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The woman beside him turns bright red. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, she’s right.” I hand the program back. “Especially tonight. I’m planning to be extremely responsible.”
The kid looks disappointed by this, which suggests he was hoping the new letter might inspire me to start more fights.
Tonight, walking across the parking lot from my truck to the Birdcage players’ entrance, I’ve signed jerseys, hats, two hockey cards, and one piece of paper that may have been someone’s parking receipt.
I take a moment to talk, maybe pose for a photo. It’s all an honor. I’m proud to lead this team. This is the thing I’ve wanted for so long that getting it should have left me floating three feet above the parking lot.
Instead, every time someone congratulates me, I think about Eva.
I return a marker to a woman in a Dominion jersey and reach for my bag. If I don’t get inside soon, they’ll send someone out to remind me that alternate captains can still be fined for being late.
Movement a few cars over gets my attention. I turn, surprised when my gaze lands on…
Eva.
She’s standing beyond the last group of fans in jeans, boots, and a dark coat, her hair moving in the wind. For one confused second, I wonder if wanting her here badly enough has caused some sort of stress-induced hallucination.
She lifts one hand. So, not a hallucination.
Probably.
I head across the lot. Eva walks toward me, but I’m moving faster, too desperate to reach her to pretend otherwise.
“What are you doing here?”
She smiles. “Hello to you too.”
“Sorry. Hi.” I look at her, trying to work out what the expression on her face means and coming up with twelve different answers. “You’re here.”
“Uh, yeah.” She looks down at her feet. “I got your box.”
My stomach tightens. “Okay.”
“Mitch has claimed it, so you’re never getting it back.”
“He can have it.”
“It was…the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me to apologize.” Her mouth curves, but only for a moment. “Obviously, the video worked too.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my suit pants before I do something reckless, like reach for her when I don’t know if she wants me to.
“I meant what I said.”
“I know.” She glances toward the arena. Fans continue filing past us, bundled in Dominion colors as they make their way toward the main entrance.
“I was hurt,” she goes on. “I’m still a little hurt, but I also understand what happened. You didn’t choose the meeting over me. You were stuck, and everything went wrong.”
“I still should have found a way to let you know.”
“Yes, you should have.”
There’s no softening it for me, and I don’t expect her to. “I’m sorry.”
“And I forgive you.”
Those four words loosen something in my chest, although not enough to let me breathe properly.
