“I could never get annoyed with you.”
I flush as he shows our mobile tickets to the employee scanning them at the door.
I tried to stay away from him.
Truly, I did.
After Halloween and the dangerous game we played under that damn blanket, I knew putting distance between us was the only safe bet. I was solid in that decision, even insisting that I would take the bus for the week since David was close to finding me a car, anyway.
I was ready to let him go.
Or, so I thought.
But the longer I ignored his texts, the more time that passed without seeing him or talking to him, the more I realized how much I’d come to love his company.
I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t have any friends. I used to, when I was younger, when David was younger. I made friends with the moms of his friends, with the baseball parents and the PTA volunteers. For the brief time he was involved in church, I threw myself into every youth group task I could just to have people to hang out with.
But when he moved out, those relationships diminished — mostly due to Josh. I didn’t realize it at the time, how he isolated me, convincing me I wasn’t being an attentive wife unless I was spending all my time with him.
It happened slowly, subtly, and before I knew it, he was the only person I had.
And he abused me.
That word still makes me shiver, still makes me feel like I’m being dramatic or overstating the truth. My therapist has been working through all of it with me, but being a victim isn’t my favorite role to play.
I want to be the survivor, the one with the pen in hand changing the narrative.
I’ve tried reaching out to some of my old friends since Josh and I separated, but they’ve all moved on with their lives — and I wouldn’t blame them if they’re a bit upset at how I just stopped showing up.
I have David and Julia. And Tucker, who doesn’t count since he can’t even speak yet.
That’s it.
My parents disowned me when I told them I was pregnant, especially when I told them I wanted to keep the baby. My grandparents took pity on me and helped me and Josh in the beginning, but he even found a way to separate me from them.
And they’re both gone now.
I know I can’t have Greg in the way I want, but the thought of not having him in my life at all makes me ill.
So, I convinced myself I could do this, that I’d rather have this fucked-up friendship and secretly pine for him than lose him altogether.
Besides, I’m going on a date with Samuel tomorrow night.
That will totally reinforce this line between me and Greg.
Totally.
“Do you want something to drink before we head to our seats?” Greg asks, snapping me back from my thoughts.
“I’m good for now,” I say with a smile. Then, I point to the escalators. “Do we need to take these up?”
He gives me a sheepish look. “Okay, don’t freak out, but… I’m kind of a snob when it comes to where I sit at a Lightning game.”
I blink. “Where are we sitting, exactly?”
I get my answer roughly five minutes later, when Greg guides me all the way down to the front row, a thick piece of plexiglass the only thing separating us from the players warming up on the ice.
“This is ridiculous!” I say with a grin splitting my face as we find our seats. “And cold,” I add.
He chuckles, handing me the hoodie draped over his arm. “Here, wear this.”
“Don’t you need it?”
He shrugs. “I’ve got my jersey on, I’ll be fine. Besides, once this game starts, I’ll be screaming and jumping around enough to stay warm. Trust me.”
I laugh. “I seriously cannot even picture that. You’re always so… chill. Quiet.”
“Like I said… I’m a different man when I’m watching a hockey game.”
“This is insane, Greg,” I say, shaking my head and taking in the impressive view as I shrug on his hoodie.
The moment it covers me, my body warms — both from the fabric and the smell of him still lingering on it. I internally debate whether he’ll ask for it back or not if I just pretend I forgot, wear it home, and keep it forever.
“These had to cost a fortune.”
He scrubs the back of his neck. “Gotta use that anesthesiologist paycheck on something, right?”
I snort, and then the crowd roars as the lights in the building start to flash on and off, the announcer welcoming us to the game as the players make their way off the ice after warmups.
Everything rushes at me at one-hundred miles per hour after that.
The game starts in a frenzy of cheers from the crowd, coupled with the Tesla coils sparking lightning at the top of the arena, and the organ player in the club section getting everyone pumped up. Once the anthem is sang, the game begins, and I’m immediately enraptured with trying to keep up.