by Abby Burch
“Really?” She looks up at me again, curious.
“Yeah. The last time I had a steady girlfriend was my second year in the league.” Michelle was nice enough, but she couldn't handle the grueling travel schedule of the NHL. We only dated for half the season before she called it quits. I had really liked her. After she bailed, I went a little crazy and went on a bit of a bunny-fucking spree. I'm pretty sure I boned anything with tits that breathed for a while there. Not my proudest moment, that's for sure.
Brenna shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her body still pressed against mine. “The last thing I wanted to do is be a distraction to you or bring stress into your life...”
“You're not, though,” I say, squeezing her again. “I can handle this. But I need to make sure you are okay.”
She's quiet for a moment, then says “What are we, exactly?”
“You mean our relationship?”
“Yeah.”
I release her and scratch my head. “I mean, I really like you, Brenna. I don't know if I've made that obvious or not, but I think you're really cool.”
“I think you're cool too,” she says. “And I really like you as well. But I guess... I guess I need some clarity. I need this – whatever we have – to be defined.” She shifts, visibly uncomfortable as she searches for the right words. “I don't know if I can do... casual.”
She looks so small and meek. And adorable. “I'd like to continue to see you.” I run a hand across her cheek. She leans into the touch. “But this will be hard, Brenna. My schedule is... intense, to say the least. I'll be gone a LOT and for long stretches of time through the season. And the articles today? There will be more of them. A lot of them will say that I'm cheating on you when I'm not. That's how life in the league is. If we're going to keep seeing each other, I need to know that you're in this for the long haul.”
She closes her eyes, my hand cupping her face, and lets out a soft breath. Then her eyes open and they're sparkling. “Okay. I'm in.” She smiles, and my arms go around her as I kiss her. I rest my forehead against hers so we're nose-to-nose. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask her.
“For giving me everything I need. And not freaking out because I needed to know that we're on the same page.”
I pull back so I can better stare into her eyes. She tilts her head inquisitively. “You thought I would freak out because you wanted to know if we were going to exclusively date each other?”
Brenna's eyes avert mine, her gaze tracing the tile on the floor. She chews on her lip. “Well... yeah.”
I take her face in both my hands and gently lift her chin towards me until her eyes meet mine. “Why?”
She sighs. “My ex kind of fucked with my head.” She pulls away from me, picking up the lid to the mayonnaise jar and screwing it on. She moves to the fridge to put it away.
“He must have really fucked with you, if you honestly thought I'd be upset.”
Brenna straightens and shuts the refrigerator door, shaved ham in hand. “Well, Ashton wouldn't commit to me. He strung me along for the better part of eight years so, yeah, I'd say he fucked me up pretty good.”
My jaw drops. “Eight years?”
“Give or take.” She puts the ham on top of several slices of bread. “We dated on and off through college and a bit afterwards, but he always kept me at arms length. I was in love with him, but... he just saw me as a piece of ass and someone to manipulate. I haven't seen him in over a year – not since I found out he has a fiancée.”
“Wow,” I say. A lot of things are suddenly starting to make sense. “No wonder you've been so guarded and unsure of me.”
She hands me a plate with two sandwiches on it. “Yeah,” she says softly. “It's hard to trust again after going through all the shit Ashton put me through. But I think I'm ready to try, if you're still willing to give me a chance.”
“Give you a chance? Brenna, you aren't damaged goods, if that's what you're thinking.” Her face confirms that I'm right on target. I set my plate down on the island and, taking her by surprise, kiss her passionately. I pour every ounce of feeling I have for this girl into my lips and tongue, and I feel her melt in my hands.
Whatever this Ashton fucker did to her – I want to fix it. She deserves the world, and I'm going to give it to her.
16. Brenna
Tuesday's preseason game starts at 7pm. I know if I try to go home to the north end of the city before going to the game, I'll have a heck of a time getting back across Chicago to the arena on the south side by the time the game starts. I don't want to miss a minute of the action, even if I don't fully understand what is happening.
