell anyone, but I also like to watch a bit of figure skating." He said the last in a loud whisper, like he wasn't really hiding it.
"Who doesn't?" I asked. He wasn't going to get any judgement from me. "They're so graceful and beautiful." I placed a hand to my chest and smiled.
"They are, and very skilled," he said. "I used to skate when I was a kid, but I was never that good."
