Page 49 of Fair Play
“It’s a long story. Someday when I’m not working I’ll tell you.”
She nods. “Okay. And let me know if you need any help. I know it’s tough taking a table up there when your station is down in the front.”
“It’s no problem. Thanks for giving me the extra table.”
“I’m about to cut Trixie and Violet anyway. You okay with staying late?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect.”
I make my way back to the table where Stevie is sitting and realize I recognize their faces but can’t remember the names of the others. I figure I should own up to that right away.
“You guys are going to have to help me out,” I say as I pass out water. “I can’t remember all of your names.”
Stevie laughs. “No worries. I’m Stevie and I’m engaged to Marty Nadeau. That’s Saylor.” She points to a beautiful brunette who also looks familiar. “She’s engaged to Canyon Marks. Next to her is Bristol, who’s the team’s head of PR.”
“And not engaged to anyone,” Bristol says primly.
We all chuckle.
“Next to me is Ally,” Stevie continues, “who’s Canyon’s niece. And across from her is Bailey, who’s Jensen Bang’s wife.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you all again. I haven’t been able to get to many games between school and work.”
“You’ll have to come sit with us at the next one,” Stevie says.
“I’d love that,” I say. I glance over at my other tables and need to check on them. “Do you know what you want to drink?”
“Prosecco for me,” Stevie says.
“And me.” Bailey grins.
“Me too,” Saylor adds. “And do you do any kind of mocktail for Ally?”
Ally looks like about thirteen, so I nod. “Absolutely. Buddy makes great mocktails. Is there anything you don’t like?”
“No, I’m easy,” Ally replies with a grin.
“I’ll be right back.”
I put their order into the computer, check with my other tables to make sure no one needs anything, and then make my way to the bar. When I glance up at the TV, I realize play has stopped and the players are all standing around while a trainer is leaning over a player—and it’s one of the Phantoms.
“Who’s down?” I ask Buddy worriedly.
“Looks like number forty-six.”
Forty-six.
Romewears 46.
“Rome?” I ask, my chest tightening painfully.
“Castellano, yeah. He just scored the tying goal but hit the boards at an awkward angle. Looks like it might be his groin.”
“Fuck.” I stare up at the screen as they replay what happened.
Rome manages to poke the puck into the net but he’s going so fast he can’t slow down in time. He hits the boards hard, his left leg extended at an awkward angle and doesn’t move after he goes down.
