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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Marissa

My eyes go wide when I see Dozer yank the guy around who slammed his teammate into the side and pull him forward. They’re quickly swarmed by both teams, the officials blowing their whistles and trying to break up the mass of men on skates.

It seems to take them a while, and the crowd cheers at the prospect of a fight. There was an actual fistfight earlier, with two players dropping their gloves and going at it while the officials watched for a few minutes, finally blowing their whistles when one shoved the other down to the ice, both of them continuing to punch each other.

The fact that’s allowed is wild to me. Sure, yeah, the officials break it up … eventually. And only after they stand and watch for a minute. It’s not at all like in football, where any time a punch is thrown, the refs immediately intervene, giving out harsh penalties.

In hockey, they basically just get a timeout on the naughty step for a few minutes. Sure, if someone goes to the naughty step, that team’s down a player. But when both teams are missing a player, it’s still pretty even.

When the game finally ends, with the Emeralds victorious, I stand and gather my trash, finally pulling my phone out of my pocket and turning it on. I always turn it off during games because I want to stay in the moment. I kept it on for a while during the first period so I could get some pictures, but it’s been off since then.

To my surprise, I have a text message from Dozer telling me where to find the family and friends area and asking me to meet him there after the game.

I shoot off a response, just saying okay, unsure if he’ll see it or not, reread his directions, then slowly make my way out of my seat and down and around to the area he said to go to.

A large man in a security uniform eyes me as I walk closer, and I put on my best smile that I use to charm strangers and close sales. If anything, that makes his scowl deepen.

Alright. This oughtta be fun.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Oof. He ma’amed me. That happened a few times in Texas, though it was usually still miss. I’m only thirty-two after all!

Maintaining my smile, I pull to a stop in front of him and lean into my Texas accent a little more than normal. Sometimes it helps. “Good evening, sir. I’m a friend of Dozer Boggs. He invited me to the game tonight and asked me to meet him in the friends and family area.” I unlock my phone and hold out the text messages to show him what Dozer said.

The security guard looks me up and down, barely sparing a glance at my phone. “What’s your name?” he asks in a bored tone.

“Marissa Kane.”

Lifting his hand, he speaks into a little microphone concealed in his sleeve. “I have a Marissa Kane here asking access to the friends and family area. She says she knows Mr. Boggs.”

I press my lips together and roll them between my teeth. I’m not sure why, exactly, but thinking of Dozer in such formal terms strikes me as funny. Maybe because he goes by Dozer? It’s not a name that inspires formality.

“You’ll have to wait here while they check,” he tells me, and I nod, checking my email on my phone—nothing new there—then checking social media for any updates from my friends or family. I also post a couple of the pics I took tonight with the caption, “First time at a hockey game!”

As soon as I finish, the guard steps aside and waves me into the hallway behind him. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

I hide my wince, but damn. Two ma’ams in one night?

Do I look extra old in this sweatshirt or something?

Shaking my head, I start down the hallway, following the sound of voices coming from somewhere below. The hallway opens into a space with some chairs grouped in a corner. A few women stand in a cluster off to one side. One of them looks me up and down, then dismisses me with a flip of her hair.

Another woman corrals two young children near the chairs, though the little boy—the younger of the two by the looks of it—seems to be having a hard time, fussing and whining and flopping around while his sister watches, eyes wide. They provoke several annoyed looks from the group of women, but the mother ignores them, which makes me wonder if this is a regular occurrence.

The area slowly fills in with more and more people, and after a bit, players start to come out in ones and twos, some of them taking off on their own, others meeting up with their friends or family members who are waiting for them.

Dozer comes out alongside one of his teammates. His teammate claps him on the shoulder before heading for the woman and two kids I saw earlier. Dozer hesitates, scanning the crowd.

Lifting my hand, I wave a little to get his attention, and his face lights up when he spots me. He weaves past the group of sleek women, ignoring the way they try to get his attention, his focus entirely on me.

It’s … thrilling. In a way I probably shouldn’t admit. Definitely not out loud, and barely even in the quiet, secret parts of myself.

But when is the last time anyone’s face lit up like that at the sight of me?

Has anyone ever looked that happy to see me?

I can’t think of a time, though surely when Peter and I first got together and we were in the thrall of young love, he was excited to see me …

It’s possible that teenage me didn’t pay attention to it.

But it’s also possible that he was never as excited to see me as Dozer is.

His grin stretches across his face as he stops in front of me. “You made it! And you wore your sweatshirt.”

“I did! I told you I was excited to wear it. Thank you again.”

His smile turns a little bashful. “You might’ve just wanted to be polite. Not everyone means the things they say.”

Hooking my mouth to the side, I contemplate that, studying him as I do. I’m guessing he has lots of experience with people saying one thing to his face but acting totally differently. As many frustrating things as there were with my relationship with Peter, he at least didn’t do that. The hope I held onto for years was more my own self-delusion than anything else. Sure, he’d sometimes placate me by making vague statements about maybe someday he’d be ready instead of outright saying he never wanted to get married. But the reality was clear if I’d only had the courage to look at it sooner.

“If I say I’m excited about something, I always mean it.” I hold up my hands, palms out. “I won’t deny that I sometimes say what I need to in order to diffuse an awkward or unpleasant situation, but even then, I wouldn’t outright lie about being excited or something.”

He releases a breath, his shoulders relaxing, and he nods toward the exit. “Should we head out? I was thinking we could hit the Salty Salmon again. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds perfect.”