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Chapter 24

Kitty

The day of Guy’s first regular season game with Seattle, we had breakfast together at his apartment. He was up way earlier than he needed to be for morning skate. I knew he had to be nervous as hell.

He made us omelets, dressed only in pajama pants hung low on his hips. I stood behind him while he cooked, keeping my hands on his skin as much as possible. We’d done plenty of reuniting the night before, not even making it to our dinner reservation. We ordered steak from the same place and ate it on his living room floor in our underwear. After we had our mini-feast, we got right back to exploring each other. In fact, I was sore in various places from all the activity. My abs were especially tired from working hard on top. Still, I already wanted more at breakfast time. I’d do whatever he wanted, though. His body was the one that had to perform professionally that night.

“Nervous?”

“Shitting myself.” He laughed, but I knew he was serious. “Just the thing I’ve worked my whole life to do. No pressure.”

“You’re going to be awesome,” I told him. “Even if you only play for thirty seconds, I’ll be proud of you.”

He got a funny look on his face.

“Fine. Even if you’re a last-minute healthy scratch, I’ll be proud of you. They’ll want to show off their hot new rookie, though.”

Guy’s expression finally softened. “Thanks, Birdy.” He planted an everything-bagel-seasoning-flavored kiss on me. “What are you going to do while I’m at practice?”

“Probably just wander around your neighborhood, maybe work on some scripts I’ve been polishing for my portfolio. Have some of that famous Seattle coffee.”

We talked about my coursework, and how glad I was to be out of math.

“This new life is great, but I miss being there with you,” he admitted. “It’s hard wanting to do both.”

My stomach turned. I loved Guy so much, and I wanted to support him through all the changes he was going through. And yet doubts kept haunting me, that we weren’t doing ourselves any favors by distracting each other like we were. I ultimately couldn’t be there for him in the way that he needed, nor he for me. Our love was deep, but there was an undeniable strain in navigating the changes.

“It is hard,” I agreed, and left it at that. “Who am I sitting with at the game?”

“My buddy Branson’s girlfriend. I’ve only met her once, but he said she’d be happy to hang with you. She just moved here to be with him so she doesn’t have many friends.”

“Ah,” I said, masking my annoyance. I had strong feelings that I didn’t belong among the WAGs, or wives and girlfriends. I had career ambitions beyond just supporting my player. That did nothing for the pile of doubts mounting in my head.

“I’m sure she’s great, even if she’s no Violet.” Guy cocked his head at me, seeing through my bullshit. “Give her a chance, Birdy.”

“I will, I will,” I grumbled. “You know I’m fucking delightful.”

And I am delightful. There’s always a type of person who doesn’t think so. I can tell within seconds, because almost all of them say, “Oh, you’re one of those funny people,” after my first joke crack. An instant sign of incompatibility.

“Oh, yes, I’m well aware,” he said, pulling out my barstool and standing between my legs. “Can we squeeze in one more delight before we head out?”

* * *

Our seats were a few rows off the ice and to the side of the home bench. Suited up in a brand spankin’ new “Stelle” jersey, jeans, and white sneaks, I moved down to my seat. I found a blonde woman with a beer, a soda, a hot dog, a box of candy, and a monster bucket of popcorn. Much like Guy’s high school girlfriend, she looked like she came from the Pretty Girl Store.

“Melanie?”

“Hey! Are you Kitty?”

“I am. Great to meet you.”

I felt every day of my nineteen years at that moment. Melanie had the air of an Actual Adult.

“Hungry?” I asked, gesturing to her mountain of food and drink.

She snorted. “I get nervous before his games and I eat my feelings. I’m always afraid someone’s going to hurt him. You want anything?”

“Hockey is indeed a bloodsport,” I conceded. “I’ll probably get a soda after they warm up. Guy told me you just moved here?”

“Yeah, from Minnesota. Decided I couldn’t be without him anymore.” My cheeks warmed. That was exactly the kind of shit I worried about. “I heard you’re a talented comedian. How’s school going?”

Okay, fine. Melanie was very nice and not snotty at all. She didn’t talk down to me for being young, and treated me like I had every right to be there. She knew the pain of being away from the person you loved. She was empathetic and thoughtful. And she never once said, “Oh, you’re one of those funny people.” She wasn’t exactly my kind of person, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well we got along.

