MY GAME NIGHT DREAM

The arena in Lillehammer was packed so full and tight that every time the crowd surged to its feet, I bumped hard into Eddy, his gaze returning a hard warning.

I was sitting between my father in-law and Eddy with my hands folded so tightly in my lap that my knuckles turned pale.

"There he is," Greg said, nudging me softly with his elbow, nodding towards the ice where the Norway squad was filing out in their dark blue jersey.

I managed a smile, but just enough to not get Eddy pissed. I knew very well that he didn't want to be here.

Anyways, watching a game like this again brought back memories I thought had faded with time.

I had watched Freddy play hockey for two years —watched him skate laps on the ice until he was throwing up behind the rink, watched him tape his own fingers when the trainer wasn't looking so no one would bench him for a fracture.

I knew exactly what it had cost him to be the man skating out there now, broad-shouldered, visor pushed up, tapping his stick twice against the ice like he always did before every game.

I hadn't expected my body to remember him the way it did now, but I must be stupid to even think that, after everything that happened last night.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked. "You're shaking."

I shook my head. "Cold," I said, pulling my coat tighter, grateful for the excuse of the intense Norway February weather.

His gaze lingered on me for a long uncomfortable moment before he finally looked away. 

Clearing my throat, I stared straight ahead, at the man I had loved for two years before I married his brother, and tried to remember how to breathe normally.

The Raiders won the opening faceoff — their big center, a broad-jawed American with a visor cracked in one corner, clean on the draw, sending the puck back to his defenseman before Freddy's wingers could close the gap. 

Boston pushed it up the ice fast, cycling it along the boards, and within ninety seconds they had buried one past the Norway goaltender on a wrist shot from the slot that nobody saw coming. The arena went wild with groans.

My stomach hollowed, my fingers clasping tighter against themselves. Eddy swore under his breath beside me. On the other hand, his father didn't even flinch. He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on his youngest son like he was beckoning to his spirit.

Freddy!

He won the next faceoff clean, a flick of the wrist that sent the puck straight back to his own defenseman, and then he was moving — that long, unhurried stride I used to watch from the stands of a dozen smaller rinks, back when nobody else cared to notice him. 

He took the return pass in full flight, split the defense with a shoulder dip that drew a gasp from the row behind me, and buried it top shelf. One-one.

I heard Greg chuckle. 

Eddy sighed, adjusting uncomfortably where he sat. 

I didn't move. With hands still locked together, as I watched Freddy skate back to the bench with his glove raised, relief washed me down.

Norway didn't give up. Their big winger — the one with the long neck and big muscles — put one past Boston's goaltender on a rebound before the period was out, and then, early in the second, a slick give-and-go off the half-wall ended with Freddy again, one-timing a pass from the blue line so clean the goal horn seemed to go off before the puck had even fully crossed the line.

 Three-one.

"When is this over?" Eddy grumbled, pulling out his phone from his pocket, but somehow, his eyes travelled back to the rink. I let out a low sigh.

By the time Norway's shaved-headed winger tipped in a fourth off a point shot to make it four-one.

At this time, I was shivering intensely, which had nothing to do with the cold at all, but everything to do with the fact that every time Freddy's name rang out over the arena speakers, I could feel exactly where his hands had been less than twelve hours ago.

The final buzzer went not long after, the crowd roaring with wild excitement.

Exhaling with relief, Eddy stood up, turned and started to walk away, pushing his way through the jubilant crowd.

My gaze lingered on Freddy for a bit more as he shook hands with the members of the other team before departing the rink.

"Let go. We have to catch him as fast as we can," Greg said, nodding towards the exit.

I nodded back, making my way through.

By the time we were outside, Eddy, Connor and even Freddy were already waiting beside the car.

Eddy was wearing a long expression, like that of a child discovering his mother had packed his least favorite food for his lunch.

Freddy was sweaty and breathing heavily. When our gazes met, he clicked his teeth at me, shooting me his brightest smile, that particular one only a good game could bring out of him.

I looked away.

In that moment, I caught Connor staring at me and my heart missed a beat when I figured he did not watch the game with us, and I was just realizing. My eyes softened into an apology I hoped he grasped.

"Well done, son. You have done it again," Greg spoke, staring proudly at Freddy who didn't look too pleased.

"For the party in honor of your win, how about Storgata," Greg said. "The one with the good aquavit."

"No way! Dad, no way!" Eddy argued, moving some steps forward to face Greg. "I think he needs to rest himself. I need rest too. Who cares about Aquavit!" he asked, his body tense from impatience.

"I hope you stay as civilized as you have been though, Eddy," Greg replied.

"I think it will be fun," Connor chipped in before Eddy had a chance to craft a response.

"I think so too," I added, rubbing my neck to Eddy's condescending glare.

Freddy giggled from where he was standing, leaned against the car, causing every eye to turn towards him in utter confusion.

"Here me out," he snapped, raising his hands to the sky as if in surrender, "I don't understand why you all are being like this, but I will like to point out the fact that nothing you do will change my mind."

I swallowed. Looking up at him again, our gazes met, causing a hard lump to form against my throat. My stomach tightened.

"For me," she continued, parties are not a form of reward for a game well played. I have plans...," he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

My breathing caught in my throat, my muscles tightening against my pulse.