Page 93 of Forbidden Puck
Ella
One week later.
The crowd at Madison Square Garden gnashed their teeth and groaned, but I cheered as Ryan and Lance and the rest of the Brawlers on the ice celebrated another goal with a group hug. The Brawlers were dismantling the hometown New York Scouts, and it wasallbecause of Ryan and Lance's spectacular play together.
Ryan spotted me in the front row, skated by, and gave me a wink. With butterflies in my stomach, I blew him a kiss.
An older couple sitting next to me, dressed in Scouts jerseys, put two and two together. The wife asked me, pointing Ryan out, “is he your boyfriend?”
I could barely contain my smile when I gave her an emphatic “yes!”
“Well, he's the enemy, so we're obligated to hate him …but… looks like you picked a good one.”
“Thank you.”
I couldn'twaitfor this game to be over so we could be together again at last—seven days had never felt so long in my life. I was a huge Boston Brawlers fan now, having watched all three games they'd played since my visit to Boston.
It was so much fun watching Ryan's heroics on the TV. And Lance's too, for that matter. Ever since last week, Ryan and Lance had somehow grown even closer, and their play on the ice showed it. Not only were they skating circles around their opponents, but if anyone looked at Lance the wrong way—or God forbid, hit him—Ryan turned into an angry bull-dog, jealously and rabidly defending his teammate.
As soon as Ryan made it back home or to his hotel room after the game, he would call me up on the phone and ask sweetly—“Hi Ella, how was your day?”—as if he wasn'tjust scoring goals and crushing grown men in a nationally-televised hockey game only an hour or two ago.
I loved our conversations on the phone—there was nothing so uplifting as being able to hear his voice and feel like therewasa light at the end of the tunnel. But, then again, talking with him was a special kind of torture, too—because after we hung up, I felt sad and empty and wished more than anything I could have him near.
When we couldn't talk during the day, there was always a text here or there to keep each other in mind. I may have sent him a few dirty pictures … and I may have even gotten a few in return! Not a day went by without him letting me know how badly he wanted me, how he couldn't stop thinking about the way I left him at the airport …
It's pretty safe to say that, once the horn at Madison Square Garden sounded and the game was over, I was expecting Ryan to change out of his hockey gear in a hurry. Surely he'd come find me, throw me over his shoulder like a possessive caveman, and rush me back home where he could have his way with me, right? We'd been teasing each other all week, building to this moment …
But that wasn't what happened at all.
Who came for me instead? Lance, with Shea and Ilya in tow. The three of them were in suits and fresh out of the shower, with their hair wet and neatly styled.
“Hey Honey Badger!” Lance said, greeting me with a hug. “You remember Shea and Ilya?”
“Of course, hi guys,” I answered, skipping right to the point, “where's Ryan?”
“He snuck out the back entrance a little while ago, actually,” Lance said as if it weretotally normalfor a guy to evade his girlfriend like that.
“What?” I asked, my heart pounding with a worrying sickness.
Was this it? Was Ryan just another coward, the kind of guy who couldn't even look a girl in the face when he broke up with her? Had I been played that badly? Lance said he never went for the same girl twice, after all …
“What do you mean, hesnuckout?” I asked. “Why would he do that?”
Lance shook his head. “Come with us. I'll explain in the car.”
I followed them out, down to the staff entrance, where a car was waiting. The four of us climbed in and the car took off and exited the arena.
“Would you tell me what this is about already, Lance?” I asked, growing shrill and testy with my brother.
“Sheesh. Settle down, Honey Bager. It's not my fault. Look, Radar said, uh, that he felt like playing a little more hockey.”
“He wanted to play a little more hockey.” I repeated the sentence slowly, punctuating the absurdity of it all, hoping Lance could hear how ridiculous the words sounded.
My stare must've been burning through his skin, because Lance shielded himself from my gaze. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger, man. I'm just repeating what he told me.”
The guys all chuckled—and I figured, iftheywere laughing, then this must not be a bad thing … maybe some sort of practical joke of Ryan's … I didn't figure him to be the joker type, and this stunt didn't make me happy, but whatever …
I loosened up a bit, resigning myself to the fact that whatever was happening was apparently Ryan's idea. I quietly watched the city roll by my window, hoping that his idea was a good one.
