He shrugs, pulling off his jacket. “I’m hopeful, but it’s game one of eighty-two, hopefully more. Lots of room for improvement, and lots of room for error.”
“Time will tell.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re heading onto the ice for warm-ups. Music blares over the speakers, and people are beginning to fill the seats. Kids line the plexiglass with signs asking for pucks in exchange for candy. Everyone is happy. Getting to interact with the fans has always been one of my favorite parts of my job.
I do my warm-ups, then look up to the suite to find my family. My parents are in town for the weekend, and it’s been months since I’ve seen them. I grew up in Missouri and came to Minnesota for college ten years ago. Now, it’s home. I try to visit them during the off-seasonand whenever I get the chance, but it’s hard with my busy schedule.
Lydia sits right beside my parents, with an easy smile on her face. She has on the jersey I got her with my name on it. I made sure to get her one as soon as I could, because there was no freaking way I was going to let her wear one of my teammates’ names.
I catch her eye and wave. She’s so beautiful. She entrances me every day, and I don’t mind one bit.
But something was off about her this afternoon. I’m not sure whether it was me almost seeing her with a vibrator or what. We’ve lived together for a long time, and I know women have needs. Just like I do. Only she’s probably not thinking of me when she comes, probably not biting her tongue to stop herself from calling out my name.
But I do.
I think of her all the time. I’ve wanted her for years, but after she friend-zoned me, I’ve been forced to watch her from the sidelines as she goes on failed date after failed date. I’ve always been the one to dry her tears. For years, I’ve been scared to ruin our friendship, but I’m about done waiting. I have no idea how Lydia will react, but if I know her—and I do—I think this could be the best thing that ever happens to us.
Lydia beams, standing and waving back to me. My parents do the same, and a familiar giddy sensation rolls through me.
This is where I’m meant to be. With this team, with my family here, and with the woman I’m going to make mine, cheering me on.
3
DOTTIE ALWAYS KNOWS
LYDIA
“Tell me, honey,” Dottie coos, adjusting in her seat. “How are you?”
The second period has just ended, and the Blue Herons are up by two with Fletcher getting one assist.
“Good.” I smile. “Of course, it’s always busy when the season starts, but things have been good.”
I don’t tell her about the nausea burning a hole in my stomach, or the constant knowledge that there is a positive or negative pregnancy test waiting in my bathroom drawer right now.
“Are you sure?” Her brow furrows, her eyes narrowing. “Something is off with you.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I’m okay, really.”
Ron sits back down next to Dottie with armfuls of food. One arm holds two beers, and the other is stacked with hot dogs and a bucket of popcorn.
“I grabbed you ladies some snacks,” he says, passing down one of the beers.
I take it from him, lifting it to my mouth and rethinkingmy choice as soon as the bubbly liquid touches my lips. If I’m pregnant, I can’t drink. Awkwardly, I set the full cup into my cup holder and sink back into my chair.
“What’s wrong, Lydia?” Ron asks curiously. “Not the right kind?”
“No, it’s fine.” I lean forward, smiling at him.
Fletcher shares so many characteristics with his dad. They have the same eyes and jawline. Sometimes, Ron will say something, and it catches me off guard how much they’re alike.
“Are you sure?” Dottie says. “You’re really pale.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” I swallow the extra saliva in my mouth and try to push down the surge of nausea.
There are three minutes left before the third period starts. I don’t want to miss a second that Fletcher is on the ice, but I really think I’m going to be sick. The smell of the beer was enough to make the nausea that’s been simmering in my stomach all night ramp to a new level. I wrote it off as anxiety, but now, I’m not so sure.
“Actually, I’ll be right back.” I rush out of the aisle toward the suite’s bathroom, but I barely make it in before I’m gagging and heaving into the sink. Nothing comes up but bile.
