I also know I spend an unreasonable amount of warm-up time looking for number 17.
Tyler appears on the ice, and even from up here, I can see the focus on his face, the version of him that exists only when he's skating, when the thing he's best at is happening beneath his feet.
He glances toward the family section.
"You know he's playing for you two, right?" Michelle says.
"He's playing for the team."
"Sure. That's why he points at your section every time he scores." She adjusts the diaper bag at her feet. "And why he looks up here approximately every thirty seconds during warm-ups.”
"Michelle—"
"I'm just saying." She's grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "The way Tyler talks about you when you're not around, according to Liam. And the way he looks at you during games." She tilts her head. "You're not just the nanny anymore, Nora, and I’m pretty sure you haven't been for a while."
I want to argue. I want to maintain the professional distance, explain the boundary, and remind both of us what the arrangement is.
The puck drops before I can formulate anything worth saying.
The first period is intense. Physical, fast, with both teams feeling each other out. Tyler is on the ice for his first shift, and I'm watching him more closely than I should, tracking his movements, and holding my breath when players get too physical.
Harper squirms on my lap, and I adjust her.
Halfway through the period, Tyler makes a play that has the whole arena on its feet.
He's at the blue line when Danny gets the puck deep in the offensive zone. Two defenders are collapsing, blocking the shooting lane, and the play is about to die.
Then Tyler sees the gap.
He cuts across, hand up, asking for the puck, and Danny threads a pass through two defenders that shouldn't be physically possible. Tyler one-times it and redirects it across the crease to Rodriguez, sending it crashing into the net.
Goal.
The crowd explodes, and I’m on my feet, screaming before I've decided to stand, Harper startling in my arms.
"Holy shit," Michelle yells over the noise. "That pass was fucking beautiful!"
Tyler's getting mobbed by his teammates, and everyone’s piling on Rodriguez, but when they separate, he skates directly toward our section. Makes eye contact with me through the glass. The grin on his face is pure joy.
My heart stutters.
I settle back into my seat, bouncing Harper gently.
"Yeah, you're totally just the nanny," Michelle says beside me.
I don't have a response to that.
Second period, Tyler's line is dominating. Controlling possession and setting up in the offensive zone, the other team is unable to keep up with their speed.
Midway through, Tyler steals the puck at the blue line. Their defenseman is trying to pass it up the boards; Tyler reads it perfectly, jumps the lane, and picks it off clean. Suddenly, there's nothing but open ice between him and the goalie.
Breakaway.
The arena goes from loud to deafening. Tyler is skating hard, the puck on his stick, one defender chasing and not closing the gap. He crosses the blue line, dekes left, and the goalie bites.
Tyler goes right. Slides it into the five-hole.
Goal.