The Coffee Girl

I found myself on the edge of my seat as the black puck soared back and forth against the ice. Three minutes to go and the Hawks were tied with the Predators at 2. Would they be able to get another goal or would the game have to go to overtime? At this point, I just wanted it to be over. Not because I was bored and wanted to leave, but because I couldn’t sit through this agonizing anticipation anymore. My heart was beating like a drum, my hands were growing clammy under the sleeves of the Blackhawks jersey number 88 (compliments of Patrick who thought I needed something to wear as their unofficial mascot), and my stomach was doing flips.

Any longer and I knew I would be getting an ulcer.

As much as I liked to think that all my aggravation was focused on the game, I’d be lying if I said it was. The other half of my mind—the half that wasn’t screaming out a string profanities every time Nashville got a good hit—was on my mother. Was she okay? Had she done something to get herself into trouble? I assumed that leaving her for a day to go to a hockey game would be alright, but nothing was for certain with her.

Rachel sat next to me, gripping the arm rests tight enough to tear them off the chair. For someone who didn’t know who the Chicago Blackhawks were a few months ago, she was just as into the game as every other jersey-wearing fan in the stadium. There was something different about her though. I just couldn’t exactly put my finger on it. Sure, she was yelling and cussing at every Predator player that skated by us (a usual thing for her), but she was strangely calm. Did that make sense? It was as though something about her or about her life had changed for the better.

Now, the half of my brain focused on my mother was split on what had Rachel seeing rainbows and butterflies. Life had turned into a mental overload these days.

Finally, only a few seconds before the horn for the end of the third period sounded, Patrick had managed to squeeze himself through the pair of Nashville defensemen and make a break for the net. With a swift flick of his wrist, the puck was shot to the top right corner; ending the game and making all the Hawks fans jump to their feet in excitement; including Rachel and I. Slowly, my heart rate began decreasing and I basked in the glory of knowing that after this I would be able to actually see the guys and congratulate them.

Rachel and I sat at the seats, waiting until everyone else filed out of the stadium. It would be better escaping the traffic jam at the doors, even if it meant that the majority of the guys would probably be in the showers, unable to talk. As soon as a fair amount of people had left, we stood up and hopped down the steps towards the change rooms. The stadium still had that feeling of victory pulsing through it. It was, probably, the main reason why I had grown so used to coming here.

Saying a quick ‘hello’ to the security (whom we had now familiarized ourselves with) they let us pass, showing us the quieter route to the change rooms where reporters and fans weren’t crowded. Rachel, being the stubborn person that she was, said she’d wait for me outside as I congratulated the guys. I could tell she felt awkward around them; like she didn’t belong. Exactly how I felt the first few weeks I had met them.

I knocked on the door and waited; my hands nervously playing with each other. After all of the games I had been to so far, after all of the victories they had had, today was the first day I had actually decided to drop by and tell the team what a good job they’d done. Luckily, Patrick answered, sparing me any awkward encounters with the players I hadn’t yet befriended. As soon as he saw me he flashed his broad smile and pushed the door open a little wider so I could see Jonathan, Kris, and Andrew Ladd in the background. I gave Jonathan a timid wave and he nodded back in acknowledgement. I didn’t expect anything more. However, his eyes looked darker today, as though something were clouding his thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” Patrick asked, the smile still playing on his lips. He wore a pair of grey track pants, but his upper body was left bare and glistening with a white towel around his neck. He must have just gotten out of the shower, I concluded.

“Thought I’d come and tell you what a kick-ass job you did today,” I replied with a shrug and he laughed before walking out of the door and moving to a more isolated corner. I followed and leaned back against the wall. “I know I came a bit late, but I didn’t want to get stuck with everyone else at the doors. You take showers fast.”

He laughed at my last comment and looked down at his wet chest. “Yeah, I—uh—was kinda hoping you’d come down to the change room today.” He reached down and played with the ends of my jersey, tugging at the base. “You always say you will, but you never do.”

I chuckled. “That’s because I’m a bit of a chicken shit,” I replied.

“What are you scared of?” He retracted his arm from my jersey and held on to the ends of his towel, his eyes intently focused on me.

I shrugged. “Not so much scared as nervous. I don’t really know most of the guys as well as I know you and Tazer.”

Patrick laughed, letting his head fall back. “Just the fact that you’re so close with me and Tazer means that the guys are cool with you.” He licked his lips and looked at me. Suddenly, the space between us didn’t feel as far apart as I thought it was. “Besides, you’re awesome, Cal. And they’ll soon figure that out.”

I couldn’t help but let a giant smile spread across my face. I could definitely get used to all the compliments. Then, as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and let my eyes flicker to the empty doorway of the change room, Patrick leaned in towards me and pushed his lips against mine. The kiss was slow and tentative, almost as if he was testing my reaction. To be honest, I didn’t even know what my reaction was. Was I shocked? Of course. Did I see this coming? Kind of. Was it horrible? Definitely not.

Patrick, taking my silence and lack of protest as a good sign, dropped his hands from his towel and placed either one on the sides of my face. I raised my hands to his, softly gripping his thick wrists. My first instinct was to push him away and tell him that this was all so unexpected. But did I want to do that? My mother had said that I should go for the guy that cared about me. Patrick had done nothing but show me how interested he was. Could I very well push him away? And who, exactly, would I go to if I did? Jonathan? Yeah right, he already had a girlfriend and always made it clear that a relationship was the last thing he wanted from me.

So, I let my lips part, showing Patrick that I wanted this.

There was a deep, awkward cough heard from behind us and I quickly pulled away. Patrick seemed to be less willing, though. He sluggishly dropped his hands from my face with that same smile on his lips and turned to see who it was. I stood on my toes to look over his shoulder and saw Jonathan standing next to the door frame.

“There are—uh—a few reporters that want to talk to you,” he said dully; his eyes focused on Patrick and nothing else. Why did I have a sudden feeling of guilt? I shouldn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Patrick nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jonathan licked his lips, gave me a surreptitious look, and then nodded before retiring back into the change room.

I smiled once Patrick turned to look at me. “Just go,” I whispered as his mouth opened to form an explanation. He smiled then squeezed my hand before walking back into the change room.

I stood there all alone.

If Rachel had stuck around then none of this would have happened.