You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey)

by Kelly Jamieson

  “Oh yeah! All the time.”

  “Well, watch for this one.”

  They both stare at Josh with fluttering eyelashes and coy smiles. I don’t blame them. I also love how he’s just as courteous with them as with the boys, and just as platonic.

  We’ve done what I need for video, so I wave at Connor and after a few more minutes of fan chat, we skate off the ice.

  “My shins hurt,” I complain.

  “I’ll massage them for you later.”

  “Hmm. A shin massage doesn’t sound very sexy.”

  “Is that all you think of?” He takes my arm to lead me to the area I can take off my skates and return them.

  “Yes.” I blink innocently at him. “I thought you knew that.”

  I get my camera from Connor and thank him for helping.

  “I enjoyed it,” he says. “I think there’s lots of fun stuff for you to work with.”

  “You’re awesome and I love you!” I kiss his cheek. “Say hi to Eli!”

  “I will. Hey, we’re going out Friday night…want to join us?”

  I think Josh has away games Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday this week. “Okay! Sounds fun.”

  “I’ll text you!” He waves and takes off.

  The sun has dropped low and the tall buildings around us cast deep shadows. The wind is picking up and I’m already feeling chilled. “I need something warm to drink,” I say to Josh. “We can get a latte near my place.”

  We already arranged for him to come to my place after. I know he likes to have plans in place.

  “You can get a latte.”

  “Right.” We start walking toward the subway station. I slide my arm into his and squeeze his biceps. “You can get a nice cold Coke.”

  He chuckles.

  The train is crowded, so we press together riding home. We don’t say much, but we watch each other. He keeps his hand on my hip, shifting me out of the way of other people as they move on and off the train, protecting me with his big body. Eventually we get off at 72nd Street, ride the long escalator, and emerge onto the darkening street. We have to go just past my place to get to a little Italian coffee shop, where we pick up a latte for me and an Italian hot chocolate for Josh.

  “I have so much work to do,” I say, riding the elevator to my floor.

  “What else is up for you this week?”

  “I’m meeting with Harper again on Wednesday.” I wrinkle my nose.

  “You got this,” he says softly.

  “Thanks. I guess we’ll talk about the trip to Los Angeles.”

  He nods.

  “And you have a busy week. Three away games.”

  “Yeah, but tomorrow we play on Long Island, so it’s not really away.”

  “Right.”

  We enter my apartment and get rid of our outerwear, then curl up on my couch with our drinks. Josh gives me a taste of his chocolate, which is amazing.

  “Thank you for doing that today.” I meet his eyes over the rim of my cup as I sip my latte.

  “It was fun. Thanks for making it so casual. I sometimes forgot Connor was there recording us, so it just felt”—he shrugs—“fun.”

  “Good. Do you want to see the finished video before I upload it?”

  He purses his lips. “No, that’s okay. I trust you to not make me look like an idiot.”

  I grin. “I don’t have that worry when it comes to myself. I always look like an idiot.”

  “No, you don’t.” He looks troubled by my offhand comment.

  “It’s okay.” I reach out and touch his cheek. “I’m a misfit. I know it.”

  “How can you be a misfit when millions of people watch your videos and listen to your podcasts?”

  “It’s because…” I stop. “It’s because I think most people feel like a misfit in some way.”

  He nods slowly. “I guess that’s true.”

  “Even you?” I sip more coffee.

  “Yeah.” He pauses. “Even me. The last time I felt like I really belonged somewhere was when I played for the Warriors.”

  “You were a teenager.”

  “Yeah. But the bond with those guys…it was tight. After the accident, I didn’t know what was going to happen with my life. At first I was in denial, but then when I had to face that I had really bad injuries and might not play again, I felt like…nothing.”

  My heart squeezes sharply and I suck on my bottom lip.

  “Even when I played in Texas, I didn’t feel like I totally belonged. Guys would complain about a pulled muscle—hockey players are tough but they still complain—and all I could think was they’re so fucking lucky they can walk and play. And here”—he shrugs—“I’m the new guy.” He meets my eyes. “But why do you still feel like a misfit? You’re successful, super cool, so…” He stops. “I don’t know a word for it, but I get why people love to watch you. It’s…a star quality?”

  Heat floods through my veins. “Really?” I ask softly.

  “People must tell you that all the time.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I guess I sort of know that on one level, but…that doesn’t change who I am on the inside. I still feel like the weird kid in high school who couldn’t play sports, got bored in class, and dressed in thrift shop clothes. I just always felt…different.”

  He nods. “I guess that’s how I feel…different. I don’t know anyone else who’s been through what I went through.”

  “Except maybe Carter.”

  His eyelids flare. “Yeah.”

  “When are you going to see him again?”

  “Shit. This week is busy. Maybe this weekend? I have to call the hospital and make sure it’s okay.”

  “I’m sure it will be. It sounds like he was happy to see you.”

  Josh smiles. “Yeah.”

  “And that wasn’t even planned.” I know I’m prodding at a sore spot.

  His smile turns wry. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

  I lean over and kiss him, letting my tongue lick over his bottom lip. He tastes like chocolate.

