It’s a pain in the ass to come to a game as a fan. The hat didn’t do much to disguise me, and I think the only thing that stopped people from asking me for autographs as we made our way through the arena was that I was holding a sleeping child in my arms. I walked quickly through the crowd with Kate trotting behind and we weren’t accosted once.
It takes forever to make our way through the parking lot and find my car. Carrying a sleeping toddler the entire way isn’t all that fun either, but we finally make it to the Range Rover, and within fifteen minutes we’re out of the parking lot and headed to my house.
Kate chatters the entire way, talking about the game.
“I can’t believe how much easier it is to follow the puck when you’re watching it live versus on TV,” she muses, and she’s not wrong there. “And the sounds you just don’t get…the swish of the skates on the ice, the rattling of the boards when the players hit them. Man, it was so exciting.”
I smile and nod in understanding. She should see what it feels like to actually be on the ice during a game. No better feeling in the world.
“So I take it you’ve been a hockey fan a long time,” I observe. I was impressed she knew all the Cold Fury players and seemed to know every penalty and rule about the game.
“It’s something me and my daddy did when I was growing up. Watched all the games together.”
“Mom not a hockey fan?” I ask, curious about her personal life. She doesn’t talk about it much, but I’ve seen enough to know she struggles with money and I’m guessing that’s rooted in her home life somehow.
“Mama died giving birth to me,” she says matter-of-factly, then ends with a chuckle. “It’s why I ended up with a name like Roberta. Daddy named me with no womanly guidance.”
“That’s tough,” I tell her. “About your mom, I mean. So your dad raised you by himself?”
“I guess you could call it that,” she says vaguely, and turns to look out the side window.
“What does that mean?” I press, suddenly even more curious about this woman.
She turns to face me in her seat and I cut a quick glance at her. Her face is illuminated by the dashboard electronics and it looks sadly reminiscent.
“My daddy is a good man. He loves me and my brother and sister. But he wasn’t a very responsible parent when we were growing up. He drank a lot and that made his ability to hold a job a little precarious at times. I raised myself as much as he did.”
“Money was tight?” I guess.
“The tightest, but we made it work,” she says simply, and I’m amazed to hear not one shred of bitterness over her circumstances.
I hear rustling in the backseat as Ben starts to stir. “Daddy,” he says in a sleepy voice.
And fuck…it’s kind of cute when he says it like that. I guess it’s growing on me.
“We’re almost home, buddy,” I say over my shoulder.
“I want my bear,” he whines, referencing a worn stuffed animal that he likes to sleep with.
“It’s in the bag behind your seat,” Kate says to me as she reaches an arm back. “I think I can reach it.”
“We’re almost home, little man. You can wait,” I tell him as I near the interstate exit I need to take.
“No,” he wails, because he’s overtired. “I need it now.”
Kate unsnaps her seat belt and starts to scramble out of her seat to reach behind me. “I’ll get it.”
Icy fear floods my veins and panic wells up inside of me as she lifts herself from the seat. My hands grip the steering wheel hard and my eyes dart all around me to check out our surroundings.
“Sit the fuck down,” I roar at her. “And get your fucking seat belt on.”
Kate heeds me well, my outburst, I’m sure, scaring the shit out of her. Her ass slams back down into the seat and she clicks the seat belt quickly into place. Ben starts crying in the backseat—I know I scared him when I yelled, because that’s just something I don’t do.
I want to console him, but I can’t. My breath seems clogged in my lungs and my heart is racing away. I carefully take the exit as sweat pops out all over me, and I have to restrain the urge to punch the windshield with my fist.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Memories of that night assault me all at once—the ones I’ve been keeping at bay for four months. Gina taking her seat belt off, giving me a soft smile. My hand cupping around the back of her head to pull her closer to me, while I kept the other hand on the steering wheel and both eyes on the road.
Bright lights flooding the interior of the car as someone veers into my lane of travel, a hard jerk of the steering wheel to the right, metal screeching. Then the car is rolling, rolling, rolling. I’m held in place, but Gina’s body is tumbling like clothes in a dryer, her body flopping like a rag doll. A spray of glass and then she’s gone. Just vanished from my sight.