by Tijan
I beat myself up all day yesterday, going back and forth if I did the right thing.
I still didn’t know.
Ever been so scared that you were paralyzed? Where your mind and heart were conflicted? One saying stay and hide, be safe, and the other saying don’t be a weasel and grow a pair? I was both, but hockey was my thing. I loved the game ever since learning Cut was its star, so I was here, just like all the times before. It had become my tradition to come to their games, some of the few hours I stepped away from the kitchen no matter what time the games were. This time, I knew Dean was here. I didn’t know if he was in the stands or in the suites, but it didn’t matter.
My usual seatmates were starting to arrive, and I settled back because the players were coming out for warm-ups.
“Oh, dearie.” Maisie leaned over to me, nudging me with her elbow and a nod to the ice. “Your boy is in a mood today, isn’t he?”
Maisie, Otis, and JJ were the other ‘regular’ ticket holders who sat with me.
They fully knew I had a long-standing crush on Cut Ryder.
Maisie and Otis were married, a retired couple, and they were as religious about coming to these games as I was. JJ was younger than them, but older than me. She wasn’t as regular as we were, but she was a strong second runner-up.
“I know.” He hadn’t looked up when they came out to the ice, and I’d been worried. I didn’t know why. They never looked up, or rarely did. On occasion, if someone called out and it happened to be timed just right where the music and the announcer wasn’t as loud, they’d look up, but again, that was such a rarity.
But Maisie wasn’t wrong.
Cut was checking more forceful than other times. He was cutting across the ice. He was skating around the others in circles and doing it in a way that was almost humiliating to the other team. The enforcer had come out a few times against him, but it didn’t seem to bother Cut. He rushed right back at the enforcer, heading to the box, double his normal speed.
His mood was also working for him.
He scored three times by himself, weaving in and out and not needing an assist from any teammate. Cut’s mood had infected his team, and now all of them were on the edge, a bit more aggressive than normal. The crowd was loving it. Me, not so much. Games like this ended with someone’s blood on the ice. Blood had already been spilled, but I knew there’d be more. A full team fight was in the making, and Cut was leading the charge.
Otis leaned around his wife, his face grizzled and his beard with patches of white and black. “You know him the best. What do you think’s the reason?”
I did, but no way was I copping to that with them. Not these people. I adored them.
“I don’t know.”
Otis frowned, his wrinkles clearly defined. When I first met Otis, I’d been fanstruck thinking he was someone else. I couldn’t speak. He could’ve been Otis Taylor’s twin, a famous black musician, but they shared the first name. I’d seen recent images of Otis Taylor, and my Otis had half his hair, though both had the same blue eyes. Maisie was almost the exact opposite. Otis came to the games in a hoodie and a ball cap. Both were always torn up and shredded on the ends.
Maisie had carrot-like hair, a bright orange and red. A spray of freckles over her round cheeks. They were the couple that while Otis was gripping the team’s program to shreds during every game, Maisie pulled out her latest crocheting project. She’d done five blankets so far, and she was working on a pair of gloves for their granddaughter now. I loved these people, even though the only thing we shared in common was a love of hockey.
JJ sat behind us, and she held the two seats beside her. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes she brought friends. Today was a day she brought friends, and they were annoying me. JJ was probably ten years older than I was. Mid to upper-thirties or even younger forties. I’d never had the courage to ask, but she kept her hair gray. I overheard Maisie ask her one time if she dyed it that color, and JJ responded, “Nah. I went gray early, and I’m too cheap to keep buying hair product for it. I don’t mind the color. I kinda like it.” And that was that, but JJ spent her money on other items. She and Maisie had a full conversation about the best places to vacation in the Ozarks. From what JJ was saying, she had a big house there already. I didn’t know what JJ did for a living, but she obviously did well for herself.
She always wore the same outfit. Jeans. A Cut jersey. (I didn’t hold it against her. His was the most-sold jersey.) And a red ball cap for the local football team, too.
“Girl.”
That always made me smile. Reminded me of Sasha and Melanie.
JJ leaned down, adding as she cupped her hand to mask her words from her friends, “That boy could be my son and I’m up here about to climax. Jay-sus, you know?” She winked, lightly touching her fist to my shoulder before leaning back.
Maisie half-turned in her seat. She beckoned.
JJ responded, leaning back down.
Maisie’s eyes shifted to JJ’s friends. “Who do you have with you today?”
JJ’s eyes turned sly and she crouched down between the seats, lowering her voice. Her breath was hot and beer-y. “I mentor the one girl, and she asked if her friend could come.”
I could feel Maisie’s excitement, but she was refraining. Or trying. She jerked in her seat, her eyes getting big, and then she let loose in a rushed breath. “What do you do? What kind of mentoring?”
“I’m an entrepreneur, and the one is opening an online, personalized styling service. We met through a business networking venture. I’m also seeing if I want to invest or not, but so far, I’m thinking no just because she’s starting to annoy me. She and her friend are more interested in trying to find where Cut Ryder hangs out after games than trying to sell me on why her business is a good investment for me.”
