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I’m a few seconds behind everyone else getting to my feet but waste no time screaming because Camden is out there, part of a group hug involving all the Appies on the ice.

“Did Camden score?” I ask Liam, shouting to be heard over the horn that won’t stop blaring.

“No. Eli got the goal, but Camden got a point,” Liam says.

“I … don’t understand.”

“Eli scored the goal. But Camden gets a point for an assist.”

Just when I think I am starting to understand hockey, something new confuses me again. “But there’s only one point on the scoreboard. Not two.”

“The points are just hockey stats. Players get a point for a goal and a point for an assist. I’ll show you later. We can look up Camden’s stats.” Liam grins, clearly thrilled that I finally care (at least a little) about his obsession.

“Go Cole!” Liam shouts, his hands cupped around his mouth.

The announcers mostly use the players’ last names or a nickname, so since the game started, Liam dropped Coach Cam in favor of Cole.

I think it’s funny I didn’tknowCamden’s last name until today. We had no need to be so formal on the island last summer, and Cam’s social media handle is simply Camden_CO11.

The celebratory hugging has broken up, and the guys on the ice skate by the short wall, tapping gloves with their teammates on the bench. The horn finally stops blaring, but the fans are still on their feet. An upbeat 90s rock ballad blasts over the speakers while the big screens above us show the goal again in slow motion.

Camden passed to someone whose number I couldn’t see, and that guy passed it to Eli, who was planted in front of the goal and barely tipped it in. When they show it at regular speed, I can’t even see the puck.

How in the world do goalies ever stop them? It makes no sense to me, even if I’ve watched Felix make multiple saves tonight.

Wearing thirty pounds of pads, apparently, which was one of the facts I learned from Liam on the drive here and still remember for whatever reason.

All in all, I’m more impressed—and slightly confused—by hockey than ever before. And as far as how it’s impacted my view of Camden … well, let’s just say I’m a fan.

As he takes his spot on the bench, I don’t miss the way he scans our section. Though he’s all the way across the ice, I know when he’s found me because his gaze stops. He doesn’t smile, but he inclines his head the smallest bit, kind of a less bro-y chin lift. Grinning, I wave wildly because I just don’t care if I look silly.

Seeing me wave, Liam glances over at the bench, then he starts waving too. Camden’s smile grows, though he appears to be trying to hide it behind a water bottle. We’re being kind of ridiculous, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Bailey leans over, a knowing smile on her face. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

It is. And it might be the hockey high talking, but for once, when it comes to a man in my life, letting loose seems like the best option of all.

* * *

During the break between periods—intermission, Liam corrected when I referred to it as halftime—Bailey, Liam, and I head up to the box Parker told me about. It’s similar to the family suite downstairs with food and drinks and comfy seating with several screens. Unlike the suite, which is somewhere in the bowels of the building, this box is high with a great view of the ice. It also has a decent number of people I don’t know milling around.

I hoped for a few familiar faces, but I haven’t seen Parker since the locker room, and she told me Grey is working. We probably won’t see her tonight—at least until after the game when we’re all going to Felix’s. I’d rather not go with my kid in tow, but since I haven’t figured out a babysitter, it’s take him or not go at all. Parker assured me it won’t be some wild party and they’d be happy to have us both. I’m also reluctant to keep Liam up so late on a school night, but this game had a five o’clock start time, so it won’t bethatbad. Probably.

Liam immediately gravitates toward the food again, making me wonder if he’s about to hit another growth spurt. I should eat, but my nervous stomach says otherwise.

“There they are,” Bailey says, linking her arm through mine. “Come on and I’ll introduce you.”

Gracie is talking to two other women who wave as they see us crossing the room. All three are dressed up, wearing skirts with nicer tops, not jerseys and jeans like Bailey and me. But I notice each wears something with a number on it that I assume belongs to their guy.

The woman with dark hair in a sleek ponytail has on a gold necklace with a delicate number twenty-three hanging down over her black scoop neck blouse. Gracie wears a charm bracelet with a variety of hockey and other related things. The biggest charm is a thirty-one inlaid with what looks like tiny sparkling diamonds. When the woman with soft, honey-blond waves turns, I realize she’s wearing a fitted short-sleeved shirt with a thirty-seven across the front.

“Naomi, this is Summer and Amelia. They’re married to Nathan and Van, respectively.”

“Apologies. I know it might be hard to keep us all straight,” Summer says.

It is, but meeting the women a few at a time has helped. If I had met them all at once, I’d never remember their names and couldn’t say which guy they’re with unless I have a program in hand to know whose numbers they’re wearing.

“I’m glad y’all decided to grace us with your presence,” Amelia teases.