Ryan spent the weekend trying to teach me what icing and offsides are using youtube videos for reference. It helped, but I don't think I'll fully understand a lot of the rules of the game until I get a few of them under my belt.
I show up to work on Tuesday morning in my typical blouse and dress slacks, but I brought a bag with a more casual outfit for the game. Of course, with this being my first hockey game ever, I didn't own anything of the Velocity, but thankfully Carly let me borrow one of her t-shirts with the team logo on the front. I paired it with dark skinny jeans and grey ankle boots. However, when I get into my office, a small package wrapped in white paper with a red bow on top is sitting on my desk. Natalie follows me into my office, obviously having spotted the unexpected delivery. I drop my purse and bag of clothes in my desk drawer and settle into my chair, eyeing the package. Natalie perches herself on the edge of my desk, looking giddy.
The gift tag attached to the present merely reads Can't wait to see you in this tonight.
“It's gotta be lingerie from your mystery guy!” Natalie squawks. “And you told me it wasn't serious! Is he into red? I bet that explains the bow!”
I unwrap the paper and toss it into the trash. When I pull back the cardboard flaps and peek inside, I'm shocked to find a red Velocity jersey inside. On the back is FLYNN and his number, 25.
Natalie is confused. “Does your mystery guy have a hockey fetish?”
“He is a hockey player,” I say with a soft smile. I haven't taken my eyes off the jersey. I'm sure it was no big deal for Ryan to get a jersey with his name and number on it for me, but to me, it's a big deal. First of all, I don't have enough money to buy a Velocity t-shirt, let alone a jersey, because after looking online I discovered how shockingly expensive they are. But in addition to that, he wants me to wear something of his, possibly even to be identified as his.
It's simultaneously amazing and terrifying.
Natalie is chattering away in my ear but I'm not listening to a word she's saying. My mind has drifted to tonight and the fact that I'll be watching my boyfriend do what he does best while wearing I'm his jersey.
Ryan had already told me I wouldn't hear from him at all until after the game because of morning practice, a game-day nap, and then his warm up and prep routine prior to puck drop. Today, the work day just can't go fast enough for me.
The concourse is buzzing with energy and excitement as I pick up my ticket at the will call window at the arena. It's a little overwhelming and I'm not sure where to go. I decide to hit one of the food vendors first, grabbing a hot dog and a beer. They're overpriced, but I didn't have time to grab anything else on the way from work, so it will have to do. I stroll past the team store, where fans are browsing a selection of anything and everything Velocity branded, before going to find my seat.
When I emerge from the hallway into the arena between the upper and lower sections, I’m stunned by the size of this place. Tens of thousands of seats line the bowl-shaped arena. Several flags hang from the rafters, honoring famous players and denoting the four times the Chicago Velocity have won the coveted Stanley Cup Championship.
One of the ushers, clad in a black suit with a Velocity lapel pin, notices my expression and comes over to help me find my seat. “You've got a great seat,” he says as he glances at my ticket. “Follow me, miss,” He leads m
e down the stairs into the lower section of the arena and into a seat in the middle of a row, about 10 rows back from the ice, with a direct view across the rink to the Velocity bench.
I settle in and eat my hot dog, absorbing the scene around me. Fans file into the arena, and a lot of scantily-clad women gather near the glass at the edge of the ice, anxious to see the players coming out to warm up.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Confused, I pull it out and see that I have five unread messages from Ashton.
B, I miss you.
Who are you with right now? Why don't you ever text me back?
You have no right to still be mad at me, B.
After all of your shit I dealt with, we are even now.
You know you're still in love with me.
I stare at my phone, unsure of what to think. I finally type back Why do you keep messaging me? You're with Jenny now.
He immediately replies. You and I both know that we are not done. I'm willing to give you another chance even though you don't deserve it.
