Chapter 22 Chapter Twenty-Two
Vanessa POV
I stared at my closet like it held the answers to every question I'd ever had about my life and why I was apparently incapable of making good decisions when it came to hockey.
"You're overthinking this," Bean called from the living room.
"I'm not overthinking anything," I called back, pulling out a sweater and then immediately putting it back.
Too casual. Or maybe too dressy?
Did people dress up for hockey games? I had no idea. I'd spent the last three years actively avoiding anything hockey-related, and now I was supposed to just show up like I knew what I was doing?
"You've been standing in front of that closet for twenty minutes," Bean appeared in my doorway, already dressed in jeans and a cute cable-knit sweater.
"It's a hockey game, not the Met Gala. Just wear something warm."
I pulled out another sweater—this one forest green, a color that Danny said always made my eyes look brighter– not that it mattered–and held it up.
"Is this okay?"
Bean's knowing smile made me want to throw the sweater at her face.
"It's perfect. Danny loves you in green."
"I'm not wearing it for Danny," I said defensively, even though we both knew I was lying.
"I'm wearing it because it's warm and comfortable and—"
"And it's his favorite color," Bean finished.
"Which you definitely remember from freshman year and are definitely not thinking about right now."
I glared at her, but there was no heat to it.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." She said as she flopped onto my bed.
"You hate that I'm right."
I did hate that.
Bean was my best friend which meant she could read me so easily and could definitely tell that I was agonizing over what to wear to a hockey game.
Most of all, I hated that part of me—a bigger part than I wanted to admit—actually wanted to go.
"I don't even know why I'm doing this," I said, pulling the green sweater over my head.
"Last time I was at that rink, I nearly had a panic attack. And now I'm just... going back? Voluntarily?"
"You're going because you need your notebook," Bean said reasonably.
"And because it's part of the fake dating agreement. Remember? A supportive girlfriend shows up to big games."
Right.
The fake dating agreement, the thing that was supposed to make this easier, not more complicated.
Except nothing about this felt fake anymore.
"Besides," Bean continued,
"you want to go. You just don't want to admit that you want to go."
I turned to look at her, and she was watching me with that gentle, knowing expression that made me feel simultaneously understood and completely transparent.
"What if I can't handle it?" I asked quietly.
"What if I get there and everything comes flooding back and I just... fall apart again?"
Bean stood and crossed to me, taking both my hands in hers.
"Then I'll be right there with you. And we'll leave. No judgment, no pressure. But Nessa, you can't keep running from everything that scares you. At some point, you have to face it."
"I'm not ready," I whispered.
"You're never going to feel ready," Bean said gently.
“You just have to do it anyway." I took a shaky breath, then nodded.
"Okay. Okay, let's go before I change my mind."
Bean grinned.
"That's my girl."
The drive to the rink was way too fast for my liking, I kept my hands wrapped around my phone, reading and rereading Danny's message to distract myself.
"You know," Bean said as we pulled into the parking lot,
"Marco's going to be there."
I'd been trying not to think about that.
"I know."
"Are you okay with that? After everything?"
After everything, after he'd tried to kiss me at that party weeks ago– well that was not her business anymore.
"It's not like I can ask him to sit out the game because things are awkward, so I'll be fine" I muttered
The parking lot was packed, cars crammed into every available space. We had to park near the back, and as we walked toward the rink, I could feel my anxiety building with every step.
The building loomed in front of us, I could hear the muffled sound of music and voices from inside, I could see people streaming through the entrance in team colors and face paint.
This was a mistake. This was absolutely a mistake.
"Breathe," Bean said, linking her arm through mine.
"In and out. You've got this."
I didn't feel like I had this. I felt like I was walking toward my own execution.
We were halfway to the entrance when a woman stumbled out of the side door, looking lost and flustered. She was older—maybe in her fifties—with perfectly styled blonde hair and designer clothes that looked out of place in the casual crowd.
She was holding an empty snack tray and looking around like she'd just been dropped into a foreign country.
"Excuse me," she called out when she spotted us.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I seem to have gotten completely turned around. I just went to get some snacks and now I can't find my way back to my seat."
There was something familiar about her, though I couldn't place it. Maybe it was her face, maybe, or the way she carried herself with that casual confidence that came from money and social status.
"What section are you in?" I asked, grateful for the distraction from my own anxiety.
"Um..." She fumbled in her purse, pulling out a ticket. "
Section 108? I think? My husband insisted on seats close to the ice, but now I'm completely lost."
I glanced at the ticket, then pointed back toward the main entrance.
"You'll want to go back through those doors, take a left at the concession stand, and then it's the second entrance on your right. There should be an usher there who can help you find your exact seats."
The woman's face lit up with relief.
"Oh, thank you so much! You're a lifesaver. I swear, these arenas usually all look the same to me but this one is a bit different” She paused, studying my face.
"Are you here to watch someone play?"
The question felt loaded somehow, though I couldn't explain why.
"Um, sort of. My... boyfriend is on the team."
"How wonderful!" The woman beamed.
"I'm here to watch my son.I'm probably biased, but he's quite good."
I smiled, it was sweet to see a mother who believed in her son so whole heartedly it made me miss my mother.
"That's... that's great," I managed, my voice coming out strangled.
"I'm sure he'll do amazing."
"I certainly hope so," she said with a warm smile.
"His father will have a fit if they don't win, it's too much pressure to place on him but between you and me, I think the pressure does him good. Keeps him focused." She glanced at her watch.
"Oh, I should get back before the game starts. Thank you again for your help!"
"No problem," I said weakly.
I watched her hurry back toward the entrance,
"Nessa?" Bean was looking at me with concern.
"You okay? I was looking for you” I waved her off
“ I was just giving some mom directions”
“Oh, ok” she muttered, tugging on my arm.
"Come on," Bean said gently,
"Let's go find the player entrance. You said you'd meet him, and you keep your word."
Right.
We made our way to our seats, climbing over the stairs to Section 201. Where we had two seats, tickets that Bean had gotten ages ago trying to convince me to go watch.
The arena was filling up quickly, the energy building as game time approached. I could feel the excitement in the air, the anticipation, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Our seats were good—not as close as Section 108 where Danny's parents were sitting, but close enough that I could see the ice clearly and I'd be able to watch his every move. The lights dimmed, and the crowd roared as the teams took the ice for warm-ups.
Bean grabbed my shoulder
"Watch number nine." she hissed quickly and I turned to follow her instructions.
My breath caught as I spotted Danny immediately—number nine.
Time seemed to slow down.
He was already in his gear—the padded pants and undershirt, skates just like always, skating with that fluid grace that made it look effortless.
Number nine.
His jersey number. The same number he'd worn freshman year when I used to watch him play and then, as if he could sense where I was, he looked up.
Our eyes met across the distance.
He raised his stick slightly—a small gesture, just for me.
And despite the anxiety,despite everything that scared me about being here—
I smiled back.
Because Bean was right.
At some point, I had to stop running.
I had to face it.
And maybe—just maybe— I had to let myself want things, even when wanting them terrified me.
The game was about to begin.
And for the first time in three years, I was going to watch Danny Glover play hockey.
I was going to watch hockey.