Page 14

CHAPTER 14

Naomi

“Mom, we’re going to be late,” Liam says. He’s nervously pacing by the front door, every so often opening and closing it, letting cold air gush in.

The snow didn’t stick and was barely more than a magical flurry enhancing a romantic moment. But it’s still cold. The downside of this old house is how drafty it is. Some of the rooms heat better than others, and it’s really making me miss the beach. Even in winter, the winds don’t feel punishing like this.

Without snow to make things pretty and fun, freezing weather just seems cruel.

“Close the door!”

He does. With a sigh.

“And we can’t be late because we’re already going early,” I grumble, fussing with my purse. I can’t remember if there is a bag policy at the Summit.

Do I need to worry about a bag policy if we’re not going through normal security?

Parker, as promised—or threatened, made plans for us to attend the Appies game. “I have something special planned,” she’d said over the phone, and I could hear the smile in her voice. I might have made the decision right then and there to bow out of this “special plan” if she hadn’t added, “Mostly, this is something special for Liam. But I think you’ll enjoy it too.”

I am a person who doesn’t like surprises. This might seem at odds with my whole restless energy thing, but it’s more about being out of control. When other people surprise me, I can’t prepare, mentally or otherwise. As opposed to when I decide to impulsively choose a new direction, which allows me to be the captain of my own ship—a ship headed toward new, adventurous waters of some kind.

Parker’s surprise has me feeling extra layers of nerves when I already had enough of them. I’m not sure if it’s because things with Camden are still kind of up in the air, or maybe just because I’m still struggling a little to switch my brain into seeing hockey as not bad or at least neutral when I’ve carried a chip on my shoulder about it since last summer. Some of it might be the residual fear of not fitting in, despite the dinner with Parker and friends this week that I genuinely enjoyed.

It’s just a lot at once, and that’s not even considering what Parker’s secret is.

But she said the magic words: something special for Liam .

So, we’re going to the Summit a few hours before the game starts— puck drop , Liam keeps correcting me—and doing I don’t know what. I’m not even sure if I’m wearing the right thing. According to my social media WAG search, getting ready for a game involves a lot of work to look super hot.

Look—I have no problem getting dressed up. I like dresses and shoes and clothes that make me feel cute. I don’t have an issue wearing makeup. Though I don’t quite take it to the level that some of the women in the Get Ready With Me videos do. I almost choked when I stumbled upon the five pumps of foundation tutorial. FIVE PUMPS! My pores clogged just watching a woman spread that much foundation over even her eyebrows .

No, thanks.

I don’t expect that kind of effort—not based on the vibe I picked up from the women who came over earlier in the week. Parker said there was not a dress code and they all wore whatever they felt like. For some, that’s jeans and a jersey, while people who like dressing up do.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told me. “Promise. Just wear what you want and come early to the gated area of the parking lot. Security will have your name. It will be so fun.”

Liam’s the lucky one. As he shoots me another exasperated look, his hand on the doorknob, I wish it were as easy as just throwing on an Appies jersey like the one Parker gave him over a pair of jeans and sneakers. Even if I wanted to go that route, I don’t have any Appies gear. So, I’m in a sweater that’s close enough to the turquoise of the Appies’ logo, dark jeans that fit me like a glove, and knee-high boots.

“Finally,” Liam says as I pull on my coat and the new scarf Camden gave me. I’ve taken to wearing it daily, leaving it on even when I remove my coat.

I love it. It’s beautiful and so soft. I always thought scarves looked itchy, but this one feels like a caress on my neck. Also, it still smells like Camden. I’m sure that will fade soon, and then I’ll have to decide if it’s too creepy to ask him to, like, sleep with it in his bed for a few nights to regain his scent.

Okay, it’s definitely kind of creepy.

I’ll probably do it anyway.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Liam grumbles more than once on the way to the Summit. It’s only a ten-minute drive, but he’s so anxious and excited about the game it’s making him grumpy.

