Page 17

Chapter 17

Riley

As promised, John found a couple of Seattle Breakers jerseys for Nolan and me to wear. Mine was indeed a little loose since I was narrower in the shoulders than either of them, but hockey jerseys seemed to be kind of loose anyway. It also left room to wear a hoodie and a T-shirt underneath, which I was glad I’d done.

“Wow,” I said as I took my seat. “You weren’t kidding about the cold!”

Carol laughed, squeezing my arm with a gloved hand. “Just be glad you didn’t have to learn the hard way like we did.”

“You didn’t have to learn the hard way,” Nolan corrected. “You could’ve listened to me and Matt when we told you.”

“Hey.” Carol reached across me and thumped him on the leg. “Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

“Or what?” he asked with a smirk. “You can’t ground me or take away my car keys, so…” He spread his hands.

She tsked and looked at me. “Keep your man in line, Riley.”

I showed my palms. “Nope. No. Not getting between a man and his mom. In fact…” I gestured at my seat and Nolan’s. “Why don’t we switch so—”

“No, no.” She clapped my forearm. “He’s your problem now.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” Nolan said with mock petulance. She stuck her tongue out at him. He just huffed and crossed his arms, but he was chuckling.

A little pang of sadness knocked against my ribs. I would have given literally anything to be having an exchange like this with my own mom. Bantering with her and my boyfriend? Her playfully telling him “he’s your problem now!” ? That was all a pipe dream for me, and it had been long before I’d severed contact with them.

That hurt in some places that were extra raw right now.

Nolan elbowed me gently and dropped his voice so only I could hear him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “I’m good.”

His arched eyebrow called bullshit.

I leaned closer. “Just… wish this was something I could do with my family.”

His lips parted and his eyes widened. “Oh. Shit. I didn’t even think about—”

“It’s okay. I’m glad your parents are cool with us.”

“Still.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I might’ve liked that a little too much. He wasn’t my boyfriend. We weren’t really what we were presenting to his parents. But that gesture…

Yeah. I liked it.

I leaned into him, and he didn’t seem to mind at all.

A moment later, his dad arrived. He’d been up in the concourse getting drinks and snacks for everyone.

“All right, lovebirds.” He nudged Nolan’s knee. “Let me through.”

Without breaking eye contact with his dad, Nolan put his feet up on the back of the empty seat in front of him.

John eyed him. “These nachos were twenty-five bucks, but don’t think I won’t dump them in your lap for being a smartass.”

Nolan grinned and tugged at his jersey, which he’d also borrowed from his dad. “You sure you want to do that?”

John scowled. Then, in a whiny voice, he said, “Carol, your son is being a brat!”

“Don’t I know it,” she muttered.

Nolan laughed, lowered his feet, and let his dad pass by. John distributed drinks—a lemonade for Carol, beers for the rest of us. He and Carol were splitting a tray of nachos, Nolan had a box of Reese’s Pieces, and I had a box of M&Ms.

“We really could’ve helped you carry all this,” I said as I opened mine.

“Nah.” John waved a hand, then plucked a chip off the tray and dragged it through the cheese. “I didn’t want to risk one of you dumbasses spilling a beer.”

Nolan and I talked over each other, protesting our innocence and assuring him that we, as a Marine and a Sailor, would never spill a beer . The nerve of this man.

I seriously loved this family already. Too bad I wasn’t really their son’s boyfriend, but I could still enjoy this, right?

I was also glad to see Nolan settling into the groove. He’d been so wound up about coming to Seattle, and he’d been a little distant last night at his parents’ house. Here, though, he was chill and relaxed. Maybe hockey games were his happy place.

That wasn’t something we could do on Okinawa—not that I knew of, anyway—but maybe a baseball game?

“So, Riley.” John leaned forward to look at me past Carol. “How is it you grew up in California and never once went to a hockey game? There’s four teams down there!”

I laughed. “Yeah, but there’s no hockey team in San Diego. Anaheim, L.A., and San Francisco—those are a bit of a hike just to go to a game.”

