Page 33 of Fake Skating

Game day was a series of shocking events.

For starters, Alec looked ridiculous when he picked me up for school. I opened the kitchen door and almost dropped dead from a heart attack. I opened my mouth but the only words that came out were “Where are your contacts?”

“Too tired to put them in,” he said, looking confused. “Why?”

What does “why” mean again?

I knew that the team dressed up for some game days, but they hadn’t for the last one. He’d worn joggers and a hoodie, for God’s sake, so I wasn’t prepared for this .

I hadn’t pictured him dressing up so… well .

Alec was wearing perfectly tailored black pants that somehow showed off how muscular his thighs were (or maybe that was just my foggy brain still shocked by the change in him).

He had on a nice belt that matched his very stylish dress shoes, and the gray cashmere sweater he wore clung to his pectorals and amplified just how hard and wide his chest was.

And he was wearing glasses—dear Lord he looked good in those tortoiseshell frames. I remembered him getting contacts in sixth grade, but apparently he still wore glasses from time to time.

It wasn’t an exaggeration—it really wasn’t—to say he looked like he could be in a photo shoot for hot young businessmen, and it kind of freaked me out.

I wasn’t comfortable with how attractive he was, and I could tell he’d noticed me looking.

Dammit.

So I said, “Your mom has the best taste.”

“What?”

“I like your outfit,” I said with a heavy dose of teasing condescension. “It looks like Mommy got you really nice church clothes.”

His mouth slid into an arrogant smirk and he shook his head. “I know I look good; don’t be a little shit.”

“So humble,” I muttered, going around his big body because I couldn’t look at him for another second. My cheeks were hot and I felt unaccountably nervous, and the feeling didn’t get any better when I nearly broke off the car door handle.

I yanked, but it was still locked.

“Can you please unlock the door?” I asked with a sigh, glancing at him over my shoulder.

Only he was right there , much closer than I’d thought. My eyes met his, and a thousand images of him kissing me in that very driveway slammed into me.

It might’ve only lasted for mere seconds, but God, I could still feel his big hands tangled in my hair and see the intensity in his dark eyes as he’d lowered his face.

As his mouth had landed on mine.

He cleared his throat.

Gah!

I jumped a little and said, “God, it’s freezing out here.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said, unlocking the door and quickly walking over to the driver’s side.

I could feel the awkwardness between us.

Like every moment together was edged with tension.

Inflated.

And I had no idea what to do with it.

Looking to talk about anything not filled with weirdness, I asked, “Are you excited about the game tonight?”

“Are you mocking me?” he asked as he started the car.

“No, I mean it,” I said, watching out the window as he backed out of the driveway and started driving.

He was so serious about hockey that it had to stress him out.

“How do you feel on game day? Are you excited or nervous? Listening to pump-up music in your headphones while playing air guitar in the locker room—that sort of thing?”

He was rarely serious with me; he was either the obnoxious jock boy or a flicker of silly little Alec, so I was surprised when he swallowed hard and his jaw clenched. There was something in his dark eyes when he said, “I think I’m more stressed out when it’s not game day.”

“What? Really?”

“I can control my game, so I can’t wait for that,” he said. “Everything else is out of my hands, but when I get out there, it’s all up to me, so I’m just counting down the hours.”

He looked uncomfortable, like he was thinking unhappy thoughts, and I realized it was probably because I was sounding too interested.

I couldn’t have him thinking I was a hockey groupie or something, so I said, “This morning my mom told me she’s going to the game tonight, and when I asked her why, thinking she felt like she had to go just because I’m sitting on the bench filming, do you know what she said?”

“I’m sure it was brilliant,” he murmured, which made me roll my eyes because he’d always adored my mom.

“She said that she’s going to the hockey game to support the team. That she plans on going to every hockey game for the rest of this season,” I said, shaking my head. “That she plans on going to the Cro before the game tonight because apparently the parents all go there beforehand.”

That made his mouth turn up into a grin. “Why do you seem annoyed by this? This is what all the hockey parents do every game day.”

“But she’s not a hockey parent,” I said. “Her daughter is a manager just to get the extra-credit points.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe it doesn’t actually have to do with you?” he asked.

