It was honestly mesmerizing. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Art if I tried. And I know that probably made me sound stupid and a little fan girlish but it was the truth.

The guy was made of solid muscle and when he added the padding, he looked like a beast. He wasn’t as fast as some of the other players but there was always effort when he skated and he used his body mass to make some hard hits. I also knew Art had a reputation for protecting his team, so it wasn’t a surprise when one of the opposing players cross-checked Kyle Underwood against the glass causing him to fall at an awkward angle, Art - who had just jumped on the ice because it was time for him to be on (I think it’s called a shift change?) - went after the player, throwing his gloves in the air without a second glance and hitting the guy.

The player was wearing a glass visor across the upper part of his face, which probably was excellent at protecting his eyes but sucked if he engaged in a fight because the potential of harming his opposing fighter increased. That visor was almost like a weapon itself.

I suddenly realized why there were so many people who didn’t just like hockey but were obsessed with it. It was such a fast game and the momentum could change in a second. A goal could be waved off, the puck could bounce in because of bad or good luck. Anything could happen.

One thing I learned that I hadn’t realized was how much of the momentum a referee played in a hockey game. I suppose the same could be said for any sport but it surprised me how valuable a referee could be to the mental game of the participating teams.

I didn’t know much of anything about hockey coming into tonight but during the time Art and I were separated, I learned as much as I could from Wikipedia and the NHL Network. Granted, I wasn’t exactly an expert by the time I pulled into the Ice Palace parking lot, but I could probably hold my own in conversation and I definitely would not call these games the Stanley Cup finals again.

I had to learn that the hard way.

I felt myself blush just thinking about it. Luckily, Art had been nice about it. As nice as Art could be.

When he got into that fight, everyone around me stood up and started cheering. I had never seen so much passion for a fight before. I even felt myself start to respond.

I didn’t like fights. In fact, they made me want to throw up. I didn’t understand how people could appreciate and even cheer for someone hitting another human being. Maybe I was sensitive to it because of my history. It would make sense. But I just couldn’t stomach the thought of being excited or even happy about such a thing.

However, there was something different about the fighting in hockey, something that wasn’t so displeasing. I could be biased because it was Art that was in the fight and I found myself liking Art more and more but maybe it was just hockey fighting in general. There was a point to it, I realized. It wasn’t because Art wanted to go and hit the player - although he very well could have. Judging by the sheen on his chiseled face, it didn’t seem as though he was deriving any pleasure from it. 

The reason Art ran out there was because the player had checked Kyle Underwood. I knew from my limited experience with hockey that Kyle Underwood was what the hockey world called a pest. He was sort of player you hated if he was on any other team but because he was on your team, you loved him. Kyle was also one of the players who would drop his gloves if he needed to. He was both skilled and wasn’t afraid to risk injury if he needed to. The only reason Kyle didn’t jump up and start beating up the player was because he had been crosschecked into the boards pretty hard and was slow to get up. 

Art, on the other hand, didn’t even hesitate. He sprinted on skates, practically, just to make sure he was right there and knocked the shit out of the player.

I didn’t like fighting. I didn’t. But there was something surprisingly graceful about the way Art looked when taking swings. I couldn’t stop staring at him. I felt my body start to get excited. I felt myself start to respond. I was cheering just as hard as anybody else in the crowd. I was practically jumping even though I was sitting at the glass. I didn’t understand why I was reacting this way. I didn’t know if it was the pull of the crowd or if I actually enjoyed the brute force that made up Art Jackman. Something sparked in my pelvis and I could feel myself start to thrum. Spark.

I didn’t know how to explain it. All I knew was that I liked it. I was attracted to it. My heart pumped blood, rushing through my head. My heart raced but felt slow. I didn’t know how to explain it.

It boggled my mind. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

After the fight, both Art and his opponent were sent to the penalty box. They were both issued five for fighting but the referee decided to tack on an extra two-minutes on Art because he instigated the fight. Everyone at the Palace rained down their boos, including me. How do you give Art two extra minutes when there was a cheap shot on Kyle Underwood in the first place that never got called?