“Okay, but I was in San Diego for a while.” Nolan elbowed me. “L.A. isn’t that far. You never went a single game?”

“Nah. Just wasn’t on my radar, I guess. I went to football and baseball games, but…” I shrugged.

“Ugh.” Nolan wrinkled his nose. “Those are both so boring after hockey.”

“Well, damn. And here I was going to try to take you a baseball game when we got back to Oki.” I popped an M&M into my mouth. “Guess we’ll just have to go to a bullfight instead.”

“Bullfighting?” Carol scoffed. “Oh, that’s barbaric!”

“Nah,” Nolan said. “It’s nothing like they do in Europe. It’s more like… I guess like Sumo wrestling for bulls? They just kind of push and shove each other until one knocks the other out of the ring.”

Carol eyed him dubiously. “They don’t get hurt?”

“They get scratched up sometimes,” I said. “But they have handlers to keep things from getting out of control. It’s really nothing like Spanish bullfights.”

She pursed her lips but relaxed a little. “Well, all right. As long as it’s not… that .”

Nolan made a face. “I’d never go to something like that.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Have you been to an Okinawan bullfight?” I asked.

“Once, when I first got to the island. You?”

“Couple of times. There was a ring near where I lived before I—” I hesitated, suddenly realizing his parents might not know we were shacking up. Sort of. “By my old place.”

He nodded. “Well. We’ll have to go to one when we get back.”

I grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

Shortly after that, the hockey game kicked off. Or at least, all the pregame stuff did. The players came out to warm up for like fifteen minutes. Then the Zambonis came out, and after that, there was an opening montage showing some of the players scoring goals and shoving other players into the glass.

“Is it true they fight a lot?” I asked Nolan.

“They fight,” he said. “But not very often.”

I made a disgusted sound. “He tells me that now .”

Nolan laughed. “It’ll still be entertaining. Don’t worry.”

We’d see about that.

The starting lineups were announced. The crowd booed for the other team’s players, but cheered for their own.

“Is there a big rivalry?” I asked Nolan.

“No.” He flashed me a grin. “Hockey fans are just enthusiastic.”

“You don’t say.”

The starting players stood in rows on the ice. For the national anthem, I assumed.

Then, on the Jumbotron, the words “Hometown Hero Salute” appeared.

“For tonight’s Hometown Hero Salute,” the announcer said, “the Seattle Breakers would like to honor local veteran Sergeant First Class Lynnette Sullivan.” He then rattled off some details about her career, which had been an eight-year enlistment in the Army. She’d served two tours in Iraq, and while it hadn’t been the kind of career that would get her name in a history book, she’d served honorably and earned a handful of medals along the way.

The crowd gave her a standing ovation as someone handed her a camouflaged jersey styled with the team’s logo and her last name printed across the back.

Then the announcer said, “If you are able, we ask you to please rise for the singing of the National Anthem.”

We did, and when the song was finished, the game was apparently ready to start.

As the players set up at the middle of the rink, John leaned past Carol again and said to me, “We keep trying to get him to let us put him in for one of these salutes.” He shook his head and glared playfully at Nolan. “He won’t do it, though.”

Though Nolan’s mood had been light all evening, he didn’t look amused. He just pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Not your thing?” I asked.

“No.” Nolan gestured at the crowd and the Jumbotron. “Definitely not my thing.”

“Doesn’t like to be the center of attention,” John said.

“You wouldn’t know it now,” Carol chimed in, “but our Nolan used to be the life of the party! He was even a bit of a class clown in junior high.”

“Always had good grades, though,” John added. “And then he just kind of turned into a wallflower.”

“Oh,” I said, curious but not sure if Nolan would appreciate me asking.

“Yeah, his senior year.” Carol shook her head sadly. “He really withdrew from everyone. Got kind of quiet and didn’t want to be social. Not with his friends, not even with his family. To tell you the truth, I thought he was getting into drugs, especially after he quit wrestling. But his grades held, so it must not have been that.”

