The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

thirty

Emyln

By the time I get to the arena, the game has already started. I know they're just for fun and that there are no standings in the league Hains is playing for, but there's something about it that makes me think of it as an actual NHL game. Maybe it's because my boyfriend is playing and I'm extra excited to be able to watch him. Or maybe it's because I haven't set foot in an arena since the day I left Whistler. I just couldn't bear the thought of playing hockey without my linemate with me. Watching hockey on TV without him was already hard enough.

All in all, it feels good to be back in the arena, with the familiar scents of stale popcorn, sweat, and spilt drinks. And watching Hains tear up the ice with his worn skates.

The jerseys the boys are wearing are simple: black versus white. Hains is wearing one of the black jerseys and it has a "C" on it that was constructed from what looks to be masking tape. Other guys have the "A" for alternate, but all I can see is the "C" on his jersey. He was always the captain. Every single year I played with Hains, he was the captain and he was better than better at the job. Though he's one of the humblest guys I've ever met, he's full of grit and determination when it comes to the game. There was nobody that put in as much effort as he did – does. Even watching him right now is an amazing example. There's a certain lazy vibe to the way the other players are playing – their passes aren't sharp and precise, they're not using their speed to their advantage, and lots of shots are taken for no reason. But with Hains, everything is perfect. He's playing as if he's in a camp, trying to prove that he's NHL quality.

I watch in awe as he intercepts a pass and breaks through the defensemen of the white team to gain a breakaway. I slide to the edge of my seat, watching in anticipation. For some reason, I reach up and touch the bridge of my nose.

"C'mon," I whisper. "Do your signature slap shot."

Hains has got the ice to himself – nobody on both teams can possibly keep up to him, obviously, because they've all given up, watching and waiting to see what he does – and when he slows down in front of the net, he begins to do a bunch of fancy work with his stick and the puck. My anticipation grows as I watch it go from his forehand to his backhand, back to his forehand. With a couple fancy moves that I was never able to master, Hains skids to a stop, sending out a spray of snow, and winds up for the slap shot.

When I see the puck hit the netting past the goalie, I can't stop myself from standing up and cheering. The few people that are watching the game along with me look at me like I'm some type of psychopath. Yeah, I get this game is just for fun, but it's so much more for me.

Rosa was right – this is a big night. Hockey is what tied Hains and I together in more ways than I can count. I smile to myself. I shouldn't take what my big sister says for granted – she seems to know what she's talking about.

For the remaining five minutes of the first period, I watch and cheer and have fun. I never realized how much I missed hockey. The urge to get back on the ice begins to intrude my brain, and I silently pray that Hains will consider staying for a bit so I can have some time on the ice after. I never realized how much my life revolved around the sport until now. It's like I've been missing a key piece of me for the past five years.