When he gets like this, the best option is just to leave him alone and let him work through it, so I continue driving the speed limit while not pointing out how we’re still earlier than Parker even asked. I also don’t tell him she has some kind of surprise. If I told him Parker has something planned, he’d run through possible scenarios, then maybe be disappointed in whatever it is.

I’m glad I made this decision when some Appies staff person I don’t know greets us once security lets us in the back door. The guy has the eagerness and fresh face that screams intern, and he babbles about hockey things with Liam while leading us to a nice room with a whole table of food and a bartender in front of a table of drinks.

“This is the family suite,” the intern tells us. “Though families don’t usually arrive this early.”

I wonder if by families he means the WAGs. Or maybe parents and siblings who happen to be in town for a game?

“Thanks,” I tell him. Liam is already checking out the food for things he can eat while watching one of the televisions. It’s streaming what I guess is footage from past games.

“That’s from last year’s Calder Cup Championship,” the intern tells me without explaining what that means. “Parker said she’d meet you here in just a little while. Please, help yourself and just relax.”

Liam has a plate piled high with nachos while I go with a beer to help me relax. My nerves are shot with Liam’s pressure to leave on time combined with a nervous energy I didn’t expect to have about this game.

It’s not me caring whether Camden’s team wins or loses so much as getting to see this side of him fully: the hockey player in his natural habitat.

What if this makes it feel like things with Camden won’t work? What if I don’t like his natural habitat? Or who he really is inside of it?

“Mom, this is so cool,” Liam says with a mouthful of chips. He, obviously, is not having the mini freakout I am about this as he settles into one of the leather couches to watch the screens.

I’m glad when Parker finally enters the room, bouncing up and down on her toes and fiddling with the zipper of a black cross-body bag. She has on black pants, black sneakers, and a gray polo shirt with the Appies logo. Her excitement is palpably contagious, and my nerves shift slightly into something more like anticipation than anxiety.

“I have something so cool planned,” Parker says, grabbing Liam by the hand after hugging me hello with rib-crushing force. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“Definitely. Thank you. Are there usually more people?” The room is still empty aside from Liam and me and two servers who looked very bored.

“Having a family suite is new. Before last year, most of the guys were single, and very few have family nearby. It seemed silly to have something like this without people to enjoy it.” She glances at her phone and then waves us toward the door. “They’ll probably get here in the next thirty minutes or so. But there’s also food up in the box, so some just eat up there. You’re welcome to watch from up there or from the seats I got you. Bailey will be sitting with you as well.”

That makes me feel a little better. Bailey has a calming presence, and I think I’d feel more comfortable in normal seats than a suite for family when things with Cam and me are still so new. It will also be good to have another adult there. Liam is great company, but he’s my company a lot . Bailey will be good balance.

Parker leads us down a hallway that looks like every other hallway I’ve seen in this building. I’m not sure how anyone can navigate the Summit without getting lost.

“All of this is so cool,” Liam says.

Parker beams at Liam, then at me. I didn’t know she had a whole other gear of excitement.

“I know, right? How’s your arm, by the way?” she asks Liam.

“Good. I got the sutures out two weeks ago. See?”

He pulls up the sleeve of his jersey to show off the neat line of his scar. I’m only bothered by blood and open wounds usually, but the scar calls to mind the panic I felt that day knowing he got hurt. I also haven’t completely been able to get rid of the mental image of the blood. I look away, studying some of the framed team photos on the wall.

“Looks great,” Parker says. “Glad it didn’t keep you from continuing in classes.”

“I was sad we didn’t have class yesterday,” he says.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Parker says. “This is our first time trying to do a series of classes with the players helping. It hasn’t been easy. Their schedules are so busy, I’m not sure we can do it again.”

“Maybe in the off-season?” Liam says hopefully.

“Maybe.” Parker nudges his shoulder. “But by then, you might have moved beyond that kind of class.”

“You think?”

