“What should we do for dinner tonight?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Hailey
Marissa
I’ll pick you up for the game. That way you don’t have to fight for parking, and you can just ride home with Chalmers
Okay. Sounds good
The Emeralds’first preseason home game is tonight. They had another game a couple days ago in Canada, but they’re home for the next two before hitting the road again for the last three preseason games before the season gets started.
I have to admit it’s weird to know so much about a sports schedule. Growing up, I knew about my brother’s practice and game schedules, of course, but more in the peripheral way you know about things happening in your house and family. Well, I also knew when I had to go to his games.
I guess, in that way, this is about the same. I’m expected to attend Jason’s games. If I don’t, it’ll look like something’s wrong between us. And while I don’t think Jason cares that much one way or the other if I’m there on principle, I know he cares about how we’re perceived. He’s high profile enough that news of our marriage has made it to the sports outlets, so it’s likely that sports media will be looking for me to be at his home games.
The fact that I get to go with Marissa will help, especially since I know nothing about hockey—other than the obvious that you’re supposed to get the puck in the net. She seems like she’s got a handle on everything and will fill me in on anything I don’t understand.
Even though I knew Jason would be out of town regularly, given his job, it has been a little weirder than I expected being here without him. He was home most of yesterday, though, which was nice.
I’ve gotten used to having him around.
“Okay,” Marissa says as we follow the crowds up the stairs in the arena. “I know you’re not a big sports person yourself, even though you grew up in a sports family.” She cuts her eyes to me. “Right? You mentioned your brother played football, so I assumed.” At my nod, she continues. “Right. You remind me a lot of my little sister. She’s a professional musician too, also a violinist, and while we’re all sports nuts, she really couldn’t care less.” She gives me a small, understanding smile. “So I get that you might not be super into this in general.”
I grin. “I mean, going to sporting events has never been high on my list of fun things to do.”And,I add in my head,afterHunter died, my parents stopped watching sports. I haven’t been to any kind of game since.
My friends tried to convince me to go to the Homecoming game in high school once or twice, but I knew my parents would freak out if I even thought about it. And while it was tempting for that reason, the tension in the house from their anger didn’t seem worth it to me by then. By the time I got to college, while some of my friends were in the pep band and talked about how fun games were, as a violinist, I wasn’t involved in those kinds of ensembles. And none of my close friends cared about football games or any other sport for that matter.
“Right. I figured. Between that and the general curiosity about your existence and your sudden appearance in a relationship with Jason Chalmers—who isn’t exactly known for his relationships—I thought I’d ease you into things with a spot in general seating instead of starting you off in the WAGs area.”
My brow wrinkles as she stops in front of a row of seats and gestures for me to go in. I glance at the ticket information on my phone to confirm what number I’m looking for and shuffle along the row. We’re early enough that the row’s empty still.
“What do you mean?” I ask when we get to our seats. “About Jason, I mean.”
“Huh?” She has no clue that she kind of dropped a bomb on me.
“You said Jason’s not known for his relationships. Does that mean he’s, like … a manwhore or something?”
Her head jerks in my direction, and she blinks at me before laughing. “Oh, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean, all these guys get women throwing themselves at them. You’ll have to get used to that. And trust that Jason’s not the kind of guy to take them up on it. I just meant I haven’t heard of him being connected to anyone before.” She bobs her head in a kind of shrug. “Granted, I’m new to the hockey scene myself—likeyou, my family was all about football. My brother played, too. But baseball was big, as well, and we all watched basketball to bridge the gap between those two.” She furrows her brow and looks down at the ice rink spread out below us. “I don’t know why hockey wasn’t ever an option, really. My dad groused about the fighting, but …” She shrugs. “Anyway, while it’s possible Chalmers has hooked up with women here and there—honestly, I’d be more shocked if he hadn’t—he doesn’t have a reputation in that area that I’m aware of. No past girlfriends have ever been mentioned. And he’s not getting photographed at clubs regularly or anything like that either. You can Google him, if you haven’t yet. I …” She hesitates, narrowing her eyes. “It might be smart, just so you know what people are saying about him. But also, you’ll see some things about you too. Like I said, no one really knows anything about you. You seemingly came out of nowhere. So there’s a lot of speculation.”
I shrug, looking down at the ice so I don’t have to look at Marissa. She’s nice. I like her. I’m happy she wants to be friends. But I don’t think a preseason hockey game is the time or place to spill my guts, even if I feel her curiosity and the unspoken questions behind her statement. “I’ve known Jason for forever,” I say quietly. “But I’m not really anyone special.”
She bumps me with her shoulder. “I doubt Jason would agree with you there.” Straightening, she takes a deep breath. “Anyway, what I was trying to say is that from here, you’ll get a great view of the game, so you can see what’s happening and not be distracted by a billion people asking you questions you’ll get tired of repeating the answers to in about five minutes. I know sitting in the middle of the row is not as convenient as being closer to the aisle, but here, at center ice, you get to see everything. Game play is really fast. If you’re used to football, it can be a little crazy at first. It took some getting used to for me. In football, there’s so much setting and resetting, but in hockey,they just drop the puck and go. It’s like pitched battle versus melee combat, with hockey being the melee combat.” Glancing around, she looks at me and grins. “I have a tradition of getting a hot dog and a soda before the game starts. Do you want to come with me? Or would you rather wait here?”
“I’m not a fan of hot dogs, but a snack sounds great.”
“Perfect.” She stands, draping her jacket over her seat, and I do the same. Since you can only bring clear bags into the arena, I don’t have a purse, and I tuck my phone into the pocket of the Seattle Emeralds hoodie I borrowed from Jason. It’s way too big, but it’s comfy and cozy in the relative cool of the arena. I hadn’t thought about how much a giant ice rink in the middle of the room would affect the general temperature, but now I’m glad I accepted his offer of the hoodie.
After getting our food—a hot dog and soda for Marissa, per her tradition, and a slice of pizza, Sour Patch Kids, and a soda for me—we make our way back to our seats, having to shuffle past people this time as the seats fill up. This whole experience feels luxurious compared to how I’d spend my time in Madison. And I quickly soothe the spurt of guilt at spending Jason’s money by reminding myself that hewantsme to do things like this. Hewantsme to buy food when I’m hungry and have a good time. Especially here, of all places.
“Preseason games aren’t usually as crowded as regular season games,” Marissa says in a low voice. “But the Emeralds have a really good fan base. It’s great to see, given that they’re a fairly young team. From what I can tell, they’ve had tons of support from the beginning.”
I nod along like that means much to me, and Marissa laughs. “Sorry. I’ll try not to bore you too much with sports talk. I’ve been hanging out with Maggie more, and she’s as into sports as I am.”
Holding a hand in front of my mouth as I chew a bite of my pizza, I shake my head. “No, no. Don’t apologize. I don’t mind hearing your opinions and background info. I know literally nothing, so everything you’re saying is new info for me, and I genuinely have nothing intelligent to say in response.”
She smiles around the bite of her hot dog, then takes a sip of her soda before saying, “Okay. Good. If I’m getting too boring, just tell me. Or yawn really big, and I’ll know I’m putting you to sleep.”
