“WHAT?” My consternation ricocheted off the walls. “That was an ass call, Ref, and you know it.”
Peanuts went flying at the TV to punctuate my frustration. I wasn’t totally sure what I was angry about, but it felt good enough to mirror the guys’ mood. Surge skated it out of the zone, Aiden dug in, and boom—he got body-checked hard into the boards, knees wobbling, head whipping back.
“Fuck,” I muttered, sitting upright. I held my breath until the moment he bounced back up, still intact. I pressed my palm to my mouth, heart slamming, fingers digging into the blanket.
The buzzer sounded to call an end to the period, and when Aiden skated back to the bench, he looked right at the camera as he passed. Flicking his helmet up, it suddenly felt as if he were right in front of me, those blue eyes pouring into mine. A wink, followed by a two-finger salute before disappearing from my screen.
I sank into the mountain of pillows at my back with a stupid grin. That had been for me. Just mine. He knew I’d be watching, and that was his way of bridging the distance between San Antonio and Denver.
My heart was still fluttering when the game picked back up a few minutes later. I’d gone through two tiny vodkas and one whole can of peanuts. But there were no rules on game night, so whatever.
Third period didn’t give any mercy. Minnesota came at them with everything, reckless skating, shots flying, body blocks at every turn. Hunter blocked one attempt, then another, and a third scraped the post. All in a matter of seconds.
My hands clenched the blanket, and I reconsidered my life choices. A few months ago, the biggest stressor in my life was getting into art school. Things were so simple and clean cut back then.
Then Aiden popped up at the center line, zigzagged through defenders, slapped the puck to Landon who faked, pivoted, and tapped it back. Aiden spun, lifted the thing as if he were going for goal. I rocked up onto my knees, one fist annihilating a half-empty packet of gummy bears. But instead of taking the shot, Aiden fooled the defense and flicked it across to Landon instead. This time I was ready for it. GOAL.
There was no stopping them. The chants from the crowd almost drowned out the commentators, making me wish I was there instead of here. Although here had been good to me in the most surprising way.
“I just fucking miss you, you stupid idiot.” A third bottle cracked open to temper my inconvenient feelings.
Minutes later, Aiden intercepted a pass near the boards, barely getting nudged into the corner by a Minnesota player. Somehow he got it right to find Grayson in the chaos, who angled the puck into the net without stopping to think about it. The Surge were safely ahead now, and I bounced on the bed, knocking snacks everywhere.
Final buzzer. Surge took the win. I scrambled to grab the spilled snacks, chewing and laughing at my own brand of chaos. From the corner of my eye, I caught the camera zooming onto Aiden pulling off his helmet as he left the ice, and my foolish girl heart lifted, buzzed with alcohol, the thrill of the day and game, and the ridiculous realization that I had a boyfriend who sent me secret messages on TV.
I checked the time, and realized the universe had granted me ten whole minutes before my scheduled call with Aiden. A hot shower was the only answer, because the convention center still clung to me with its myriad of smells and ink residue.
Steam curled thick around the shower stall, hot water hammering down in pulses against my shoulders and neck. Muscles I hadn’t realized were locked up during the day slowly uncoiled under the heat, and I pressed my hands against the tile to steady myself beneath it. The glass door fogged, droplets forming and sliding down, mimicking the little streaks running down my arms and legs. Hours of tattooing ached all the way to my elbow, but hot water magically made it bearable, softening the tension in my grip.
The showerhead angled just right, and I let it pound my back, thighs, even the soles of my feet, until I thought back to the applause in that room, the looks on faces of people I’d tattooed, and how my work had been the topic of discussion. Recognition had never been a thing for me, not on social media or in praise from clients. I’d always been happy to just have the time and space to do my thing. My art. It was all I needed. All I’d ever wanted from this crazy ride.
But I would’ve been lying if I said what happened today didn’t fill me up some kinda way. Made me think of how it must’ve felt for Aiden to get called up to first line. All those years of working for something, and finally somebody noticed. Inevitably, this string of thoughts dragged my mind to my dad’s failed attempts at the same.
I shut the water off abruptly, shocking my brain back into the present moment. Cold air hit my damp skin when I stepped out of the shower, and I shivered in a delicious way as I wrapped the towel around my body. My phone was already ringing. The stream from the shower—and being stuck in my head—must’vemuffled it. I hurried for it and fell onto the bed, hair still dripping wet.
“Hey,” Aiden’s voice cut through the line, out of breath and still edged with excitement from the game.
“Where are you calling from? The game just ended.”
“I just zipped through the locker room, and now I’m sitting in my truck in the mostly empty parking lot. Couldn’t wait to hear your voice.”
“I see.” The edges of my towel slipped a little as I stretched out with a satisfied grin on my face.
“I miss you.”
Heat pooled in my chest and lower, totally unrelated to the shower. My fingers dug into the towel at my waist, heart skittering as I whispered, “I… I miss you too.”
“You sound good. How was your second day?”
I laughed softly, the sound husky with leftover steam and fatigue. “It was… wild. Kind of surreal, actually. Dominic Vega picked me out to do a panel discussion with him. Can you believe it?”
“That’s amazing! Oh, my God. Dominic Vargas—”
“Vega,” I corrected. “You have no idea who he is, do you?”
“None. Sorry.”
I drummed my fingers on the bedcovers, thinking. Then I said, “He’s Wayne Gretzky.”