Before responding, Parker glances at me as though looking for approval to broach the subject of moving beyond what he’s doing now. Liam has only had three classes because of the Appies’ schedule, but his hockey talk hasn’t slowed down at all. In fact, he convinced me to buy him rollerblades so he could play street hockey with some guys in our neighborhood when the streets are dry. He has three classes left over the next five weeks, and I don’t anticipate this slowing down.

I give Parker a quick nod, feeling a little like I’m sealing my doom, but also minding a little less than I would have a few weeks ago. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s no reason—and actually no possibility—to avoid the topic of hockey now that Camden and I are … whatever we are. It might also be Parker’s influence, which is hard to ignore.

“Are you thinking about signing up for the youth league later this spring?” she asks.

“I’d like to.”

Now Liam is the one looking at me with a question in his eyes. Though he’s definitely been talking about signing up for the rookie program with Appies Youth Hockey, I have so far remained noncommittal. I raise my eyebrows and my shoulders, giving him a noncommittal we’ll see. Which is more than I’ve given him before, and as such, he seems to be taking it as an absolute answer.

But then his face dims a little. “I’m probably not ready yet.”

“Nonsense. We’ve got kids who sign up for the rookie program who haven’t even been to classes like the ones you’re doing. And they definitely aren’t getting to work one-on-one with a player like Camden. You’ve got an advantage. Plus, at the last class, I could see a real improvement from your first week. You’re doing great.”

I hope Parker means the things she’s saying about Liam’s ability to fit into the rookie program at his level (see: my whole opinion about setting up expectations), but she strikes me as a very genuine person. And it does make me proud to hear her encouraging words to Liam. Even if I am starting to feel like hockey is about to consume my life like some kind of giant, ravenous bird.

Bass thumps through the walls from the arena, a heartbeat of anticipation. A line of cars had already been entering the other side of the parking lot when we pulled through the security gate, and even in these hallways where we pass only an occasional other staff person, the excitement almost crackles in the air.

As I trail behind the two of them, wondering if I should be leaving a trail of cracker crumbs from the emergency stash in my purse so I can find my way back out, they discuss the youth hockey league. I swear, I can actively hear the credit card within my purse weeping.

I guess at least we have gear now, though I meant what I said to Camden and want to pay him back somehow. I haven’t had the guts to look up all the things he bought and how much they cost yet. But I will.

“I didn’t tell your mom why we’re here early,” Parker says, stopping in front of a door. “But I think you’re going to love this.”

She pauses dramatically, and my stomach tightens a little with nerves. I’m sure whatever it is will be good, but I cannot take the anticipation any longer.

“How would you,” Parker starts, taking a breath and a dramatic pause that has me feeling murdery, “like to read out the starting lineup in the locker room before the game?”

From the hockey knowledge I’ve gleaned from Liam, I think a starting lineup is basically five guys. Well—five guys plus a goalie. So, Liam gets to read a list of six names. I’m not sure what I was expecting as Parker’s surprise, but this honestly feels a bit underwhelming.

Not to Liam though.

His eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open. He glances at me, and I widen my eyes right back, hoping to fake match his energy.

“Seriously?” he asks Parker in an awed whisper.

She nods and then pulls a folded paper out of her crossbody bag. “Yep.”

Liam takes the paper like he’s holding some kind of delicate, breakable thing, and gingerly unfolds it.

“You can keep that too,” she says. “I bet we could get the guys to sign it.”

My son looks like he might expire from the excitement of this, and he shocks us both by throwing his arms around Parker.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he says in a rush. “This is—wow. Oh my gosh . Bruh .”

I don’t even roll my eyes at his use of the word bruh , which I keep trying to ban from his vocabulary—unsuccessfully.

Parker laughs as Liam releases her. His full focus moves to the page in his hand, which he reads over and over like he’s memorizing it.

“I’m glad you’re excited,” she tells him. “Your energy will help pump up the guys. Come on, let’s go.”