  When we draw apart, he stares into my eyes and says, “I was never serious about Cora.”

  Whoa. I blink. “Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you. I wasn’t hiding anything from you. We were done. I’ve gone out with lots of girls…but I’ve never really had a girlfriend. As an adult, anyway.”

  “You had a teenage girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. When I lived in Swift Current. Stacey. She was related to the family I billeted with; that’s how we met. We were together about a year.”

  “Did you break up because of the accident?”

  “Sort of. After I got moved to the hospital in Winnipeg, she came once with her parents to see me. But we were only seventeen, and she obviously couldn’t stay in Winnipeg, and she lived eight hundred kilometers away, and she was pretty freaked out by all my injuries, so…Anyway, it just ended.” He holds my gaze. “How about you?”

  “Well, you already know I was never serious enough about anyone to have sex. Even though girlfriends kept telling me it was okay to have sex with anyone I wanted…I just never wanted to. I had one boyfriend in high school. Then a guy I met here in New York.” I pause. “Like you said, I’ve gone out with lots of guys, but it never turned into anything more. I blurt out weird things, say the quiet part out loud…that kind of makes people nervous.” I make a face. “I’ve also always been honest about my mental health and my depression, and there are still a lot of people who can’t handle that. There’s still a stigma.”

  “You seem fine right now.” He searches my face with his eyes.

  “Right now, yes. I’m on medication and it’s really worked well for me. It also helps to have something I’m passionate about. But I always felt like guys aren’t int
erested in someone as screwed up as me.”

  After a pause that lasts a couple of heartbeats, he says, “Well, I’m interested in you.”

  I almost can’t breathe as my heart wobbles. “Th-thank you,” I breathe. “Oh my God. What a stupid thing to say.” I slap my forehead.

  He laughs softly.

  “I’m interested in you too,” I tell him.

  But I’m also afraid. I’ve shown Josh parts of my real self. But he doesn’t know me when I’m depressed. He doesn’t know how afraid I am of going there again. And he doesn’t know how afraid I am that I could really, really care about him and when he can’t handle my weirdness I’ll sink back into that pit of apathy and inertia.

  * * *

  —

  I have lots of time for work this week, with Josh traveling. We text and talk, though.

  Funny thing is, spending my whole day posting on social media, eating lunch, daydreaming about what to do next, and then editing video for the rest of the day now seems like…not enough. I know I spend too much time working and haven’t had much of a life lately, but it’s what I love. Only…doing things with Josh has made my life fuller. And I miss him when he’s not here.

  I talk to my parents on the phone. They’re always eager to hear what I’m up to. But I don’t mention Josh to them. It feels too new.

  I watch Josh play on TV when I can, although I promised Connor I’d go out with them Friday night.

  And I have my meeting with Harper. She again brings up the idea of making my videos more polished, doing more sophisticated things. After talking to Josh about it, I feel confident telling her that I’ll be making my decisions about video and podcast content based on what I want to do, and some fan input. I’m not going to change what I do to attract a different demographic; I can only be myself. I feel her annoyance, but then I tell her about meeting Layla Young and how she wants to do a video with me, and Harper’s crazy about that idea. And I’m still open to the idea of partnering with one of the clothing brands, so we agree that we’ll schedule meetings with them in L.A. the second week in March, and she’s going to set up a meeting with the New York company next week.

  I spend more time than usual editing the skating video because I keep stopping to watch it. Well, to watch Josh. I have a weird sense of my heart tumbling from my chest down to my toes as I watch him smile at me, the gentle way he touches me, his easy expertise on skates. He’s like a superhero…using his exceptional powers to accomplish good.

  I giggle a little at that. Teaching me how to skate isn’t much of an accomplishment. But still…watching this is giving me all kinds of feels.

  I do a new video—another cooking video. I got inspired by some Pinterest posts and I want to make rosé cupcakes!

  I have to do a quick shopping trip to the market and wine store in the neighborhood for some necessary ingredients. Then I’m set.

  “I don’t need a whole bottle of rosé for the cupcakes,” I tell the camera. “So I might as well drink some of it.” I hold up a full wineglass and take a sip. “Yum! My fave. Okay. Let’s get to work here. Now…I’m all about easy, so I’m using a boxed cake mix. Vanilla cake mix.” I hold up the box. “But we’re going to jazz it up with the wine.”

  I make the cupcakes, of course tasting the batter, because yum! “I could literally eat this whole fucking bowl of batter. But I won’t. Because I want cupcakes.”

  Then I make the buttercream frosting, adding more rosé wine and a tiny bit of pink food coloring. “I could also eat the bowl of this.” I swipe a big glob of frosting onto my finger and pop it into my mouth. “So good.”

  I have to take a break for the cupcakes to cool when they’re out of the oven, so I send Josh a picture of me licking frosting off my finger trying to look sexy but probably just looking dorky, then work on emails for a while. Emails kill me; I try to stay on top of them, but man, they just never end.

  Josh texts back a string of flame emojis. Then he messages, I wrote another poem for you.

