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“I get it, Dad.” I sigh.
“Do you? I’m glad. Just lunch or something.”
“I’ll think about it.” I’m definitely not going to give him an affirmative answer because I don’t know if I can do it. “And I’ll think about it harder if you stay tonight so I can introduce you to Rowan.”
“I know Rowan,” my dad says with a chuckle.
“Not as my boyfriend.”
He smiles and knocks his shoulder against mine. “No, I don’t. I look forward to meeting him as such.”
“Thanks.” I give him a big smile and dip the side of my head onto his shoulder.
The lights go down, and the music ramps up. Strobe lights sweep across the audience and ice. Adrenaline fills my veins as the mic guy announces the players. When he introduces Rowan, I smack the glass and shout while my dad does the same when Conor is announced.
After the introductions, Rowan positions himself in the face-off circle. He gets the puck, in full control, and passes it to Henry. Henry skates back and forth around the defenseman, keeping the puck in his control.
“He’s gotta get it out,” Dad says, always acting like a player or coach when he watches the games.
Henry shoots it to Rowan, who passes it to Tweetie. I see the reason for his nickname. Rowan is so smooth on the ice. I swear at one point he’s so fast I missed a play where he had the puck, and then it was gone.
The three of them hammer it out with the two defensemen from Detroit, and Rowan goes behind the net when the puck gets free. Henry gets there first and spots him, shooting the puck his way.
The puck hits Rowan’s stick, and right away he does a wraparound and gets it by the goalie, the red light lighting up and the buzzer going off. He raises his fist in celebration and skates around, coming toward me.
I put my hands on the glass, jumping up and down and cheering. He skates past and blows me a kiss. I could melt into a puddle.
He skates over to the bench, and a new line comes on the ice. Dad elbows me and points toward the Jumbotron. I look up, and there’s a picture of Rowan and me with a heart on one side of the screen. On the other side is a picture of Conor in the net with a scowl. The caption reads, “Big Brother Doesn’t Look Happy.”
Seriously, who got wind of this? This can’t be good for the team. I haven’t read a hockey blog since Rowan and I solidified our relationship because I don’t want to read about myself being bashed. The minute Rowan demanded to put a picture of us on his social media, I tried to tell him it wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t looking forward to having every flaw and insecurity of mine being criticized and judged.
I look down the ice to see Conor staring daggers at me, but I don’t care. He needs to grow up. Can’t he see that he’s the only one miserable here?
After the game, I’m waiting with my dad where the players come out.
Conor is first, and he heads over to our dad, shaking his hand. “Thanks for coming.” They give one another a hug.
“Great game. You saved a ton for them.”
“That’s my job.” Conor positions his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Enjoy the seats, sis?”
“I did. Thank you.”
“Landry can’t get you any? Shouldn’t you be in the wives and girlfriends’ section?”
I bite down, and I think one of my teeth might crack. “I wanted to watch it with Dad.”
“Good cover.” He turns to our dad. “Want to go grab something to eat?”
“Um…” Dad glances in my direction.
I loop my arm though my dad’s. “Sorry, he’s spending tonight with his other child and her boyfriend. You’re welcome to come if you can behave yourself and not throw a fit like a toddler.” I smile sweetly at him.
“Come on, you two. This is ridiculous.” Dad sighs.
“Maybe if your boyfriend understood the first rule of being a best friend, I could join you.”
I inhale a calming breath. “He didn’t know.”