He hangs out at home.
I knew the answer.
I also knew he liked his downtime after games, and then he’d have a few friends over for a beer in the evening. Or he’d go to a close friend’s place for the same. Beer and chill. One beer. That was it. And now that I was thinking about it, I wasn’t any better than those girls because I knew that fact because I’d cyberstalked my stepbrother.
Chad wasn’t my brother anymore, but still.
Stepbrother that wasn’t a step, but we were extended half-siblings? We were both half-siblings with Koala Man, Hunter. So yeah. That’s how I knew about his routine and all.
Super proud moment here.
Not really.
Maisie and JJ kept whispering about the two girls, but I tuned back into the game. First line was back out, and Cut was doing his thing.
Bam.
He checked a guy.
Another guy was rolling up.
The enforcer.
My stomach dropped because I knew what was coming next, and yep. It was happening as I was internally narrating.
Enforcer guy skated in, grabbed Cut’s pads and pulled him away from the boards. Words were exchanged. The crowd was standing. They were going nuts.
Fight. Fight. Fight.
A chant was starting.
And fists were up.
They were off—going back and forth.
I hated this part.
I knew the culture of the sport, knew this was part of it, knew people loved it, fed off of the physicality, but I hated it. Loathed it, and even more blood was spilled. Not the enforcer’s, Cut’s, and just like I knew it would happen, his teammates got in on the fight. The other team rushed in. Then the benches cleared. The refs were skating back to the chaos.
This wasn’t normal. The crowd was eating it up.
Normally at the time, they’d be wading in to restore order, but nope. They were looking up. The clock was done anyways, and we were at the end of the third period. Game was over. Mustangs won three to one.
Otis leaned around Maisie, who was still turned toward JJ, and caught my eye.
I leaned over.
“We’re going to grab a drink at The Wa
y Station. Would you like to join?”
The Way Station was a popular bar that everyone knew the team sometimes stopped in. I say sometimes because only one or two had been spotted in there, and that wasn’t too common. I sort of thought that was a rumor the team liked to put out there so they could go to their actual spot, or that they just let the bar run with it while everyone went home to their wives and girlfriends, if they had them.
Either way, it wasn’t the first time I’d gone with Otis and Maisie, and today was a day I didn’t want to head home and be by myself. Home would be where I would be alone with my thoughts and those thoughts, as was inevitable, would go to where I didn’t want them to go to: a certain hockey player. I’d come a long way from years of therapy and meds, but my brain still wandered, and no amount of medication or techniques could control that all the time.
So, because of that, I nodded, and because I was nodding at Otis, I didn’t realize what was about to happen. And what was about to happen was a loud screech from behind me.
“CUT, WE WANT YOUR PHONE NUMBER!”
I cringed, shooting both of JJ’s seatmates a glare, but then icy dread settled in my bones because I knew what I was about to be confronted with.
I turned, in slow motion, and he was heading into the tunnel, just below us. His gaze was up. He had stopped, holding a helmet in one hand and his stick in the other, and he was looking up at us.
At me.
Correction. Me. All me.
His gaze was solidly on mine, and as our eyes connected, his got bigger a fraction of an inch at the same time I wished I could’ve shrunk into my seat.
Damn.
Damn!
He was all sweaty and dirty, and fierce.
I felt punched in the windpipes, just looking at him looking at me—and the way he was looking at me. As if he was seeing me naked. Well, he had, but he was seeing so much of me in that moment, all of my truths, that I shifted and ducked my head down.
His gaze narrowed, switching to something beside me, and then he went into the tunnel.
Maisie and JJ were fully staring at me.
JJ’s seatmates? They were going crazy.
“He was looking at me!”
The friend. “No way. Me. I just jizzed in my pants.” A beat. “Sorry, old man.”
Both cracked up, and Otis turned to stare at them.
JJ cursed under her breath. “Respect.”
They both quieted, and I was going out on a limb and guessing that that comment cemented the fact that JJ was not going to invest in that girl’s business venture.
The game was done.
People were standing up, getting ready to leave. Some were chatting. Some were sprinting for the bathrooms. Most of the players were off the ice. The last of the coaches were bringing up the rear. All the while, I didn’t move.
Neither did JJ. Neither did Maisie. Neither did Otis.
All three were staring right at me.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “What?”
JJ raised an eyebrow, a curl of gray hair falling over her face. She let it be. “You know, Girl.”
Maisie’s face was flushed, and she was gripping those crocheted gloves to her chest. “You have something to tell us?” She said it in a hushed voice, a voice that told me she was also speechless.
Otis’s eyes were narrowed, and he tilted his head to the side, but he didn’t add his two cents. I think he knew that nothing needed to be said.
