One thing she’d never thought she’d do: help her boyfriend select a song that would be played each time he scored a goal. The classic by Elton John might contain the team’s name, and be an obvious choice, but she’d wondered whether it would sound tough enough for this crowd. Clearly, from the way the crowd had sung along, they approved.
“Come on, make some noise!”
The organ did its own little number, and the announcer revved up the crowd with a series of chants. The atmosphere was exciting, the fans were in a good mood, and she was so glad to be with people who helped her understand the game a little more.
The play continued, and she peered at where Luc sat, watching the game intensely. The action moved closer to Winnipeg’s end, and Zac Parotti, the number forty stitched on his back, skated closer then smacked it into the back of the net.
There was no goal song for him, simply a red flashing light and an announcement over the loudspeakers that drew a collective boo, apart from a few brave Vancouver fans who stood and cheered before being told to shut up.
She laughed, the parochial fans so committed she could understand why this sport got so much funding and sponsorship. And maybe she hadn’t realized before just what a big deal Luc actually was, especially after the recent announcement that he was captain. She’d noticed on their dates how many people gravitated to him, wanting pictures, handshakes, and a quick chat. He was always polite, though reserved sometimes, unless it was with little kids. She wondered if his reticence might be due to the Dance Off show, but now she realized it was because he was constantly being swamped with hockey questions. Which maybe made her a little bit naive, but how was she to know just how big a deal hockey was?
He came back on the ice, and Poppy nudged her, pointing him out. A Vancouver player pushed him, and he skated past, eyes fixed on the puck.
“Uh-oh,” Molly said.
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s Logan Johansen. He’s always been mouthy, and it looks like he’s trying to get under Luc’s skin.”
“Oh.” Nerves rippled, her stomach tensing, as she wondered what they’d say to try to get Luc to snap. Something about his dancing? Something about her? She hated to think she might be the reason anyone would mock Luc.
“Luc’s a big boy,” Poppy said, “and he knows how to keep his temper.”
“He’s gonna have to,” Molly said, “especially now he’s captain.”
“Although sometimes the captain has to stand up for what’s right.”
“Yeah, but he’s hardly going to get in a fight anymore, is he?”
“A fight?” Bailey asked.
“Come on,” Molly said. “Surely you’ve heard the joke about going to a fight and a hockey game breaking out?”
Would they believe her if she said, “No?”
Molly laughed. “Oh, I love that we have a hockey virgin here. And love even more that you’re dating the captain. That must mess with his head so much.”
“Look, I’m trying. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“And he appreciates it. You know he does,” Poppy encouraged.
“That’s right. And just like you got to teach him lots of things about dance, so he now gets to teach you lots about hockey.”
She nodded, her eyes on the game. Some days it felt like she and he were too much opposites, and Molly’s words just reinforced that. She would try harder, would try and learn the game, but finding time to do so felt impossible, especially given the recent interview with the bank.
When she’d finally called in, Mr. Mitsom had pointed out that there were still some discrepancies, then he’d asked about the loan repayments and extra fees.
“But I don’t understand. How can there be issues?” Her dad had always assured her that things were paid on time.
Mr. Mitsom sighed. “It seems that some have been missed.”
Missed? She’d been tempted to call up her father straight away. But when she’d left, a reminder on her phone to wish Chrissy a happy birthday had stolen her attention, and she remembered why she didn’t make waves, why she wouldn’t upset her dad, especially not on that day when he and Mom would only be too aware of their eldest child who lived so far away. Since then, she’d kind of forgotten. But still, she’d do so soon. When she found the right words to say.
“Bails?” Poppy nudged her again.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
“Molly and I are getting some food. Want anything?”
“Um, no. I’m okay.” If she ate anything else processed she might be sick. Eating clean had helped her overcome some of her food issues in the past. She needed to be careful not to trigger things again.
Instead, she watched the ice get swept clean by the people on skates with what looked like brooms. She hunched forward, elbows on jean-clad knees—the arena was cold—and her ponytail swung to tickle her chin. Around her conversations continued, and every so often she heard Luc’s name being mentioned by a trio of men in the section next door who liked their beers and their swearing as they offered their opinions freely.
“Blanchard is looking good so far.”
She smiled. She thought he looked very good indeed.
“Can’t believe he went on that show.”
Her breath hitched as a pithy commentary went on, involving lots of four-letter words she never used, describing Luc, her, and just what some of those dance moves implied. She cringed, wondering how many others thought the same, before reminding herself that their words didn’t have to define her.
“Yeah? Well I think he’s pretty ballsy, not caring about what anyone thinks.”
That was more like it. She glanced across at that speaker, smiled.
He noticed her, straightening, then nudged his friend. “It’s her. Blanchard’s dance chick.”
Oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have smiled. She peered at her phone, pretending to message someone, when her name was called. “Bailey.”
