Page 70 of In The Game

“And I want top-tier behavior while we’re there. No running up and down the aisles, if you’re bored, that’s fine, just let me know and we can find something else to do.”

“Okay!” He jumps to his feet.

I sigh. “All right, let’s get you dressed in some blue and green clothes.”

“Why?”

I internally cringe. I haven’t taken him to enough sporting events. “That’s what you do when you go to games, you dress up in your team’s colors. Our team is the Lakes, and they wear blue and green when they play on the ice.”

“Mom, I have a green shirtanda blue shirt. Which one do I wear?”

“Whichever one you want. And put on a sweatshirt too. It can get cold in the seats. I’ll bring your hat and mittens.”

“What are you going to wear?”

I have a Brickhauer jersey, he doesn’t even play for the Lakes anymore, I have no idea if it even fits.

“I don’t know yet.”

* * *

My anxiety kicks into overdrive when we get to the arena and I pull out our tickets.

These are glass seats.

My silly brain thought that our seats would be somewhere in the middle of the stands. Arthur is losing his goddamn mind. This will warp his expectations for every future sporting event. I didn’t anticipate being seen by Barrett and I’m feeling very exposed with no other fans to hide behind. But my inner hockey fan could never let me give up front-row playoff tickets. These are once in a lifetime seats.

When the arena darkens, spotlights swirl over the crowd. Arthur gawks at the light show. Then the goal horn blares, and he jumps, slapping his mittened hands over his ears. The crowd claps and cheers around us.

“It’s loud sometimes!” I shout over the noise. Reaching into my pockets, I pull out the earplugs I brought for him and put them in his ears. The players step out on the ice for warm-ups, and the roar of the fans grows louder. They skate their half of the blue line, some slow, some racing around, pounding the ice. I sit back a little farther in my seat.

Off to the side is the new, younger, andhottergeneration of women to hook up with players, and it kinda brings me back. My life was empty then. Now, here I am with my four-year-old, I’m no longer able to fit into single-digit dress sizes, and the early signs of wrinkles have developed at the corner of my eyes. Those days were fun, but I’m happier now. My nights aren’t nearly as wild, but they are secure and filled with cuddles from my little man. Even on the nights when I stare at the ceiling and let the loneliness consume me, I know my life is far better now than it was when there was a hockey player sharing my bed.

I’m thankful Arthur can’t read yet, because the signs being held up…Yikes, these are some thirsty bitches.I point out the players. I show Arthur how they each have different numbers on their jersey.

“Which one is Barrett?”

“Thirty-three.”

“He’s a winger!”

I smile and pull his pom-pom hat down further. “How did you get so smart?”

“It comes naturally.”

I laugh. “And so modest.”

The players stretch on the ice and adjust their skates. They skate in circles and flip pucks into the net.

“Why does that guy look different?”

“That’s the goalie, he stays in the net to make sure the other team doesn’t get any pucks past him.”

“They look funny.”

“They have a lot of pads on so they don’t get hurt when the pucks fly toward them. Did you know I used to play hockey when I was younger? I was the goalie on my team.”

He gawks at me. “You looked likethat?”

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