Page 27 of Soulmates and Slapshots
When I return, I find Aunt Dee still on her feet, clappingin time with the music blaring through the arena. Her eyes are glued to the ice, and she’s completely immersed in the moment. This makes me realize I am too. Somewhere between the roaring crowd and the electric energy of the rink, I’ve let myself get swept away.
The second period kicks off with the same intensity as the first. Every slap of the puck, crash against the boards, and every near miss has me on the edge of my seat. The excitement is contagious as the final minutes in the game countdown.
When the final buzzer sounds, the entire arena erupts. The Ice Breakers have won, 3 to 0.
A wave of cheers echoes through the crowd, and I find myself shouting right along with them. There’s this surge of joy and feeling of connection with everyone sitting around us. It’s not just about the win—it’s the sense of unity. The kind of feeling I didn’t know I was missing until right now.
The team takes a celebratory lap around the rink, waving to their fans. Then Weston skates into view, his face lit up with pure joy. Our eyes meet, and even from a distance, I can see the grin that spreads across his face. It’s the kind of smile that could make any woman weak in the knees. A flutter stirs in my chest, and without thinking, I lift my hand to wave to him.
“You should go give Weston a hug to congratulate him on his first win,” Aunt Dee says innocently. “I happen to know exactly where the players come out from the locker room.”
I snort. “Of course you do.”
She beams and grabs my hand without waiting for a reply. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I could protest, but what’s the point? Arguing with Aunt Dee won’t get me anywhere. So I let her lead the way.
Admittedly, I’m excited to chat with Weston again. Does this mean I have a tiny crush on a hockey player? Ugh. This is probably the worst thing that could happen in my life right now.
Is this what being a superfan feels like? Loitering outside the locker rooms like some starry-eyed teenager hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite athlete. Honestly, the only thing I’m missing is a permanent marker for autographs. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look like a total stalker, but there’s no denying how ridiculous I must seem.
To make matters worse, Aunt Dee has vanished into the crowd, chatting with friends about the game. The last I saw of her, she was waving at someone across the concourse. She told me she’d be right back, but I haven’t seen her yet. So here I am, awkwardly lingering like some obsessed groupie waiting for Weston Smith to walk out of the locker room.
I could just leave. But despite my better judgment, I want to see him and congratulate him. Plus I need to tell him he was right about hockey and after tonight I’m hooked. And let’s be honest, a five-minute break from Aunt Dee isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
My phone buzzes from inside my bag. I reach for it expecting a text or call from Aunt Dee, but instead I see a video call from Hayley.
My stomach dips. Hayley never video calls.
I scramble to a quieter corner behind a concession standto answer it. Her face pops up on the screen, and it looks like she’s in a restaurant.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, skipping the polite greeting.
She flashes an innocent smile that doesn’t fool me for a second. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“Well, you never video call me unless there’s a crisis or worse,” I point out.
She shrugs, trying to play it cool, but I can see the flicker of nerves in her eyes. Before she can answer, a group of rowdy fans pass behind me loudly chanting “Let’s go, Ice Breakers!”
“Whereareyou?” she asks, clearly thrown off.
“At a hockey game,” I reply, glancing toward the hallway that leads to the locker rooms.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “They have hockeythere?”
I snort. “Yes, Hayley. Believe it or not, I’m not staying in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. They have a brand-new NHL team. It’s a big deal in Maple Falls.”
“Huh. That’s wild.”
“And they have electricity too, in case you’re wondering,” I tease.
“Very funny,” she says scowling.
“Anyway,” I say, getting back to the reason we’re talking ‘face to face.’ “What’s up?”
Her smile fades a bit. “Okay, just…promise you won’t be mad at me.”
My heart drops. That sentenceneverbodes well.