It was then that I noticed a familiar figure breaking from the crowd. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Of him, but he kept drawing closer. His head was down. He was in jeans and a nice sweatshirt, one of Cut’s. He was wearing a ball cap, too. His phone was out, in hand, and he was looking at the seats, then back to his phone. He kept doing this, bringing him closer and closer.
Now I really froze in place.
He was standing on the top row, just five rows from where we were sitting. JJ’s seatmates had left, I’m sure they were one of the sprinters for the bathroom, so he had a clear line of eyesight when he saw our group.
He saw Otis. Nothing.
He saw Maisie. Nothing.
He saw JJ. Nothing.
Then, his gaze tracked from his phone. He frowned. And lifted—he found me.
It was Chad.
Dread filled me, weighing all of my limbs down because I knew what had happened.
Cut must’ve sent a text to Chad, told him my seat number, and sent Chad to find me.
There was a brief flare of hope. Maybe he wouldn’t recog—recognition dawned and he staggered back.
Yep. He actually staggered back. Blood drained from his face, and he’d just put my vagina together with the correct dick and got the right sexual position.
Me and Cut.
Then his eyes glittered. Anger flared. His jaw firmed.
He put his phone away, turned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stalked off.
Well. Then.
Now I really needed The Way Station.
From: Koala Boy
To: Cheychey
Subject: I think I like someone.
From: Cheychey
To: Koala Boy
Subject: Is that good? What’s her name? I’ll cyberstalk her.
From: Koala Boy
To: Cheychey
Subject: omg, you’re almost as bad as Mom. Her name is Monica.
From: Cheychey
To: Koala Boy
Subject: the cyberstalking has commenced.
7
Cheyenne
Unknown: It’s true?
The first text woke me.
I checked the time. It was just past midnight.
A second text buzzed in as I was sitting up.
Unknown: You’re Chad’s stepsister? Cheyenne.
I was going out on a limb here…
Me: This is Cut?
Unknown: Yes. I saw you, sent him to grab your digits for me. He recognized you.
Cut: You’re Chad’s sister?
Me: Technically, no. Deek and his mom divorced.
Cut: Same thing. Both Hunter’s siblings.
I sighed.
Me: Yes.
Cut: That’s why you ditched?
I paused. If I said yes, I’d be lying. I didn’t like liars.
Gah. Another sigh.
Me: No.
He didn’t text again that night.
The text came the next day, at nine in the morning.
Cut: Why then?
I’d just pulled into Come Our Way’s parking lot and turned the engine off. Grabbing my phone, I almost oversipped my coffee at the same time. Crap. I usually sipped with caution. My favorite coffee place liked to overheat the heat, you know? It burned my throat, but I read his text and felt a different sort of burning.
Regret.
And need. Sexual need.
Not heart need, because I was still clamping down on the feelings department there. And go me because that took effort. A lot of effort.
Six times, folks. Six. Times.
I sat back and typed.
Me: I don’t like liars.
Cut: I’m not a liar.
Me: No. I know you aren’t. I’m setting the parameters.
Cut: What parameters? I want to know why you ditched.
Me: And I’m trying to explain my response ahead of time.
A pause.
Cut: The fuck?
I grinned at that.
Me: I don’t want to tell you why.
Cut: Why?
A third sigh from these text messages.
Me: Just...I can’t explain.
I waited.
And waited.
I sat in my car and I gripped my phone, and I kept waiting because this time I wanted him to respond.
I needed him to respond.
He didn’t respond.
His response came at six that evening.
Cut: Dinner.
I was serving dinner to those at the shelter, felt my phone buzz, and ste
pped away from the line. There was a volunteer helping out, so I headed for my office and read his text.
Me: ?
Cut: Explain over dinner.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say, but I was feeling things. I was doing all sorts of feeling. My heart was starting to pound in my chest. My hands got clammy.
He wanted to still see me?
I didn’t know how I felt. A wave of relief, but nerves all jumbled together.
Cut: You are the one who rolled out of my bed.
A fourth sigh.
Me: Fine. When for dinner?
Cut: Thursday night. We’re away, then volunteer at your place Wednesday and Thursday. I can do that night and I’m on the road again this weekend.
My stomach started doing somersaults because whoa. I’d get to see him three times this week. A group of them were volunteering for the brunch shift, and they had a home game on Thursday.
Cut: After the game that night.
Then that would most likely be drinks, not dinner. I guess he ate late, probably needing the calories after his game.
I already knew what I was going to say, hence the sweaty palms and the hitch that turned into a wheeze in my breathing, and I could’ve pulled my own hair out from the nerves. So. Many. Feelings! It was almost too much and this was just over texting. Hence, why I rolled and ran that morning.
Me: Fine.
Cut: You’ll be at the game? Or that last game was a fluke?
Me: Yes. I’ll be there. Same seats.
Cut: Get a ride there. I’ll drive us after.
Just like that, I had a date.
My hands were now shaking and sweaty.
8
Cut
I had something extra in me at our away game.
