Page 39 of Slap Shots & Sweethearts

He nods. "Yeah fine. Just thinking about tonight's game. I'll see you around Hannah."

His words are fine, but I have this feeling that it's most certainly not fine.

I reach for the box and unseal it. There's no card or note, so I assume it's also from Beth. I open the box, and inside it is a velvet jewelry box that's a bit bigger than my palm. My hands shake as I pry it open and see the most lovely charm bracelet nestled inside. I carefully lift the polished silver bracelet and examine the charms. There's a book that says "English" on it, a flower, a pizza slice, a pair of ice skates, and a dozen more dotting around the chain. Each one has ties to only one person that I know. And I just told him that his gift meant nothing.

I clutch the bracelet and try to put it on myself, but the clasp is tricky, and there's no way I can get it on my own.

My heart sinks as the realization hits me. Matt went out of his way to create something so personal, so meaningful, and I dismissed it to his face. The look on his face when he left...I can identify it clearly now. Hurt and disappointment. I can't believe I just did that to him.

Guilt eats at me. I have to fix this.

The arena is buzzing as fans arrive excited for tonight's game. There's chatting and laughter in the lines for food and drinks. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs can be found throughout the upper levels of the building. All of it is familiar to me, and tied to a lot of memories.

I try not to think about Matt and the apology I owe him. Which isn't easy as I walk with Noah's family to the suite and hear them talking about how excited they are to see him play. I'm surprised to discover the pizza delivery guy from that night at my apartment is Noah's older brother. He's been working at the pizza place to try and help cover Noah's medical bills. The family has been using every last cent to help Noah, so tonight means a lot to them since they haven't been able to go out as a family in a long time.

I stop by the concierge covering the suite and tell them to make sure the snacks never run out. Inside the suite, Noah is practically bouncing as he picks a leather recliner-style seat next to the glass so he can watch the game better. His family looks equally thrilled as they take it all in. Moments like this, are what make my job worthwhile, and I make a mental note to submit Noah's name to the review board that oversees charitable donations.

After ensuring they're all settled, I let them know I'll be back in time to take Noah to the Zamboni.

The lower floor with the locker room doesn't smell of popcorn, it's cold, and the cement walls are relatively plain unless it's viewable to the public. The tunnel out to the ice is painted in the team's colors. I'm hoping I'll catch a glimpse of Matt so I can make peace with him before he steps out onto the ice.

Instead I find Lou sneaking around the hallway.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask him.

Looking like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, Lou holds up a little rubber duck in hockey gear.

"Did you steal that from Missy?" I ask him.

"Of course not. I ordered more." He grins, and then leans in to tell me, "A lot more."

"And what plans do you have for all those ducks."

"I've been putting them around the arena."

"And people are supposed to do what with them?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I figure it's like those travel ducks people post online about."

"Let me get a picture up on socials. So fans know they exist and that they don't need to storm staff areas."

"Just don't tell people it's me."

I nod in agreement, and Lou pulls out the little yellow guy wearing a blue hockey helmet and jersey. I snap a quick photo and send it off to the marketing team as well as the cleaning staff so they know not to throw them away.

When I look up from my phone Lou's looking at me, with his arms folded across his chest.

"You okay?" he asks me.

"I'm fine."

He lifts a brown, and in a quiet tone that isn't teasing, or casual he asks again. He's not saying it as if he's asking me the weather forecast for tomorrow. No, he's serious and concerned, which slices through all of the layers of 'fine' I've been hiding behind.

Curse his twin intuition or whatever brotherly sense that knows I'm not remotely fine.

"I just need to clear something up with someone."

"Do I need to knock some sense into them?" he asks.

---