“You’ll have plenty and it’ll just be you and me.”
I nodded, “Okay. Tomorrow.”
17
Themomentwegotto our seats at the arena, my leg wouldn’t stop shaking. We had early admission so I had time to settle in and our seats were pretty private.
I had no idea which Hartman brother to expect on the ice tonight, but I gave myself enough credit to think I’d recognize him as soon as he did.
I hoped it would be August. He was so good and other than that first game when he’d walked off the ice in a fury, he’d been loving it out there.
But like my sketch, he’d received zero credit.
I was sure about one thing. Troy hadn’t played a game since the season opener. And I sure hoped he didn’t decide to show tonight.
The announcements started and Frankie looked over at me with one empty seat between us, giving me the thumbs up and a wink to let me know ‘we’ve got this’ as he had on our way over.
I would never do anything to get him in any trouble or cause him to lose his job, but cashing that check was going to be painful.
I stilled my restless leg.
I wasn’t nervous about my sketches, I knew something would come to me. I was nervous for August, still having no clue as to why he was doing this. I glanced around, looking at the crowded house and squinted to see who was sitting in Troy’s seats tonight. They seemed to be filled.
I recognized the big red hair instantly. Grace Hartman. I couldn’t make out the man next to her, but it had to be their father, Robert. They seemed to wave at someone standing in the walkway between the stands. He was standing with his hands in his pockets and a baseball hat and waved back tentatively.
August?
It looked a lot like him when he showed up to the Brooklyn Lines Café wearing his suit at the end of the day. His hair was slicked back the same way. His stance all the same.
But something felt off.Hefelt off. He was stiff and looked like he felt out of place.
“You seem nervous. Don’t worry I won’t look while you’re working.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m certain you won’t be tearing your eyes off the game.”
Blindly, I started a light doodle of the bleachers, with fans in the distance. They were what kept this game alive. All I needed was some action on the ice to get me going.
When he finally got on, my chest bloomed. His helmet was on, but I knew it was him. The way he moved. There was a certain gruffness to it, purpose, aim. Not arrogance and misplaced confidence.
That’s how I knew the August impersonator in the bleachers was really Troy.
What the hell were these two up to tonight?
By the first intermission, I had a rough draft of one option; number nineteen passing his fans with signs. You only saw the back of him in this one, but the fans with the signs would say it all. For the second, I started a new sketch, depending on how the game went, I’d choose which one I’d detail later.
When the game ended, Hartman proudly welcomed praise from his team, but I saw the underlying frustration. The clenched jaw. It occurred to me this was the first time I’d seen him since our playing hooky date in Manhattan. August tensed before tentatively waving up at the stands before disappearing with the rest of his team.
Pleased with one of the two options I had to work with later, I shut my sketchbook and stood.
Frankie raised his brows. “You gonna clean those up, right?”
“You said you wouldn’t look.”
“It’s the reason we’re here, Harp, I had to look over at least once.”
I shook my head and pushed the man playfully to guide him up the ramp. “Let’s get out of here, I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” he rubbed his stomach. “Come on, I’ll take you out for a bite.”
