Page 87 of The Spice Play

“I did,” I grunted, readjusting the icepack on my face as I stood in the kitchen, staring out the little window above the sink to the guesthouse that Carl the House Goalie guarded as if his non-existent life depended on it. “She just told me I needed to tell her exactly how I was feeling and it would somehow magically solve all my problems.”

“What kind of feelings? Anger? Irritation? Frustration?” Luke laughed.

“No, the nicer ones,” I sighed, a little chuckle breaking free. “I don’t know, man. I don’t want to say it, but you know what I mean.”

“Oooh,thatone,” he teased. “I mean, you could do something big. Literally every woman I’ve been with loves some kind of big, heartfelt confession, you know? Maybe that would be enough to get her to calm down.”

“Somethingbig?” I grunted, flinching as the bag of icemoved and poked me in the most bruised spot on my face. “Like what?”

“That’s for you to figure out, not me,” he laughed. “You know her better than I do. One girl I dated really liked flash mobs, like, to a weird degree, so I orchestrated one of those and she went wild for it. But Nelly doesn’t seem like a flash mob kind of person.”

“Nelly is absolutely not a flash mob person.”

“Then you’re on your own with this, Bluesy.”

Chapter 35

Nelly

Ihadn’t wanted to come tonight, but Matty had begged me to watch his dad play, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him no, not when it was one of the biggest games of the season, and he didn’t have school the next day.

There was no pre-skate today for the kids, so we showed up just before the game began. The Peach Arena buzzed with electric energy, the kind that made your body hum even if you weren’t a fan, from the moment we walked in. Fans decked out in jerseys and scarves waved signs and foam fingers from around us, their cheers already deafening even though the ice was empty save for Coach Casey and a few others. Matty perched beside me, his feet dangling from his seat, his body bouncing like he might just spontaneously combust if the game didn’t start soon.

“Daddy’s gonna win, I think,” he said, his wide eyes glimmering under the bright lights from above, fixed intently on the opening in the boards where they’d come through.

“We can definitely hope for that,” I said, forcing a bit of a smile as I pushed a stray wave of brown hair from hisface. I’d worn Seb’s spare jersey, the one he’d given me before to wear to a game and the one I’d accidentally left in the drawer when I’d picked one out that night in his room. It felt wrong, repping him — especially when things were so tense between us.

We’d barely spoken since I’d walked out on him. I’d made myself physically sick thinking about the words I’d said, the parallels to what he’d told me Taryn had started believing. I wondered if she’d said something like that to him, wondered if I’d unintentionally cut him deep enough to leave a mark, and vomited up everything in my stomach at the idea of it.

I understood the saying now.Hurt people hurt people.

And maybe we were both guilty of that. But even if he’d done what I thought he had, he didn’t deserve to have that brought back up for him.

The players bursting onto the ice dragged me back to my surroundings, and the crowd around us in matching jerseys roared their approval. My chest clenched when I spotted Sebastian skating out, his movements fluid and confident despite the limp I’d seen him walking around with for days now.

“There he is!” Matty squealed, pointing down to the ice. “Hi, Daddy!”

Seb didn’t hear him, of course, not over the screaming crowd and the music blasting, but it didn’t matter. Matty was grinning so wide I was worried his face would split in two.

The sight of Seb was somehow both comforting and utterly unbearable. He looked so at home out there, so confident around his teammates, even though I knew Bryan was down there somewhere. He looked like this was where he needed to be.

“Did you know that Daddy is the best on the team?” Matty said, his little nose sticking straight up like a tiny hockey snob.

“He definitely is,” I chuckled.

Matty sat back as the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the Atlanta Fire and the away team — the Miami Sharks. The game started before I could even process what was happening, the puck dropping and immediately being fought over with brutal precision.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes, and I found myself gripping the edge of my seat just like Matty, drawn into the intensity far more than I’d ever been. Something about the crowd, the people, and the five-year-old beside me made this feel like so much more than the average game.

This one was important. This was a part of playoffs, and this one needed to be won.

Sebastian skated like his life depended on it, weaving between defenders, his focus unshakable. He was entirely in his element, shouting across the ice — it was almost impossible not to admire him for it. Even bogged down with the hurt and anger and regret I was carrying, I couldn’t deny the pull he had, and I couldn’t deny how much he dragged me in, even from up here.

The crowd erupted around us as a shot was blocked by the opposing goalie, the rebound bouncing out toward Sebastian. He snagged it, darting across the ice?—

“That’s it!” Matty shrieked, jumping from his seat the moment Seb slid across the ice. “His forward cross-over!”

I turned to look at him, my brows knitting in confusion. “The thing he was struggling with?”

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