Just then I heard a sharp slice, and I felt a big body bump against the boards directly behind me, so hard I felt the reverberations in my chest.
My skin prickled but I didn’t turn around. The gasps from the kids made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my skin felt tight, my long dark ponytail heavy down my back.
When I heard his voice it was like a chill down my spine.
“Hi, Josie.”
I couldn’t understand the note in his voice. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it sounded like the time two years before when he had missed the cut and been sent down to the minors again. Raw and low, and with a note of pain he couldn’t hide.
But that made no sense. He was leading the league in goals, he was the star forward on his dream team. He had everything he wanted.
“Jesse,” I said coolly, but I still refused to turn around. “You didn’t need to come over here.”
There was silence for a moment and I heard his breathing, heavy against the glass, the sound ragged even in the noisy arena.
“Why did you block my number?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
“Didn’t want to talk to you,” I replied evenly. “Now go away.”
“Josie,” he said. “Josie,lookat me.”
“Have a good game,” I answered dismissively, fiddling with my backpack like it was absolutely urgent to check the number of Band-aids.
“Please,” he said again, and I felt anger began to grow under my skin and tears prickle the corners of my eyes.
How fuckingdarehe have that note in his voice. How fucking dare he ask me to look at him!
I made to move past to my seat, but the glass rattled as I took one step away.
“Let me explain,” he insisted hoarsely.
Dimly, I began to hear people chant his name.
“Jesse! Jesse! #87! Gooooo Heat!”
I turned sideways and my heart twisted inside me to see him with his gloved hands on the glass, like he was trying to press through it.
The helmet obscured his face, but I could see his blue eyes, fixed fiercely on me.
Well, this was fucking aggravating.
“Apparently this isn’t getting through to you, but I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me,” I hissed angrily.
Then I turned my back and went to my seat, wanting to scream at how he slowly skated away, as I deliberately pulled out my knitting.
I wished the game was a blur, but no, it seemed to pass painfully slowly, my face frozen and my lips moving with my automatic responses to the kids.
Yes, number 87 talked to me
No, it wasn’t that exciting
Yes, I hoped they would win
No, he hadn’t promised to get in a fight
No, I wasn’t going to call him back over and ask if he’d punch someone
No, I didn’t know if there was going to be a fight
