Page 26 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

“A murder,” she echoes. “You know, Jack was deep in some shit from what I hear. It sounds like the guys were out for him.”

“What guys?” I ask.

She shakes his head. “Look, if that’s been your problem this whole time, I’m sorry I didn’t put it together. Let’s go to the hockey game tonight. No excuses. You need to get out of your head for a while.”

I blink at her, surprised. “A hockey game?”

“Yeah, they’ll have a little tribute for Jack, and maybe…it’ll make you feel better.”

I hesitate, the idea of being around so many people makes my skin crawl, but Cassidy’s determined look tells me she’s not going to let me wriggle out of this. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it will make me feel better. I can get a little closure this way.

“Okay,” I say. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Great! We’ll leave by six. Wear something warm; it’s freezing in those arenas.” Pausing, she lowers her leg and stands, dramatically holding out her hand to me. “Now, let’s stop worrying about some fraternity gang related nonsense and go get some lattes.”

The air is crisp and chilly. I pull my jacket around me tighter, suddenly grateful for Cassidy’s earlier dress code warning. Beside me, Cassidy skips along the sidewalk, the cold barely fazing her as she chats animatedly about something that happened yesterday in class.

We walk into the stadium, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hockey rink in my life.

“Let’s get some food and then take our seats,” she says, so I follow her through the crowd and wait in the line to get food.

I glance around, trying to find anything regarding Jack but there’s nothing.

“You okay?” she asks, noticing that my head is whipping around like I’m looking for something or someone.

I chuckle. “Yeah, being cold does not help with my anxiety.”

She nods. “Tell me about it. I think I’m nervous and it turns out, I’m just shivering from the cold.”

I smile, grateful to have a friend I can talk to about stupid shit like the weather.

The overwhelming noise drowns out my anxious thoughts, the constant spiral of worry that’s been gnawing at me. I follow Cassidy up the steps to our seats with our hands full of food.

We settle in, the seats she chose–a small way from the transparent barrier that separates us from the ice–offers me a good view. I watch as players from both teams glide onto the ice for warm-ups, their movements swift and confident, and I can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline as the crowd begins to chant.

A player makes his way across the ice. My eyes follow him, tall and lean, gliding across the frost like he was meant to. As he passes the crowd, he raises his stick above his head, pumping his free hand in the air.

These guys don’t look like they just lost a teammate.

The rest of the players get onto the ice and some follow Ezra’s lead, getting the crowd pumped up as they warm up, skatinghard and showing off their skills, I watch them glide across the ice almost hypnotically, getting caught up in their synchronized movements, powerful strides, the sound of their skates cutting through the ice.

I can’t see their faces from where we sit, but I can see all their broad shoulders and athletic builds that exude power. There is something magnetic about these players, a confidence that radiates, drawing me in even as my anxiety creeps back. Jack would be here if it wasn’t for me. He would be in this arena, skating around with these guys.

Shit.

Coming here was a horrible idea.

My heart starts to race, guilt is starting to rise at the back of my throat. I glance up and see a photo of Jack on the screen. I swear to God it wasn’t there two seconds ago.

I quickly wipe away the tears pricking my eyes and stare at the players.

As if sensing my gaze, one of the guys suddenly looks up, his intense eyes scanning the stands. I can’t see their color from where I am seated, but when our eyes lock for a fleeting moment, I feel a jolt run through me, a hit of major anxiety.

I quickly look away, my heart racing.

“Did you see that?” Cassidy nudges me, her excitement bubbling over. “Thatcher totally just looked at you.”

I shake my head, trying to dismiss it, but the heat creeping up my cheeks betrays me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. I take another bite of my hot dog.

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