One month later
Coach enters the locker room thirty minutes before we go out for warmups. His suit is unbuttoned, and his face is downcast as he paces in front of us. Even without looking up, I can still make out the deep lines burrowed in between his eyes from scowling for the better part of a month.
A quick look around at my teammates and their expressions are just as grim. We’re frustrated, tired, and playing like shit. Everyone stops dressing and gives him our attention.
“I don’t have to tell you that Vegas is going to be tough. They’re going to push the tempo, try to rush us, and force mistakes. We can’t let them. We need to go out there and play our game. Take your time, move the puck around, and fight like hell in front of the net. It doesn’t have to be pretty. A goal is a goal.” He stops pacing and places his hands on his hips. Briefly, his gaze lifts to the doorway. Standing just past our equipment managers is the GM of the Wildcats, Jim Smith. Next to him is a younger guy, early to mid-twenties, wearing a suit almost identical to Jim’s. I can’t place him, but something about the kid is familiar.
“Who’s the guy with Jim?” I whisper to Declan, who sits on my right in his stall.
He looks over to where they’re standing. “I’m not sure.”
I stare harder, still unable to figure out who he is. There’s something about him that makes unease crawl up my spine. Maybe Jim got a new assistant. Though this guy is dressed way nicer than any assistant I’ve seen following him or the other executives around.
I refocus on Coach, who has started pacing again. We haven’t won a game in two and a half weeks. The home opener was a fluke. I don’t know what happened since then, but things just aren’t meshing out there. Passes are long, shots on net are wide, and we’re not giving our goalie any help at all. It’s like we’re a bunch of rookies playing together for the first time. We desperately need a win to turn things around.
“Let’s go out there and take care of business. Remind everyone what a great team we are because we are. But even great teams need to show up ready to go. Every guy counts, every shift counts.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get the energy levels up. Captain, give us the starting lineup.”
After Jack calls each name, we all cheer, and by the time Coach leaves, the energy has shifted. Frustration has leached into anticipation.
When it’s time, we march down to take the ice with determination radiating from our bodies. I go through my usual warmup, only allowing myself to look for the mystery blonde for a moment. She hasn’t come to another game, at least not where I could spot her. It’s weird to be disappointed about a chick I barely spoke to, but sometimes you just get a feeling with people. I got that with her.
My thoughts drift to her turquoise eyes and the way she stood her ground against that jerk she was with.
“Is she here?” Jack asks as he drops beside me to stretch.
My hair falls into my face, blocking me from seeing the smug expression I’d bet he’s wearing. If it were anyone else, I could play dumb, but I confided in Jack last weekend after I turned down three different girls’ offers to take my mind off hockey. He was concerned I was having a quarter-life crisis.
I’m not, I just…can’t stop thinking about her. She had a grit and a backbone that I admire. It was sexy as hell.
Hooking up with someone else while I’m thinking about another girl is not my style. I’m all in when I’m hooking up, totally and completely in the moment. Sure, sometimes that moment lasts only for a night, but I’m never banging one person and wishing I was somewhere else.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Too bad.”
I flip my hair back. “It’s whatever. Let’s go out tonight. Somewhere other than Wild’s. I need a change of scenery.”
“Yeah?” he asks, one side of his mouth pulling into a pleased smile. “Finally tired of holding out for your soulmate?”
“Shut the fuck up, I never called her that.”
His upper body shakes with quiet laughter. “I know just the place. And just the girls to call.”
Of course, he does.
“Ash is gonna get laaaaaaid tonight,” he says on beat with the music.
“You’re a little too enthusiastic about my sex life.”
“As your captain, I take all your needs very seriously. Your goals are my goals.”
“Well, in that case I only have one goal tonight.”
“Win,” we say in unison.
He flashes a smile, extending his hand. We bump fists and then return to stretching silently.
By the time they play the anthem, announce the teams, and do all the other pre-game bullshit, I’m vibrating with adrenaline. Some games I just have this unshakeable confidence—a perfect combination of resolve, preparation, and tenacity. I’m ready to make a difference out there.
And I do. My first shift out, I get an assist for a slick pass to Jack between defenders. That lifts the entire team’s spirits, and we score twice more before the end of the first.
I take the ice for the start of the second period, almost feral in my need to keep pushing us. Vegas has come back from the first intermission with a renewed determination though. Their hits are harder and they’re checking tighter.
After an icing penalty, Jack wins the face-off. He tips it to me, and I pass it off to Leo. I cut through the defense, moving away from the puck, opening up the ice to give us room to work. Only two of their guys get tangled up, leaving me alone with no one between me and the goalie.
“Yep, yep!” I call to let them know I’m open. Jack passes the puck to me and I move toward the net. There’s a defender on my right, and another not far behind him coming to help. I’m too fast, easily pushing past them. I fire it into the net and over the right shoulder of the goalie. Before I can raise my hands in celebration, I’m hit hard.
I wasn’t bracing, so my body careens fast toward the ice and I don’t have time to stop the fall. My feet come out from under me and my head slams against the ice.
Stars dance in my field of vision before blackness creeps in. The noise in the arena quiets to a dull roar. My right shoulder kills, but it’s the least of my worries. I try to get to my feet, but my head spins and I can’t quite tell which way is up. I think I see Jack taking a swing at the guy who hit me, but they’re blurry shapes.
Giving up on standing, I rest my forehead against the ice. I don’t know where my helmet is, but I’m glad it isn’t keeping me from letting the cold numb the ringing in my head.
I take a couple deep breaths and blink. My stomach lurches and I fight back the need to get sick. Eventually the medical staff comes out to check on me. They ask me questions that I struggle to answer.
“Get me off the ice,” I mutter incoherently.
Someone mentions a backboard and I sit up as best as I can. “No. I can skate. Help me.”
They hesitate, but Jack and Leo flank me on either side and lift me up. They all but carry me off, but at least I’m upright. The crowd is on their feet, clapping and cheering as I go.
I don’t remember much of the walk back to the locker rooms, but after the team doctors check me out, I’m told I likely have a concussion and a separated shoulder. I’m still struggling to focus, probably because of that concussion thing, but I hear enough to know they’re sending me to the hospital to fix my shoulder and check out my head. I feel like I’m outside of my body, watching myself in slow motion.
“Did it count?” I ask Hunter, the young trainer tasked with helping me out of my skates and uniform.
His brows pull together in confusion as he unlaces my right skate and yanks it off.
“The goal. Did it count?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, man, it counted.”
The pain dulls. At least we got a goal.
