Page 63 of Love at Teamsgiving
I’m stunned speechless. All I can say is my body and heart know what they want, even if my mind fights it.
But social hour quickly comes to an end when the puck drops. Both teams are hungry for it. The gameplay zigs and zags across the ice. Miguel seamlessly switches between offensive and defensive roles, depending on where he’s needed, but the real show happens when he’s in possession of the puck.
Right now, he runs it down the ice, and at the last moment, he gets T-boned by the Kings’ right-wing player, but not before he drop-passes the puck between his own legs to Redd, who’s open.
If the Ice Palace weren’t a new arena, I’d fear the Knights fans are going to blow the roof off with the thunderous cheering.
With few exceptions, for most of the NHL games I’ve attended, I dress for the weather. In other words, being bundled up with layers is key. But the VIP suite is heated, and I am sweltering halfway through the first period and I tear off my sweatshirt.
Play hasn’t resumed, so it takes me a moment to realize why Margo, Gracie, Whit, and Delaney are cheering.
I’m wearing Miguel’s jersey.
As if blowing him a kiss wasn’t enough, my heart slams against my ribs like I’ve just revealed my crush to the entire school. But I’m an adult and we were once engaged. It’s not that big a deal.
No, it’s a huge deal because I’m admitting something to the world, er, the hockey world, but also to myself.
Only two minutes into the second period, Beau blocks a goal and the defensemen are on fire, drawing me back into the game. Even though the “D” are largely well-spaced on the ice, they’resomehow everywhere at once. The wingmen support the center. In turn, Miguel sets them up nicely for a few plays.
Never mind taking up the ice, he somehow takes up all the oxygen in the arena. And in my lungs. He is lightning and I’ve been struck.
But the Kings are nasty. Hockey isn’t a gentleman’s sport where players say things like,My good sir, after youand then let the opponent take the shot. There aren’t any professional sports like that. But this one is especially cutthroat. However, from what I’ve seen, the Knights rely on skill rather than penalties to win. It’s honorable. Seeing things from this side, maybe I want them to be my team.
We’re partway through the second period and it’s still tied up one-one, until Grady gets ahold of the puck just outside the net and launches it up the ice as Redd breaks away, chasing it. Seconds before he crosses the blue line, he makes contact, and as if anticipating what’s coming, Miguel intercepts and then rushes home, slotting the puck into the goal.
We go wild.
The Kings come back, scoring a goal, with mere minutes to go at the end of the period, leaving one remaining for the Knights to pull ahead and break the tie.
For once, I’m not fully immersed in the game as I try to distract myself from a certain player. In a sea of silver, black, and red—the Knights’ colors—Margo, my previously hockey-ignorant friend, is wildly animated as she cheers the guys on. Mr. and Mrs. Cruz lean in, their full attention on their son and I’m pretty sure they both hold their breath.
Tony, Paulie, Charlie, and Joey—the Cruz crew—are rowdy, hollering even though no one can hear them through the glass. Then there’s my mother, who’s on her feet, arms in the air as Miguel chops up the ice on the way to the Kings’ net again.
Possibly for the first time in my life, I remain quiet ... waiting to see what happens. Of course, I want my guy to score. At this point, I want the Knights to win.
But what about this game that Miguel and I have been playing? The cat and mouse, back and forth, hot and cold? I hate him, I hate him not?
By the time the game wraps up with a four-two score, favoring the Knights, I still haven’t answered my questions, but I already succumbed ... by blowing him a kiss, by taking off my hoodie to reveal that I’m wearing his jersey, to the very familiar notion of claiming him as mine.
Miguel was powerful and imposing out there—showed up for the Knights. It gets my pulse racing and I’m overheating. But that’s not all. These last weeks, he’s shown up for me.
The two of us have exchanged words, lots of them, but our actions tell a different story. Maybe, the true one.
In the hubbub of the win, my mother and Margo insist we attend the after-party. I can’t find my sweatshirt. I think Mama kicked it under the chairs. That stinker. I guess it doesn’t matter because my temperature hasn’t returned to normal.
When we get to the party room, I make a plate of snacks for Mom, including a small soft pretzel with maple mustard dip, a cinnamon sugar mini doughnut, and a little penguin figure made out of olives, cheese, and a carrot for a beak. In fact, there is a general penguin-related theme—Penguin is a Knights’ defenseman and it’s his birthday.
I sense a presence behind me that’s warm and scented like cologne and ... home. A hand lands on my lower back and Miguel whispers in my ear, “Mine.”
A shiver runs through me and my heart flutters. The word,Yoursis on my lips, but I don’t say it, but I do whip around and plant my lips on his.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Along with our surroundings,time freezes as Junie’s lips press against mine. I’m out of my gear and took a cool shower, but I’m instantly burning up. My breath falters and then races as if I were dropped back into the game.
Her hands grasp my jaw and mine cradle hers. I want nothing more than for this to continue, but she soon pulls away.
I’m afraid that I’ll see regret when our gazes meet, but Junie’s butterscotch brown eyes are heavy and her lips bee stung as they tease a smile.