“Wait, was I not supposed to wear his jersey? He gave me this to wear,” I asked Mel, in a mild panic.

“Typically, WAGs don’t, but it’s his first game and you’re his biggest fan. I think everyone will forgive it,” she assured me.

“But . . . I did do the wrong thing.”

“Don’t sweat it. If anyone wants to be mean to you, they’ll have to take it up with me,” she said, nudging me.

Our conversation cut off when the lights dimmed in the arena. A spotlight shone on the Sealpups’ tunnel. Guy knew the rookie lap was coming, a time-honored tradition in the NHL. He was well-prepared, stepping onto the ice by himself with confidence and doing some fancy footwork on his skates. His teammates and the crowd cheered for him, the captain knocking the pucks off the ledge for his second go-round. Guy fired off a rocket of a shot with a huge grin.

Pride swelled in my chest, my hands shaking as I tried to take a video. I gave up halfway through and just watched him. I’d obviously seen him play plenty of times before, but I’d never gotten to celebrate him as the star of the show. I sent my shitty, shaky video off to Frank and my parents. Melanie air-dropped me her much higher-quality video, which I then sent off.

“He did great,” she said, hugging me to her side. “Branson says he’s such a good sport.” For someone I didn’t know, she somehow knew what I needed. I needed someone to share such a special moment with. Part of me wished my family could have come, too. They loved Guy just as much as I did. Well, maybe not in the same way, but they loved him deeply, too.

My eyes welled when Guy lined up to take practice shots with the rest of the team. There he was. The boy next door made it all the way to the place of his dreams. He defied losing his parents. He defied having his life upended twice in a year. He made it.

After he’d gone through a few rounds of drills, he skated off to the glass in front of our seats. Like I was under a spell, I floated down to talk to him. I didn’t realize I was still crying until I got to him.

He held up his glove and I matched it with my hand.

“HI, KITTY BIRD,” he yelled like he always did through the glass at Alden games.

“Hi, Guy-Guy,” I sniffed.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m proud of you. You did it.”

His cheeks went pink and he laughed, but I could tell he was touched. He moved on to make a joke, I think to keep himself from crying. He wiggled his eyebrows. “You look good in my jersey.”

“Yeah, well. Later.” There were children around, so I didn’t want or need to spell out that I’d only be wearing that later. He knew, though. We both laughed. “Give ‘em hell, Stelle.”

We snapped a selfie with my phone, blew each other kisses, and he skated off with a wink.

The first period went by in a blur, his first shift on the ice lasting a mere thirty seconds. I knew that was somewhat normal for the beginning of a game, and mentally applauded myself for how much I’d learned about the sport because of Guy. Maybe I did deserve to be a WAG.

Mel’s boyfriend, Branson, was in Guy’s line, part of the reason they were such good friends. A couple of times, Mel gripped my hand when they were in. Normally, I’d be weirded out by someone trying to bond so fast, but there was something so sweet and pure about her friendship. Mel was a classic Midwesterner, open, kind, and easy to talk to.

Toward the end of the first, Guy took a high stick to the face from one of Vancouver’s players. I gasped, my stomach sinking as I looked to see if his face was bleeding.

“Shit, I know what you mean about losing it when anything happens,” I said to Mel.

She chuckled. “It never gets easier. Looks like he’s not hurt too bad.”

And he wasn’t. When he lined up for a faceoff in front of us, he gave me a wink. He must have known I was freaking out.

During the second period, he got to drive the puck down the ice toward Vancouver’s goal. He popped it to one of his waiting teammates like it was second nature, who sliced it right back to Guy. And just like that, Guy shot it into the upper part of the net.

The crowd erupted, me along with them. I frankly felt like I could piss myself. Tears pricked my eyes as Guy pointed to the sky, for Maman, and then in my direction. One of his older teammates took the puck out of the net as the rest of his line joined him for the celly.

Guy had done something rare and special. He got a goal in his first NHL appearance, a rookie for everyone to get excited about. And he was mine. All frickin’ mine.