Page 116 of On the Power Play

“I always get emotional during the national anthem,” Leslie said, noticing Delia swiping at her cheeks. Delia didn’t feel the need to explain herself. She nodded and clapped as the arena erupted with cheers and the pump-up music started back up.

She slipped her phone back in her purse and hid her face as she sat. It felt wrong to have two borderline spiritual epiphanies sitting in a suite at a hockey game. Without beer and before the whistle even blew.

Yet there it was.

Her camera lens that had pointed straight at herself shifted, and suddenly it was pointing . . . everywhere else. She wanted to be like a hockey player. The skating wasn’t going to happen, but she could gear up.

She would be a better friend. She’d spend more time worrying about what she could do with her platform instead of complaining about how it wasn’t big enough yet. Who gave a rat’s ass if someone made a fake porno of her? It had happened to so many women before her, and she needed to say something instead of shrinking back and hoping it faded into the ether of the internet.

She needed to stop being afraid and trust herself.

If you love, you love. If you hurt, you hurt.

Delia stood and cheered with the rest of Jack’s family as the Blizzard won the face-off. She still didn’t understand half the rules of the sport, but it was easy to take her cues from Jack’s parents. As she went to sit down, Clara motioned for her to come over and join them, so she did.

They chatted through the first period. Clara filled her in on how Oscar had been insistent they drive to the south side for donairs at a place called High Voltage. After his dramatic retelling of their culinary experience, Oscar refused to let Delia get up for water until she agreed to try one on the way back to Calgary.

Midway through the period, the Blizzard had a power play. Thanks to Jack, Delia knew what that was and cheered as loud as anyone when Gaudreau snagged a pass from Tkachuk and slipped it in the left side of the net.

Jack saw his first ice directly after the goal, and Delia’s whole body buzzed like it was connected to a power outlet. She silently pleaded for him to play well and not get injured, but also to not be disappointed if nothing amazing happened because he still played a solid shift, and her thoughts and pleas became so jumbled she was sure that if there was a higher power listening, he’d turned off her channel entire paragraphs before she actually got to the point.

She needn’t have been worried. Jack was the glue between the offence and defence. Always breaking up the charges from the Oilers and there to receive the puck anytime the defence sent it past the blue line.

Delia screamed her voice raw when he got slammed into the boards, then cheered until she couldn’t breathe when he assisted the Blizzards’ second goal at the beginning of the second period.

It was two to one heading into the third. Delia thought it was probably a good time to take up a nail-biting habit, but thankfully her gels prevented her from taking the plunge. Instead, she gripped the chair arms like a cat hanging from a tree branch. When the Oilers scored in the first minute and a half, she might have left fingertip bruises on Clara’s arm.

“They have to shut down Merc and Holden in the middle,” Oscar muttered as he got up for another beer.

Clara kept her hands clasped and her fingers steepled as Jack skated back to the bench. “C’mon, c’mon.”

Someone tapped Delia’s shoulder, and she turned with the ferocity of a she-bear. “What?”

Alvin nearly stumbled as he jumped back on the stair. “Sorry. I wanted to let you know if you’d like to meet Jack after the game?—”

“Yes.” Delia shot up, searching for her purse and the coat he’d given her. Jack’s dad reached onto her previous seat and handed her the bundle. “Thank you. It was wonderful to meet you both.” She turned, then froze midstep. “Wait . . . do you want to come, too?”

Leslie looked up. “To meet Jack?”

Delia nodded. “You said you wanted to surprise him, right?”

Clara stood and clapped her hands together. “Yes! That would be so perfect!”

Leslie and Marc grabbed their things and made sure to put their plates and cups in the garbage can before following Delia, Alvin, and Mary out the door to the private elevator.

“Are we going to miss the rest of the game?” Marc muttered to his wife behind her, and Delia smirked.

Alvin took them to an area similar to where she’d waited when she sang the national anthem in the Saddledome. They could see the ice and the player benches. Marc was as wide-eyed as a bush baby when he realized he’d get to hear the coaches and watch the shift subs.

Delia clung to Mary’s hand as the minutes ticked down. The Oilers scored with less than three minutes left, and Delia’s heart sank to her knees. “No! They have to win this! They can’t be done just like that!” She snapped her fingers, and Alvin gave her a curious look.

“They won’t be done. They’ll still play again on Wednesday night.”

Delia blinked. Right. Playoffs. It wasn’t like her high school battle of the bands where you had one shot and then you were out. “Mmhmm. I know that. I just thought . . . it would be a lot better if they won the first game.”

Mary snorted, and Delia elbowed her. The Blizzards battled to the end and even pulled their goalie in the last minute, but when the horn blasted, the score was three to two, Edmonton.

“Alright, come with me. We’ll wait right outside the dressing room.” Alvin and two other security guards led them to an area that would’ve made an excellent tornado shelter. Delia had to work to keep out thoughts of the whole arena crumbling and crushing her with concrete pillars.

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