My stomach knotted as I stole a glance at Nolan, who was staring steadfastly at the game. He had the expression of someone who was trying very hard to focus on what was ahead of him and ignore everything around him. Especially his parents’ comments.

Following his lead, I gestured at the ice. “So, uh, you might have to fill me in on what’s going on. Because this is all…” I flailed a hand at the players, who were skating in all directions and chasing the puck and each other all over the ice. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

That got the desired effect and broke through Nolan’s scowl. He chuckled and leaned toward me. “You see that little black thing on the ice? That’s—”

“Oh, shut up.” I elbowed him.

He cackled.

A moment later, the refs blew the whistle and play stopped, though I had no idea why. “Wait, what just happened?”

“Offside.”

“Which means…?”

He chuckled. “Okay, so the ice is divided into three zones…”

By the time he was finished explaining, I thought I kind of vaguely understood how offside worked. But then like five minutes later, Seattle scored and New York challenged it for offside.

“Okay, watch the screen.” Nolan leaned in close and gestured at the Jumbotron. “See the guy with the puck on his stick?”

I nodded as we watched the painfully slow replay.

“Right, so he crossed the blue line with the puck, but the other guy on his team crossed it before the puck cleared the line.”

I furrowed my brow. The replay started again, this time in even slower motion. Yeah, the other guy did make it over before the puck did… maybe? Because it was like the tip of the guy’s skate blade versus the very edge of the tiny, blurry puck.

“So… it is offside?” I asked.

“Looks like it to me.” Nolan squinted at the screen. “Though from that angle…”

Another camera angle was showing, which didn’t reveal anything as far as I could see, but from the sudden booing and shouts of “it’s a good goal!” rising all around us, apparently people saw something.

Nolan was louder and more animated than I’d ever seen. “That’s bullshit!” he roared. “It’s onside! Good goal!”

All around us, people started chanting, “Good goal, good goal,” and Nolan joined in.

It was… kind of cute, actually. And maybe a little sexy. I wasn’t used to him being this boisterous about anything.

One of the referees skated away from the penalty box to center ice, and the arena went so silent so suddenly, it made my ears ring.

“After review for coach’s challenge,” he said, “it was determined that the play was offside. We have no goal.”

As suddenly as the place had gone silent, it erupted in angry boos that seemed to make the whole building shake.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Nolan roared along with everyone around us. I couldn’t help staring at him. It was rare that I saw him angry, never mind raising his voice, and in a situation like this, it was…

Hell, it was kind of hot.

Unaware of me ogling him, he dropped back into his seat, shaking his head. “Fucking refs.”

“No kidding,” Carol grumbled. “Ugh.” She didn’t seem to mind his language in this setting.

As the game continued, there were more calls that had the crowd—including Nolan—enraged. At one point, someone in our section started up a chant of, “Refs, you suck! Refs, you suck!” Nolan was the first to join in. Then a couple of other people around us did. I got into it too, and before long, the whole arena thundered with the angry chant. “Refs, you suck! Refs, you suck!”

The chant abruptly shifted to screaming and cheering when a Seattle player suddenly had the puck and was flying toward our end. Everyone shouted “Go! Go!” The opposing players were on his heels, but they couldn’t catch him. The goalie shifted right, then left, holding up his stick and glove as if he were trying to anticipate the player’s next move.

The guy with the puck wound his stick back, and the goalie dropped down in anticipation.

A second too late, he must’ve realized the puck was going up, and though he tried, he couldn’t stop it.

Before the puck had even hit the back of the net, everyone—including me—roared to our feet. The elation was contagious. I wasn’t even invested in the team and I barely understood the game, but I couldn’t help getting into it, especially when Seattle took the lead.

And watching Nolan get this exuberant and enthusiastic? That was amazing.

I didn’t quite get hockey. I wasn’t sure I really cared about it.

But anything that made Nolan this happy? Fuck yeah.

Count me in.