Page 10 of Rewind It Back

My entire body is intensely aware of my surroundings because I shouldn’t be here. I’ve avoided this building since moving to Chicago six months ago. I wouldn’t even dare walk the same street, and now here I am, inside.

Brian leads the way to find our section and I follow behind, eyes nervously tracking the area around me. This arena is huge. It’s got to sit, what? Twenty thousand? He’s never going to see me in the crowd of this many people.

But they’re not just people. They’refans... wearing his jersey.

We round a corner, and my heart drops, halting me in place, when I come face to face withhim.

Well, a twenty-foot version of him, printed onto a sign and hung from the rafters for all his fans to see. There’s another on the wall in a different pose. A life-size cutout version that kids are taking pictures with down the hall.

I can hear my blood pumping in my ears as I look at that face. Those green eyes. That sneaky smile.

I’ve seen it too many times to count.

“Hallie.” My name brings me out of my daze to find Brian waiting by an older gentleman, holding out his phone to show him our tickets. “Let’s go. We don’t want to miss puck drop.”

Yes, I do. Truthfully, I’d like to miss the whole game.

A large velvet curtain blocks the walkway from the seats. “Have fun,” the older man says as he holds it open for us to enter.

The ice is blinding white. The music is blaring. The chill is sudden.

Brian puts his hand on my lower back, ushering me to walk ahead of him. So I do just that, holding on to the stair railing and climbing up—away from the ice.

He laughs, nodding in the opposite direction. “Our seats are down there, Hallie.”

Of fucking course they are.

Head down, I don’t look at the ice as I follow him. I watch the back of Brian’s feet, willing him to turn into an aisle soon, but he doesn’t. He keeps climbing down, closer to the rink.

I feel eyes on us as we pass loyal fans. Neither of us is wearing team colors or jerseys yet we’re closing in on the seats by the ice.

I’d give them my seat if I could.

The air is noticeably colder the further down we go. It’s too close.Waytoo close, and still Brian doesn’t stop walking.

“Are you sure we didn’t pass the row yet?”

“Positive.”

I risk a glance up at the rink and God, it feels like I’m practically on it. No players are currently skating on the ice, so I allow myself a moment to take it in.

He’severywhere.

From the player intros on the jumbo screen to the jerseys surrounding me. It’s a different number than he used to wear, but I knew he changed it when he got drafted into the league.

“This is us,” Brian says, edging his way through the fans that have their hands and noses pressed to the glass, hoping for a closeup glimpse of one of their favorite players when they skate out.

Because that’s where we’re sitting. On the glass. Row one.

“Chicago defends twice on this side,” he continues as if it’s the best thing in the world that we get to sit behind their goalie for two of the three periods.

Butheplays defense.

I need to get out of here. Fake sick. Lie about an emergency, but if my heart keeps pounding at the rate it is, I might not have to fake much.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” Brian says, palm meeting my knee. “I was so happy when Tyler told me you said yes.”

God, I’m the worst. This guy is trying to impress me and I’m over here having an existential crisis.

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