  My eyes widen with delight. Send it!

  Roses are red

  Violets are blue

  I wait for the next lines, bouncing in my seat and smiling.

  I’m using my hand

  But I’m thinking of you.

  I fall back in my chair, cackling. I message him back. I love it. Thank you.

  I’d love to lick that frosting off you. Everywhere.

  I may have to make more…

  That’s an exciting fantasy. Holy hotness. For a moment I’m lost in daydreams of naked Josh licking me all over…

  Then I get back to my cupcakes and my camera. “Okay, I’ve never used one of these.” I hold up the piping bag, making a face. “Wish me luck.”

  I have a few less-than-perfect results. I hold up a lopsided creation. “This is not good. But it’ll still taste good. Because let this be a lesson to us…don’t judge a cupcake by its frosting. It’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?”

  By the last few that I frost, they look better. “Hey, I’m getting good at this! Look at this one!” I pick up another cupcake. “This is perfect! Except…not quite done yet.”

  I grab the sprinkles I bought earlier, pink and white and sparkly, and I scatter a few across each cupcake. “Okay, these aren’t your perfect Insta cupcakes, but hey, they have wine in them!”

  I take a big bite of one of the defective ones, letting the icing smear over my upper lip. “Yep. Definitely taste good!” I give the camera a thumbs-up.

  Okay! I’ll put that all together and edit it…tomorrow. Shit. It’s Friday and I promised Connor and Eli I’d go out with them. I’d rather stay home and watch the hockey game and edit my video, but…I should go out.

  Chapter 21

  Josh

  We’re not practicing Saturday after we get back, but we’re watching game video at the practice facility, and I’m going to work out while I’m there. The only times I’ve been to the Westchester County facility, I’ve been a passenger. Today I’m going to drive myself and hopefully I don’t get lost.

  The state-of-the-art facility has tiered rooms with high-back theater-style seats for watching video. We go over a bunch of tape from last night’s game in Philadelphia and the game the night before in Montreal. I cringe in my seat when watching a couple of power plays where I’m on the ice with Bergie, JBo, Brando, and Millsy when Millsy completely misses a rebound.

  “Okay,” Coach says, the video paused. “The play starts high in the middle of the zone…here. Josh takes a shot from the point through a double screen. When the puck is high, you want the player in the middle”—he gestures at JBo—“and the player in front of the net slightly staggered. With that and their penalty killers, the goalie has no hope of seeing the puck. Hit the net and play the rebounds.”

  He goes on and reviews other stuff, and I relax a little. Until he tells me he wants to see me in his office after the meeting.

  Great.

  I trudge in there and slide the door shut. Taking a seat, I try not to fidget.

  Coach meets my eyes. “What’s up with you and Easton?”

  I swallow. “Um, what do you mean?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. Weirdly, this reminds me of my dad when I was a kid. He never let me get away with shit, and I could never lie to him. “You know what I mean.”

  I rub my face and sigh. “Okay. But honestly, I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “I know your history.”

  I nod slowly. Of course he does.

  “You’d think that being involved in a tragedy like that would bond a couple of guys. A shared experience no one else has ever gone through.”

  “You’d think,” I say, with a touch of bitterness. “But not always, I guess. Some guys don’t care about the others who were involved. They only care about themselves and their own career.”

&nbs
p; “I assume you’re talking about Easton and not yourself.”

  “Well…yeah.” Duh.

  His face is impassive as he stares me down. “You two don’t talk. I’ve noticed.”

  Shit. I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal if it affects your play.”

  I resist the impulse to defend myself. I’ve been working my ass off. But…deep down inside I have to admit that Millsy and I don’t communicate very well. On the ice or off. I don’t care about off the ice. But on the ice matters.

  “Okay,” Coach says. “You two don’t have to be best buddies, but you have to play together. I’ve brought this to your attention. I expect you to deal with it.”

  “That’s fair.” I appreciate that he’s treating us like adults. Even though maybe we’re not totally acting like adults. “Thanks, Coach.”

  I rise and leave his office, heading to the locker room to change for a workout.

  I replay that whole conversation about a dozen times as I punish my body with grueling workout moves until I’m dripping sweat, my clothes soaked, my eyes stinging. I go from denial to annoyed (with Coach and with Millsy), to defensive, and then to annoyed with myself. I think about how I can do things differently. Millsy and I need to talk more on the ice.

  Is Millsy getting the same lecture? If so, it won’t come as a complete shock if I approach him tomorrow to tell him that.

  I can do it. I’m a warrior.

  * * *

  —

  Leaving our Saturday night plans in Sara’s hands terrifies me even more than talking to Easton. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but…things have a way of going off the rails around her. She did tell me that we’re going for a fun dinner at a place in the West Village with her friends—Connor and Eli, Kamal and Sunny. Considering how the poetry reading went, I’m apprehensive.

  She insisted we meet at the Times Square–42nd Street subway station. I get there early because I’m still not sure how long it takes to get places, so I wander around aimlessly, watching the crowds for her. Then she texts me that she’s here, and I still can’t find her.