Page 3 of Hockey Halloween
Willa
Greg goes on and on about budget proposals, all while sharing his thoughts on how Gen Z has no work ethic—which I strongly disagree with.
I try to pay attention, I really do, but after another ten minute monologue, I excuse myself with a fake smile.
I can’t take his boring ramble any longer.
Our blind date is officially a bust. No surprise there.
“I’m going to use the ladies’,” I lie smoothly, setting my empty glass on a nearby table. “Be right back.”
Scanning the room, I search for a tall, broad-shouldered, maddeningly charming man with dimples and eyes that can make me forget how to breathe.
Nolan. My accidental right person.
This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. I was supposed to meet a safe, pre-approved stranger, act politely, maybe swap numbers if there was even a flicker of potential. That was the plan.
Something inside me screams to find Nolan instead. I felt more spark in twenty minutes of conversation with him than I had on years’ worth of dates combined. Too bad I was an idiot who panicked and made the wrong decision in a sudden lapse of judgment.
Pushing past a couple dressed up as a vampire and a werewolf making out near a cobwebbed pillar, I search around the dimly lit room. My heart is hammering, nerves and hope tangled in my throat. What if he left? What if I missed my shot?
I scan the crowd, holding my breath. Please still be here. Please still be here.
I make my way to the garden rooftop the club is known for. Cool air bites at my exposed skin, grounding me. Crossing to the edge, I grip the cold metal railing, letting my breath fog in the air.
“You found me,” a familiar voice brings me back to reality.
Turning around, I spot Nolan. A small, content smile curls his lips as I stare at him. The subtle lighting from the rooftop bar casts a soft glow on his features, making him appear somehow even more unreal.
“Told you I’m good at solving mysteries.”
He laughs under his breath. “You ditched the wannabe Indiana Jones?”
“Oh, yeah, he’s too busy complaining about his job to notice I’m gone,” I share, leaning against the railing next to him. “I needed air…and honestly? I needed you more.”
He moves closer, but doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “I kept thinking about how you looked when you walked away. How I wanted to call you to come back, but couldn’t get the words out fast enough.”
“I kept hoping you would.” His smile softens into something deeper. “You had me worried for a second. I thought I imagined the whole thing when you didn’t stop me from leaving.”
“As cliché as it sounds, it was me, not you.”
We stand there, looking over the garden where the orange lights dance around, and a fog machine pumps out fake mist.
“I was also worried I’d ruined the moment,” he admits quietly .
“You didn’t. You gave me an out, but I was a coward for staying.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should have said anything.”
“Well, if it helps, you should know that I almost ran after you.”
The weight of his gaze is enough to make my pulse flutter. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I freeze in uncomfortable situations,” I say with an awkward chuckle. “My brain totally short-circuits, my limbs weigh a ton. But then you left and all I could think about was finding you again.”
“So here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeat his words. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says with a widening smile.
“You said you weren’t supposed to be here tonight. That your friends wanted you to have fun and let loose. Yet, you didn’t specify what you were taking a break from.”
He exhales slowly. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s a cop-out if I ever heard one.”
“My life is intense, okay? I’ve got a job where everything is under constant pressure.
There’s public expectations, performance scores and scrutiny over every little detail.
Even when I’m off the clock, I can’t relax even if I would love nothing more than to do that.
” I nod, quietly listening. “Tonight, you didn’t recognize me.
You didn’t talk to me because of who I am, or what I do. You just saw me .”
My brain scrambles, trying to understand his words. It’s like I’m missing a puzzle piece. Yet, it doesn’t erase the feelings I have after a short time knowing him.
“I still see you, Nolan. Whatever it is, whatever you do. It doesn’t change the way I felt talking with you.”
He watches me for a moment, something vulnerable flickering in his gaze. “I wanted to tell you—” He breaks off, running fingers through his hair. “I guess I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“You can tell me any?—”
My words are cut off by a shrill gasp. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it’s you! ”
We both turn toward the high-pitched voice. A young woman in a glittery Cleopatra costume clutches her phone and stares at Nolan like he’s risen from an ancient tomb.
“You’re Nolan Ford—number 83!” she squeals. “Holy crap, I knew it was you, but I had to get closer to confirm. My younger brother is obsessed with you and your team. We watch every game together. You’re the reason he got into hockey.”
“Um, thanks. That’s really kind of you to share,” he replies, a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes forming on his face.
“Can I get a selfie?” The woman is already stepping next to him, phone angled for a photo. “He’s going to freak out.”
Nolan nods and she snaps the shot before thanking him, asking for his number to send it over. He declines, saying she can post it on social media and tag him instead.
What the heck is happening?
The shift between us is immediate. He’s still the same man who made me feel special earlier, even if his expression is guarded and annoyed at the same time.
The woman mentioned hockey and how she watches every game with her brother. How the man in front of me inspired the kid to play. My heart stumbles in my chest as the pieces click in place.
“You’re a professional hockey player,” I whisper, disappointment lacing my low tone.
His jaw tightens as he lowers his head. “I play for the Minnesota Lynx as their first line left winger.”
“As in the NHL team? The same team that won a few seasons ago?”
“Yeah,” he admits with a resolute sigh. “That would be the one.”
Something tightens in my throat. I step away, wanting to flee. Not again . I can’t be falling for another hockey player. Not after what happened with my ex. Not after he cheated on me with multiple women while on the road.
I wrap my arms around myself, not because I’m cold, but because I need something to hold me together. Swallowing hard, I ask, “You thought it would be okay not to tell me? ”
The familiar ache I thought I’d left behind with my ex rushes back with my question. It settles in my chest like a wound that never fully healed, waiting for the right moment to throb as a reminder of the past pain. I feel stupid for letting myself fall, even for a second.
How many times have I told myself I would never repeat the same mistakes? Apparently, not enough.
Nolan exhales loudly, running his hand over his face. “I was going to say more before that fan started fangirling over me…but I didn’t want it to be the first thing you knew about me.”
“You mean you didn’t want it to be the thing I knew about you.”
He doesn’t argue, because I’m right.
“I’ve been here before and it didn’t end well for me,” I admit the ugly truth of my last relationship.
“Another player hurt you?”
Nodding once, I confirm his guess. “He shattered me.” I meet his eyes, the sudden sadness in them mirroring my own. “I promised myself I’d never date an athlete again.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but I can’t do this right now. I can’t let my heart start falling more for him while still remembering how much it hurt the last time I fell for a player.
“I should go,” I murmur.
When I run inside, he doesn’t follow. I don’t dare to look back, repeating the same mantra over and over— it’s better this way —though I don’t truly believe it.