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“So, you and Mitch?” Her eyebrows raise in question.

“Me and Mitch.” I feel a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

“What’s he like? He’s such an anomaly.”

I bite my bottom lip, thinking of how to explain Mitch Anderson. “Mitch is like… eating crab.”

Her brow scrunches together, clearly confused. I start laughing at myself for being so bad at explaining things.

“No, no. Hear me out. Crab looks all hard and difficult… and it’s a ton of work to get the meat out of it. But then, once you get inside, it’s tender and delicious.” I wink and her brow smooths back out.

Mel huffs out a laugh. “Ahhhh, weird analogy… but it makes sense.”

I lean my bucket of popcorn toward her and she grabs a small handful. “Thanks.” She smiles. “It’s so nice to have someone to sit with. I keep trying to get my friend, Noel, to come with me. But she refuses.”

“Not a hockey fan?” I ask.

She quirks a brow. “You could say that. So, what do you do?”

“I’m a nurse. You?”

Her smile drops. “I was a political assistant to a congressman, but he didn’t run for reelection. So, now I’m just taking time off to plan the wedding.”

“You miss it?” I ask, noticing the disappointed look on her face.

“I really do.”

The announcer comes over the speakers and we both look toward the ice as the voice announces the players. The entire first line is announced, but they save Mitch for last since it’s his first game back in over a month. When the announcer welcomes Mitch ‘The Machine’ Anderson, my heart skips a beat. The crowd cheers, but there are still a few boos, I’m assuming from the opposing team. I cheer loudly and so does Mel. Mitch flies out onto the ice, skating in a large circle in the center of the ice and waving once before taking a seat on the bench with the others.

Mel leans over and asks in a hushed voice, “Have you ever seen him smile?”

I glance over at Mitch, who’s frowning at the ice, and burst out laughing. “He does. And it’s magnificent. Like seeing a rare animal in the wild.”

The puck drops and we turn our attention to the ice. I enjoy watching Mitch in a similar way to watching Noah. I may not know anything about the game, but I enjoy watching someone I know. A feeling of pride washes over me as I watch the entire first period and Mitch stays calm and collected the entire time. I mean, sure, he body checked a few opponents, but from what I know, they were clean hits. Not a single penalty for the big man so far.

Mel and I go get some snacks during the intermission. Mine is a pretzel and soda, hers is a bottle of water and a banana. She catches me staring at her so-called snack and explains, “Eating healthy helps my anxiety. You do not want to see me hyped up on sugar.” She widens her eyes to dramatize her statement.

We head back to our seats just in time for the second period to start. Mel points to the Jumbotron halfway through the second and I look up to see the two of us on the screen. We both wave and dance to the music they’re playing. It’s weird, I feel like I’ve known Melanie way longer than I have. I think I officially have a friend my own age here in D.C.

The second period, and half of the third, go by without any penalties from Mitch. The Eagles are ahead 3-1. One of those goals being from West, with Mitch getting the assist. I’m learning this hockey lingo quickly. I feel bad that I don’t pay this much attention to Noah’s games, but I’m going to start now that I'm a bonafide hockey expert.

“I can’t believe Mitch hasn’t racked up a single penalty!” Mel yells over the crowd. “I’ve never been to a game where he hasn’t been in the sin bin at least once!”

“Really?!” I yell over the crowd. I knew he tended to get penalties, but I didn’t realize it was quite that extreme.

She nods and we turn our attention back to the game. One of the opposing players gets a breakaway and flies toward our net. Bruce hunches down, getting into position to block his shot, but the guy slips and slams right into him. They both tumble to the ice, the player on top of Bruce inside his own net. The guy on top of Bruce jumps up, as does Bruce. I can tell there’s an exchange of words between the two and the guy charges Bruce and shoves him. Mitch is there quickly, yanking the guy off of Bruce. I can tell by his posture he’s pissed. Colby skates up beside Mitch and tries to pull him away, but Mitch doesn’t budge. He’s clearly speaking his mind to the fool who messed with Bruce, but he doesn’t throw any punches. Finally, he lets the guy go and the refs call a minor penalty on the opposing player for roughing.

“Goalie interference is a big no-no. The guys get pretty protective of their goalies,” Mel explains, probably reading my worried expression.

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Gotcha. I’m just glad Mitch didn’t beat the crap out of that guy.”

“Me too,” Mel says. “He must be motivated with you being in the crowd.”

I weigh her words before responding with, “Yeah, maybe. But I think he’s working hard on keeping himself in control too. I’ve seen it when he’s working with the kids at practice.”

Her eyes brighten. “That’s right! He coaches your little brother, right?”

“Yeah. He was a jerk at first. But I think he started to enjoy it. Noah, my brother, adores him. But he’d never admit it.”