The Husband Game

Which only makes me feel weirder.

Soon enough, though, a little buzzer sounds to let us know that the third period will be starting soon. We file back into our seats. This time, Anna sits right next to me, and together we cheer for our boys as they file back onto the ice.

The period starts out hot and fast and only keeps getting wilder. Within the first few minutes, both teams have gotten penalties—the other team for tripping one of our players, and one of our team for shoving the guy who tripped his friend.

Halfway through the period, when there still haven’t been any goals scored, despite more than a few stellar attempts, most of them by Charlie himself—the other goalie is talented, I’ll give him that—a fistfight breaks out. I don’t notice it at first, until Anna elbows me and points. It’s down by our end, a defender and one of the other team’s offenders squaring off. Then a second member of their team jumps our guy, and next thing I know Charlie is flying into the fray.

My stomach knots with nerves. Shit. I forget myself and jump to my feet so I can see better, my hand flying to my mouth.

Don’t get hurt, damn it.

Charlie swings a punch at the opposing team’s big, burly defenseman, the one who up until that moment had been whaling on Charlie’s teammate. There’s a scuffle, a flurry of uniforms where I can’t quite see anything, and then Charlie emerges just in time to deck the other guy across the chin, before a ref explodes between them, shoving them apart and shouting.

The ice devolves into chaos for a while, while the refs sort out who started the fight, who to blame for what.

“Come on, they totally incited that,” Anna complains at my elbow.

I can’t stop biting my nails, my thumb nail almost all the way down to the quick now. And all the while, I don’t dare take my eyes off of Charlie, as if, were I to look away for a moment or blink, he might vanish into thin air, or end up injured worse than he already is. Even from here, I can see a bruise swelling on his cheek, and a cut on his lip.

Eventually, the refs announce both sides will serve a five minute penalty. They push Charlie into the box along with the guy he punched, even though the other team blatantly started that fight in the first place.

“What bullshit,” I grumble to Anna, who makes angry noises of agreement at my elbow.

Worse, the five minute penalty means Charlie will be totally off the ice until the end of the period, when there will only be a few minutes of play left.

I watch the clock tick down nervously. I’m not used to getting invested in sports games. Usually I just go to football games or the occasional baseball game to eat the stadium food, drink beers and hang out with whichever friends have talked me into going in the first place.

But with Charlie’s team on the line, suddenly, all I want is this win. My heart feels like it’s in my throat, as the minutes tick down until Charlie will be released from the penalty box. I keep glancing from his taut, tense shoulders, to the ice where his teammates struggle to fend off more and more offensive pushes from their opponent. The goalie makes a couple of stellar saves—behind me, I hear his girlfriend whooping loudly.

Then, finally, the timer on the penalty clicks off. The second he’s able, Charlie flies from the penalty box and into the fray. Almost right out of the box, he takes a pass from his right winger. He flies with it toward the opposite end of the ice.

“Go, Charlie!” I shout, unable to hear my voice, because the whole arena is deafening now, roaring with sound, as people chant for our team.

Anna grabs my hand and squeezes tight. I squeeze back, as Charlie nears the goal.

He feints to one side, moves to slap the puck. In front of him, the goalie dives to stop it… But the puck is still on Charlie’s stick. He pivots, fires it left and—

“Yes!” I scream. The puck hits the back of the net, with only a minute left in the period. Goal.

The rest of Charlie’s teammates roar and practically tackle him in a hug. My heart leaps into my throat again, as I watch the heaving mass of players, hoping nobody accidentally elbows or crushes anyone in that fray. But eventually, Charlie’s head emerges again, his face a huge, wild grin.

And he’s staring right at me. Right there on the ice, with everyone watching, he points at me. Blows a kiss.

I laugh. And grin right back at him, cheering too, jumping in the stands with Anna beside me.