The people sitting next to me had to be aficionados in the sport of hockey because I could hear them talking about certain things that I had no clue about. The more that I listened, however, the more I realized hockey was much more than just a fast sport on ice with fighting. Everything had a point to the game, from the fighting to the puck movement. Some players even intentionally took penalties in order to prevent scoring chances. And fighting... fighting was used as a tactic, not as a gimmick. Kyle Underwood, the Gulls’ subsequent pest, was apparently a dirty player occasionally, which was why there were hardly ever any calls he drew himself. He was hated throughout the league except by other Gulls fans because he had no problem trying to get under people’s’ skin, especially the Hollywood Stars’ goalie Sean Taylor. I had heard the name before but couldn’t remember his face if someone paid me to. Apparently, Kyle Underwood was also in a serious relationship with someone named Emma and he was due to be a father at some point in November.

I could admit my heart melted at the thought. A player that was thought to be a dick in a steady, committed relationship, about to be a father. It was straight out of a romance novel.

Despite my brush with love, I was still hopeful that the right guy was out there for me. I just felt as though I needed to get specific on what was considered right for me. Ambition was always a big deal, as was independence; two traits that Tim had in spades that made me fall for him fast. But after Tim, I realized that I wanted a guy who would let me have my independence, who would trust me with my own feelings rather than tell me I was overreacting, who wouldn’t comment on my attire unless it was to tell me how good I looked or that I had a stain on my shirt from eating too fast. I needed someone who could understand I couldn’t rush things anymore. I couldn’t jump in the sack. I couldn’t give away key pieces to who I was.

I needed trust. Stability. Someone I could be comfortable with.

Sure, it seemed impossible. Trusting a guy after what happened with Tim felt impossible, but I had to believe I was capable of doing it or I wouldn’t be able to do it at all. But there was something inside of me that told me I could do it if I just realized my wants, realized my worth, and trusted myself to love someone again.

Because that was the root of my problem: myself. I needed to have faith that I would be able to trust someone again. That I wasn’t going to constantly make the same mistakes.

Arizona did not score on the power play, but after the two minutes had passed, Art was still forced to sit in the box for another five minutes. He looked indifferent, if a little grouchy, from what I could see, but I thought that was his natural facial expression in the first place.

If I had to guess, I would say he didn’t agree with the fact that he had to sit out an extra two minutes. The referee that called the penalty seemed to only care about the retaliation rather than the initial hit because it didn’t look like they were going to call the other player for boarding Kyle Underwood.

Luckily, Underwood was okay and in the end, the Gulls’ won by one goal. 

Hockey was much more exciting than I initially gave it credit for. I had always known it was a fast game, I just hadn’t realized how quick and intense the game could be. My body was thrumming with eager anticipation even after the final buzzer sounded and people started to get up and leave. At this point, I had been instructed by Art to wait. The Gulls always participated in the three stars after a game they won, where players from either team were voted by the media as stars for the game. The losing team wouldn’t come out, but the winning team - if they were a home team - would come out and give fans who chose to stay to watch the quick ceremony a signed stick as a way to say thank you for their support.

I waited until the stars were named - both Brandon Thorpe and Zachary Ryan were stars for the Gulls, and when they finished, a kindly older gentleman named Steve led me to the Gulls’ locker room and told me to wait out here. I noticed a handful of other women and some kids hanging around and talking and I felt myself get nervous. These must be the girlfriends and wives of the players.

“Hey.”

One of the women smiled at me and waved me over to a small group of women.

I pointed to myself before looking over my shoulder, as though I wasn’t quite sure if she was referring to me or not. When I turned around, she smiled and beckoned me over.

“Are you waiting for someone from the Gulls?” she asked when I came over.

This woman was my age, maybe a year or two younger, with dark blonde hair and forest green eyes. She was talking to another blonde, a brunette, and another blonde. Actually, the last blonde looked familiar, as in I probably should recognize her.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, nodding my head, keeping my arms crossed over my chest. “Art Jackman.”

All four women raised their brows as though they were surprised by something. 

“I hadn’t realized Art was dating anyone,” the platinum blonde one said. “Kyle always said he was kind of like a lone wolf.”

Kyle. Maybe this woman was his girlfriend.

“I’m Harper,” the first blonde who waved me over said. She pointed to the platinum blonde. “That’s Emma.” She pointed to the brunette. “Madison.” And to the somewhat familiar blonde. “Katella.”

“Katella,” I said, testing the name in my mouth. “As in, Katella Hanson?”

Katella smiled and nodded.

I shook my head, feeling myself blush. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not big on hockey. I knew you looked familiar though.”

At that moment, Art burst out of the locker room and gave a nod to the waiting women. He offered me his hand and as we left, I waved at them as well, shouting a “Nice to meet you!” over my shoulders.