My heart jumps into my throat when I spot Ryan coming onto the ice over the top of my phone screen. He moves gracefully in a circle around one side of the rink with the rest of his team. His helmet is off, the longer top part of his hair blowing behind him as he moves. The way he skates across the ice looks effortless and natural and I've never been so in awe of someone's grace before. My phone and Ashton are forgotten about, for now.
The goalie breaks off out of the circle and heads to the front of the net while the rest of the team splits off into two groups near the “blue line” (which, much to my surprise, is literally a blue line cutting across the ice) and they begin handling pucks. I watch a couple of the guys showing off, flipping pucks up into the air and catching them on the ends of their sticks.
“Hey, where did you manage to get a Flynn jersey already?” says a voice from next to me. I glance over and standing at the end of my row are two busty blondes. One is wearing thigh-high black leather boots and tiny denim shorts, and the one who is talking to me has a plunging red minidress that barely covers her ass.
“Oh, um, it was given to me as a gift,” I say, wringing my hands nervously.
“Lucky,” says the girl with the boots. “Ryan Flynn is my favorite player. I moved here from Philly so I could follow him.” The way she enunciates the word favorite rubs me the wrong way. These two must be puck bunnies.
“I would do anything to fuck Ryan Flynn,” says the first girl. I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes.
“Can you believe some chick was already seen with him?” Boots girl whines at me. “I mean, seriously? She wasn't even that pretty.” She flips her bleached hair over her shoulder. I can only nod in agreement and pray that neither of them suddenly recognize me.
Thankfully, they squeal and teeter down the stairs to the edge of the glass as one of the guys from the team stops and waves to fans. I'm pretty sure minidress girl shoves her cleavage up against the glass as the player skates by.
Ryan eventually sits near the center of the rink and starts to stretch. I watch his eyes flick up to me, a smile lining his face as his gaze meets mine. My heart beats thunderously in my chest and I grin at him, pointing to my jersey. He nods his head in acknowledgment and I can't see or hear anything around me but him. This moment – and the connection we share – is indescribable.
The seats around me begin to fill up as warm-up winds down and the teams head back into their respective locker rooms. Two women, a mother and her twenty-something daughter, sit on one side of me, but the seat on the opposite side of me remains empty. There are many empty seats throughout the arena but Ryan told me that is normal for pre-season games.
After player introductions, the national anthem, and the puck is dropped, the game begins with the Velocity facing off against the Dallas Spurs. The ladies next to me, whose names are Theresa and Morgan, help explain to me what is happening throughout the game.
At the end of the first period, the score is tied 0-0. Ryan played a few good shifts but the defense of the Spurs was too strong to get through.
Theresa turns to me as many of the spectators leave their seats for potty breaks and refills. “So this is your first hockey game, you said?”
“Yep, sure is.”
“This section is mainly season ticket holders or families of the team.” She says, smiling at me. “Which are you?”
“Uh, well, my boyfriend is on the team,” I say quietly, not wanting to be overheard. I'd rather not be identified by anyone.
“Ahh,” Theresa's eyes sparkle. “I'm guessing by your jersey that Flynn is the lucky guy?” I nod, trying to hold my smile back from becoming a full-on grin. I've only just met Theresa and Morgan, but they both seem so nice.
“Are you season ticket holders?” I ask them. They both shake their heads and Morgan speaks up.
“Patrick Huff – the Captain – is my older brother.”
“Wow!” I exclaim. “That's really cool! Do you come to every game?”
“I come to most of them,” Morgan says. Her short black hair is cut into a stylish bob. “My mom here comes to a few a year since she lives up in Minnesota. But Patrick has these two seats reserved for every game, so if my Mom can't come then I'll usually bring a friend.”
“That's really cool.” The teams come racing back onto the ice, and fans start to settle back into their seats for the second period of the game.