I flipped him off.

“No, seriously,” he said, giving me a little head shake. “It’s a Southview thing. Like, everybody here goes to the hockey games—they just do. And since your mom grew up here, I’m sure she probably spent her whole life going to them.”

“I suppose,” I said, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that.

All of this was what she’d grown up around; I just couldn’t imagine.

The Doug felt very different on game night.

The place was electric, packed to the rafters, with music playing, a rowdy student section, and adults everywhere dressed in maroon and white.

Alec was right—it was a community thing.

I set up the camera, and as I waited for everything to start, I was a little shocked by the number of familiar faces I already knew. We’d just moved there, so it was wild that I recognized anyone at all.

But I could see all the guys who’d been at Alec’s house the night we got to Southview, sitting with people I assumed were their wives and children.

And all the adults who’d been at Vinny’s the night before were sitting together—the hockey parents—and that group looked just as rowdy as the student section.

I could see my mom, sitting beside Sarah, Big John, and the twins (who were wearing adorable little number-seven hockey jerseys), and she looked like she was one of them, like she’d always been a part of this.

I forced my eyes in the other direction, not sure how I felt about that.

Because it looked right for her, if I was being honest, like this was where she was supposed to be, but that felt disloyal to my dad, the one who’d taken her away from all this.

My dad, who’d texted me twice since our call, and I’d yet to respond.

Dad: We still need to have that conversation—please text me your availability, kiddo.

Dad: I’d appreciate a response. I AM the one paying for your phone, Daniella.

I knew I needed to respond, but every time I tried, I ended up writing multiple paragraphs that I ultimately deleted because I knew he’d find them too emotional.

And I was too scared to call him.

Man, I’m losing it.

Thankfully, when the puck dropped, I had no choice but to snap out of my own head.

Because the game was unreal. It was a lightning-fast back-and-forth that had me on the edge of my seat, my eyes struggling to keep up with the speed of that little black puck.

And Alec was a sight to behold.

If he was intense at practice, he was sublime in a game.

He was insanely physical with the other team, slamming into players as he got his stick in there and fought for the puck like his life depended on it.

He got sent to the penalty box twice , although the crowd definitely thought the second time was unwarranted.

My heart was in my throat, and I felt a little emotional—in a good way—while watching him kick ass on the ice.

I was proud of my little friend Alec, who was a certified hockey god.

Southview won by two, and Alec had two assists—in addition to a goal that made me scream so loud my throat hurt.

I’d never had so much fun watching a sporting event in my entire life.

Who was I turning into?

After the game, I found my mom near the locker room with Sarah, Big John, the twins, and a couple of John’s friends.

“What’d you think of your first game, kid?” Big John asked, and I found it adorable how huge his smile was. My entire life he’d always reminded me of a happy Santa, and this was no exception. “That was one hell of a match.”

“I kind of loved it,” I admitted. “And Alec was amazing. It’s tough to reconcile the kid who used to take three naps a day with this badass hockey player.”

“One day he was wasting hours of his life playing video games,” Sarah said, her arms full of the big blanket she was holding, “and the next he wanted to spend every waking moment on the ice.”

“So are you his lucky charm?”

A tiny woman with cute brown eyes and curly black hair—and the most adorable northern accent—asked the question, and she was giving me a sweet smile.

I looked at the guy next to her and remembered them— Ellen and Gary . Big John’s parents, Alec’s grandparents.

“We’ve been talking about how this season he’s playing better than he ever has,” she said. “So we’re wondering if maybe that’s because of you.”

Wow—news traveled fast. I was pretty sure Grandma Ellen’s timeline was off, but it tipped in our favor, so I’d take it.

I looked at Sarah and John and my mom and they were all watching me with cheesy smiles.

“I think he’s just really good at hockey,” I said, shrugging, because I didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah, there is that,” my mom said, throwing me a wink.

Players started coming out of the locker room, and I couldn’t help but think how sweet it was the way everyone’s parents were waiting around to say “good job.”

There were also a couple of news reporters, standing on the edges of the crowd, and they definitely started filming when Alec walked out.