I don’t have time to react or freak out before Parker leads us through a few more doors and past a security guard to the locker room. Or dressing room, as I remember Liam saying it could also be called. Parker knocks, opens the door an inch, then calls out a warning through the crack.

“Please warn me if you’re not decent! Women and child about to enter!”

“Are we ever decent?” one of the guys calls, immediately followed by laughter and several voices saying to come in. Parker throws open the door all the way, and then we step inside the Appies’ locker room.

I remember from Parker and Liam talking that the locker room doesn’t actually have lockers, but I’m still surprised by the bright, open space. The floor is some kind of rubber matting with an Appies logo in the very center of the room. A padded bench runs around three of the four walls, with wooden built-in shelving units meant for the gear and nameplates above each guy’s head. It looks like a large, expensive mudroom.

Stalls , Liam said when he was about to take his tour with Parker a few weeks ago. The term fits more now that I’m seeing everything. This is not the idea I had in my head of a room with metal lockers, cheap wooden benches screwed to a cheap tile floor, and a cloud of spray deodorant hanging in the air, barely covering the smell of old socks and body odor.

I realize only in this moment that in my head, I was picturing my junior high locker room where we had to change for gym class.

Not even close.

This room looks expensive, as I guess a professional sports team’s locker room should be. I’ve heard rumors of hockey gear smelling horrendously foul, but at least right now, the only thing I smell is the scent of very masculine deodorant or body wash. There’s a definite vibe in here, a heady anticipation almost like fire, bright and fierce, licking the air and fed by these powerful-looking men preparing for battle.

A few of the guys I’ve met smile at Liam and me, but others are clearly in serious game-day mode as they gear up. There are a lot more unfamiliar faces, including other Appies staff buzzing around, some in polos like Parker and a few men in full suits. Coaches, I’d guess. All in all, there are way more people than I would have anticipated in this room.

Immediately, I feel out of place, what with all the testosterone, and the sense of something larger I’m very much not a part of.

Needing an emotional anchor of sorts, my gaze finds Camden. Not surprisingly, he looks great. His hair is damp, like he just worked out or showered, curling a little at the back of his neck and over the tops of his ears. His dark-gray athletic shirt clings to his torso and arms. Over it, he has on his shoulder pads, which, like most of the hockey gear I feel like has been poorly named, covers his chest as much as his shoulders.

When I was helping Liam get ready the one time, I told him the shoulder pads reminded me of a superhero costume. I think it’s the shape of the chest part, which falls right where a logo would, like Superman’s S. Liam only rolled his eyes and groan-whispered, Mom, stop .

Camden’s skates are on but unlaced, and he’s wearing his hockey pants (again: shorts) while currently taping up his hockey socks (louder for those in the back: not socks). He has a sort of swagger about him right now, even while seated. It’s in the confident set of his shoulders, the smirky little smile he gives me, like he knows I’m checking him out and ready to hand out a high approval rating.

Another version of Camden that’s new to me: Game Day Camden.

It’s a very good look on him.

“Hey, guys!” Parker claps her hands and raises her voice, though a lot of the guys looked up as soon as she came in.

Logan, notably. The way he gazes at her is somewhere between really adorable—he’s clearly such a simp for her—and also slightly uncomfortable … for the same reason. The raw, unabashed adoration in his dark eyes feels almost too personal to be visible for everyone to see.

Logan does not seem to care in the slightest.

Parker puts an arm around Liam, who is clearly about to perish from sheer excitement. “I’ve got someone special with me today. Some of you have already met Liam.”

“Yo, Liam!” Eli is sitting close enough to reach out for a fist bump.

A few of the other guys call out greetings, and Camden stands, taking a few steps over in his skates to shake Liam’s hand.

Why this just about does me in, I can’t say. But I find my throat suddenly tight with emotion as I watch them.

“Liam.”

“Coach Cam.” Liam stands straighter now, and I can see him giving Camden a good grip with the handshake. He gets an approving nod from Cam.

