Page 72 of In The Game

“I don’t want you to see. You can watch the fights when you’re older.”

As it breaks up, I remove my hand, and he glares at me. I have to resist laughing at how perturbed he looks. We return our eyes to the game and cheer when it’s appropriate. We sing the hockey anthem and jump around when the songs tell us to. I’m glad we came out tonight, it’s a great ending to our mother-son day.

Most of the team is down on our end. Barrett is right there. Arthur is jumping up and down, pointing him out. Then number thirty-three checks another player against the boards in front of us, and that’s when it happens. He does a double-take and smiles before pushing off the glass and skating after the puck again.

“He saw us!”

“He sure did.”

Yeah, Barrett, we’re here. We came to watch you play. Don’t let it go to your head.I’d been anxious about him seeing us all night, but now it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Maybe it’s the look he gave us.

The Lakes get another goal, but so does the other team. With only a few minutes left in the second period, someone wearing a Lakes polo and khakis shows up in front of us with nachos and hot dogs, a couple of drinks, and a branded Lakes bag.

Barrett.

“He thought you could use some snacks.” We all know whoheis.

“Thank you so much!” I say. It’s sweet. Arthur is thrilled and thanks the staff member before they jog back up the steps. While he digs into his salty chips and cheese, I peek inside the bag. Two jerseys, one adult and one youth size, both with the number thirty-three and CONWAY printed on the back. Barrett is going to spoil this kid rotten. He’s a giver, in every meaning of the word. I will need to lay down some ground rules about the presents though.

“What’s in there?” he asks, peeking over the rim of the bag.

“There’s a jersey for each of us. That was very nice of Barrett, we’ll have to tell him thank you.”

“Can I wear mine now?” I pull it out, and he squeals about it being the same one that Barrett has. After wiping his fingers free of cheese sauce, I pull the jersey over his head and roll up the sleeves. My lips press together as I resist nagging Arthur about keeping it clean. There’s no way we’re walking out of here without a ketchup stain, so why ruin the fun. I’m trying to live in the moment. I take off my old jersey and pull the new one over my head. Both of us donning his name and number on our backs.

Arthur is having the time of his life. Poor kid, I shouldn’t have waited for tickets from Barrett to bring him to a hockey game. He clearly loves it. Granted, it’s hard not to with seats as great as these. After the nachos and hot dog, which I’m still shocked he ate the entirety of, his eyes soften and grow heavy. I’m stunned it took this long for him to get sleepy.

By third period, he’s leaning against me and dozing off. I wrap my arm around him and smile as he sleeps during one of the most intense parts of the game. Barrett scores a goal, afterward skating by our seats and giving a small wave. That smile of his is a weapon when it’s pointed in my direction. My heart flips. That last one puts us up by two and wraps up the game.

After they shake hands, they head back through the tunnel. A couple minutes later, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and the excitement of getting a text message from him has started.

Barrett: How did Arthur like it?

Me: He loved it, thank you for the tickets, I didn’t realize they were glass seats. And thank you for the snacks and gear. You didn’t have to do that.

Barrett: Yeah I did. My name is the only one I want to see on your back.

Me: Ohhhh, it’s a possessive thing.

Barrett: Hell yeah it is.

Barrett: Can you wait for me? I can have someone bring you back.

Me: I have to get him to the car, I parked in the east ramp and he’s already passed out. Raincheck? ??

The arena is packed, I don’t even bother trying to stand in line holding my sleeping child. My arms will be asleep after the first fifteen minutes. He’s big for his age. I sit back and stroke his hair as he slumbers through the noise.

When it finally slows enough to see the doors through the crowd, I loop the Lakes bag over my arm and gingerly transfer my sweet, tired child into my arms without waking him. He sighs and settles his head on my shoulder. I make it up the stairs and stand in the throng of fans as we shuffle toward the exit.

“Raleigh!” I can’t tell where it’s coming from, until I look to the left and see Barrett standing at an emergency exit, holding the door open with a security guard that waves us into a long industrial concrete hallway. Inside, I’m left standing face-to-face with the hottest man I’ve ever seen. Freshly showered and in that fucking blue suit that steals my breath away. The lock engages on the heavy metal door and the ambient noise of the crowd is snuffed out.

He holds his arms out to take Arthur, and I hand him over, giving my numbing arms a chance to relax.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m making sure you and Arthur get to the car safely. East ramp is a trek, this is faster.” He rubs small circles on Arthur’s back as we stroll, revealing his nurturing side, which is so fucking attractive after watching him slam two-hundred-plus pound hockey players into the boards less than an hour ago. My ovaries feel like they might explode.

“Thanks, I appreciate the shortcut.”

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