Page 155 of Behind the Net

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

“Ready on Pippa’s intro,”the stage tech says in my earpiece.

The arena buzzes with energy. Against the blinding stage lights, I can see the twinkle of phones in the crowd. My blood hums with a million emotions at once, and I take a deep breath, grounding myself. Throughout the tour, I’ve found a ritual in the moments before the show starts.

The last seven months have been insane.

Ivy Matthews started her own record label, and we recorded an album together.

My dream guitar is slung across my body, my fingers resting on the strings and the neck. A low hum pulses as the cheers die down. Everyone’s waiting, watching.

We released the album, and then everything went nuts. Two of the songs picked up speed on the charts, and Ivy pulled some strings in the industry to get me the opening spot on this tour. It normally takes years to make this kind of progress, but Ivy was determined.

There are nineteen thousand, seven hundred seats in this arena, and tonight, every single one is full. Sure, they’re here to see the artist I’m opening for on this tour, but I’m standing on stage in a pretty blue dress, playing music that I wrote.

A broad smile stretches across my face, and my heart swells. I’m here, living my dream, and I’m so grateful.

“Good evening, Vancouver,” I say into the mic, and the crowd cheers. “It’s so good to be home. I’m Pippa Hartley.”

The crowd cheers again, and I glance to the wings, where Jamie watches with a VIP pass hanging from his neck. The affection and pride in his eyes sets me on fire. He’s been following me on tour all summer, but the opening game of the season is later this week in this very arena, so we’ll do long distance until November, when the tour is over.

I brush my fingertips over my necklace, the one with the blue-gray stone. When I’m on stage or he’s on the ice, this is how I tell him I love him. I find myself doing it constantly, even when he’s not around.

“And this is a song about falling in love.”

The crowd roars, and I smile at Jamie.

“Pippa and band on five, four, three.”

Two, one.

The band and I begin to play the song I wrote about Jamie, and my heart is so full.

* * *

Two evenings later, we’re back in the same arena, except the floor is covered in ice instead of a sea of music fans. Jamie and the other players finish warming up, and I’m waiting by the entrance to the ice, microphone in hand. The hockey fans are brimming with excitement after last season. Although the Storm were eliminated in the first round of playoffs, they had a better season than usual, and Coach Tate Ward has won over the Vancouver fans.

“Ready?” the opening coordinator asks, and I give her a confident nod. My stomach tumbles with the familiar excitement I always feel just before stepping on stage, but it energizes me.

She says something into her earpiece, and the lights in the arena dim. The crowd cheers as the players line up in their spots.

“Please stand for the opening anthem,” the announcer says.

The coordinator gestures to me. “Ms. Hartley, that’s your cue.”

I glance down at myself in Jamie’s jersey, wearing his name on my back, and smile.

“Our talent tonight is homegrown,” the announcer continues. “Please welcome Pippa Hartley!”

I step onto the red carpet, and the crowd cheers. As I head to my mark, I catch a glimpse of myself up on the Jumbotron, grinning from ear to ear.

Jamie stands on his skates closest to my mark, shuffling on the ice to stay warm. I flash him a broad smile and give him a quick wave before my hand automatically brushes my necklace. Under his goalie mask, his eyes are bright. He’s happy to be back on the ice, I can tell. It’s been incredible having him with me on tour all summer, but this is where he belongs.

I take my spot, and once the camerawoman is in her position, I nod to the coordinator. A moment later, the music starts.

My voice is strong and clear as I sing the Canadian national anthem. My heart pounds harder than ever, and it feels incredible. It’s a moment I’ll never forget, and when I’m a hundred years old, I’ll think back to standing here on the ice, singing my heart out into the mic while Jamie looks on proudly.

I belt out the last notes, and when I’m done, the arena erupts. The Vancouver players are whooping and cheering way more than is appropriate, and I can’t help but laugh.

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