Before he goes back to his seat, Camden passes me by, his hand gliding down my arm before he gives my fingertips a quick squeeze. My cheeks feel hot, and I’m suddenly zinging with nerves.

Someone whistles, and Cam grabs a ball of discarded tape from the bench and pegs it their way. Not surprisingly, the target is Van, Greyson’s brother, and I almost laugh, remembering her comment about his mouth.

When the laughter subsides, Parker continues in a brisk, business-like tone. “Liam is halfway through our new youth class and doing great. I thought it would be fitting to have him read the lineup today.”

There is a chorus of clapping and cheers, and Parker urges Liam to step forward into the room. I don’t miss the tiny tremble in his hands clutching the paper with the lineup on it, and I’m grateful when Parker, who I’m learning is always a few steps ahead, presses a tissue into my hands.

“Just in case,” she whispers with a smile.

Liam clears his throat, then starts to read in the loudest, most grown-up voice I’ve ever heard him use. I do my best to be surreptitious as I wipe my eyes.

“And for your starting lineup tonight, we have …” He pauses, looking down at the list. I’m sure he has them memorized already. Glancing down is just to be sure he doesn’t make a mistake due to his nerves. “Number seventeen, Barnes.”

I startle when all the guys chant, “Hey!” and clap their hands in unison. Barnes is on the nameplate above Logan, so I’m guessing they use last names or nicknames for lineups.

“Number thirty-seven, Vanity.”

Van flexes as everyone claps.

“Number twenty-one, the Kid.”

“Hey!” Clap.

“He only wishes he was twenty-one!” Van adds, and a few guys laugh.

The Kid must refer to Dominik—the one Greyson was talking about that Parker said was very young. Up close and with no helmet on, he does look young. Liam’s voice gains confidence with each name and so does the warm pride bubbling up in my chest.

“Number twenty-three, Sanders.”

“Hey!” Clap.

“Number eleven.” Liam pauses. “Cole. A.k.a. Coach Cam.”

This hey is a little louder and longer than the others, and so is the clapping that follows.

Camden grins at this, and Eli gives him a friendly shove. I feel like my stupid heart swelled up and will require some serious renovations if it wants to stay in my chest.

“And between the pipes, Felix Jamison.”

“Hey!” This is followed by a whole round of clapping and cheers.

When it subsides, Parker steps forward next to Liam again, but before she can speak, Liam says, “Let’s have a beaut of a game tonight, boys!”

More cheering. More guys getting up to fist bump or high five Liam. More of me sniffing and trying not to visibly cry. I don’t really care about sports, though I guess I need to at least consider starting to care about this one. I’m not sure why I’m so in my feels about this, other than Liam caring so much and seeing the way Camden and his teammates are being with him.

“You okay there?”

Camden is standing next to me, and I really have to crane my neck to look at him. I’m not sure of his actual height, maybe somewhere around six feet or just over, but with him in skates, I feel Lilliputian.

“Me? I’m totally fine.”

“Mm-hm,” he says, clearly not believing me but willing to let it go. “I got you something for tonight.”

“I want to tell you to stop getting me things.”

He raises an eyebrow. “But?”

“But … I kind of like being pampered by you,” I confess.

He chuckles. “Good. Because I have no plans to stop. Here.”

From somewhere behind him, Camden produces a jersey I didn’t notice him holding. He shakes it out and turns it so I see his last name—which I now know—and number on the back.

“You don’t have to wear it,” he says. “What you’ve got on looks … really nice.”

I grab the jersey and immediately tug it over my head. It’s a little too big, but I like the way it hangs down over my hips. It would probably look really good with leggings under it. Or a shorter skirt and boots.

“How does it look?” I ask, turning so he can see the back. When I glance over my shoulder at him, his smile is pure male pride.

“Like it belongs on you,” he says. “A perfect fit.”

And it’s funny because after my concerns about today and how it might be to see Camden in his element and have the full hockey experience, so far, it feels as fitting as wearing Camden’s jersey.