Halfway through the second period, Ryan is on the ice. He is charging toward the Spurs' goalie, guiding the puck with precision. While looking directly at the goalie, he winds up and slaps it to his left where another Chicago player, Nils Larsson, is waiting. Nils' shot rockets past the goalie and straight into the net.
Theresa and Morgan immediately jump to their feet and cheer along with the rest of the fans in our section. I take the cue and stand up too, clapping and yelling along with them as the entire arena is filled with cheering, music, and the blasting of what sounds like a cruise ship horn, which apparently happens after every goal scored by the home team in their arena.
Nils and Ryan skate to each other and are crushed into a group hug by the other Velocity players on the ice in celebration. Once they break apart, Ryan's eyes find mine and his grin is a mile wide. I bounce happily on the balls of my feet, swept up in the cheering of the crowd.
Eventually, the celebration dies down and the players prepare for the next drop of the puck, so we return to our seats. I notice Theresa grinning at me.
“Your boy got an assist!” she says to me.
“I don't really know what that means, but I'm going to assume it's a good thing.”
She laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “You'll get the hang of this soon enough, kiddo.”
Before I know it, the game is over and the Velocity have won, 2-1. Fans high-five each other on the way out of the arena, talking about how great the team is going to be this season. Even the fans of the Spurs seem somewhat happy despite losing. Hockey is kind of a weird sport, I've decided.
I start to leave, bidding goodbye to Theresa and Morgan, but Morgan grabs my hand. “Aren't you going to go say hello to your man?”
“Uhh, I figured I just meet him at home when he's done?” I say, feeling dumb. Ryan didn't tell me what to do or where to go after the game was over.
“Come on, follow me,” she says. They lead me up the stairs to the main concourse, and then through a set of doors to one side leading to another set of stairs, this time going down. At the bottom of those stairs are two of the suit-clad guys, each holding a clipboard.
Morgan and Theresa pull out their IDs, and I follow suit, handing it to one of the men. He looks me over and scans my ID, then glances over the page on his clipboard. “Welcome, Miss Wilson.” He hands my ID back to me and I quickly tuck it back into my wallet before following Morgan and Theresa through a doorway.
Inside the door is a large room filled with many couches and various chairs and coffee tables. There are quite a few people alread
y in the room, a lot of them around my age or younger, some with a small child or two in tow.
“This is the family waiting area,” Morgan tells me. The three of us take a seat on one of the couches. “We get to chill in here, away from the crowds, until the guys are done being interviewed and showering and stuff.”
“Good thing Ryan had your name on the list,” Theresa giggles. “Although I suppose we could have always said you were with us. The security guys here all know us pretty well.”
A few of the other hockey moms come over and chat with Theresa. Morgan scrolls through her phone, looking bored. I suppose after growing up in this world, it would be just another day in the family waiting area, but I'm completely out of my element, so I look around, scoping out the place and also people-watching.
A lot of the hockey WAGs – which I learned through one of the gossip sites means Wives and Girlfriends - look like fucking supermodels. One of them struts by in four-inch heels and I swear I've seen her on the cover of a magazine or something.
“So I actually met Ryan the other day,” Morgan tells me out of nowhere. I turn my attention to her. “Pat brought him in to the bar I work at last week. Nice guy. How did you meet each other?”
“Uhh, well...” I drop my voice, looking toward to Theresa to make sure she isn't listening. Thankfully, she's absorbed in conversation with a couple of the other moms. “It's kind of embarrassing. Promise you won't tell anyone?”
“Pinky-swear,” she says with a wink. We lock pinkies and both giggle.
“Okay, well, I was out for my best friend's engagement party, and feeling a little down because all of our friends are engaged or married now except me, so when this guy started hitting on me at the bar... well...”
“Shut up,” Morgan says, her eyes wide. “You probably didn't even know who he was, did you?”
“I didn't have a clue,” I admit, wringing my hands. “So this is a whole new world for me. I had never even seen hockey on tv until this past weekend.”
