I pull the last stripe of tape over the toe of my stick, yank the roll taut, and then cut it clean with a violent rip of my teeth.
“Uh, okay,” Tanner says, tentatively confiscating the roll from my hand.
I don’t bother looking at him as I start tearing the tape off, but I can feel his worried eyes on my face as I sort out my stick. Irony is, Tanner should be the player that everyone is worried about due to the fact that he should still be on injury rest – although no way is anyone going to stop him from at least one period on the ice when he’s worked as hard as any of us to get our team to the position that we’re in right now.
Caden has been in charge of the pre-game playlist so we’re buzzed to the point of fucking cardiac arrest. I finish up with my stick, toss it beside me on the changing room bench, and then I pull my phone into my lap one more time, my jaw rigid and ticking as I stare at the blank screen.
According to her roommate, Fallon wasn’t at the condo when I pulled up yesterday evening, and she didn’t seem to be lying which was almost as bad as if she was.
I mean, what’s worse? Your girlfriend not wanting to see you because you acted like a lovesick idiot before you were even a couple, or your girlfriend not being at home for another reason entirely?
’Cause like… where the hell was she? She better not have been at fucking Connell’s place because, if I find out that she was, I am punching that prick square in the jaw.
My next move was to call her but it went straight to the network, meaning that either she’d turned off her cell or the battery had died. Neither of those prospects made me any happier than her not being home.
I couldn’t exactly wait outside of her condo all night because, one, I’m not a fucking stalker and if the girl needs space then I’ll listen and give it to her. And two, yesterday evening the Rangers decided to pull a last-minute grind on the ice ahead of the big game. Being honest, I was damn grateful for it because it gave me a space to work off some of my pounding adrenaline.
I texted Fallon this morning hoping that, if her battery had died the day earlier, she would have charged it by now and she would be able to see my message telling her that I love her, and I’m sorry that I behaved like such an idiot.
I want more than anything for her to be in those stands for me, but I would understand if she wasn’t because I know I crossed a line. I came off too strong and it finally caught up to me.
I roll my shoulders and pull up our text thread.
Because, hey, a guy can still hope.
HUNTER: Baby, the game’s gonna start in five. I’m sorry about last night. I’m gonna win this for you.
Please be in the stands, I think as I press send, but I don’t ask her if she’s going to be there because I don’t want to deal with that kind of rejection right now.
I tap my phone against my knee, willing her to give me some sign that we’re okay. I hope to God that I didn’t screw this up beyond repair.
Benson comes into the changing room and signals to Caden to turn the music down.
Caden cranks it higher.
Benson gives him the finger.
“Alright Rangers, this is what you’ve been training for,” Benson shouts, making us all get to our feet, arms crossed and chests heaving.
We make a rough circle in the room. The music from the rink is blasting so loudly that it’s mixing with Caden’s playlist here in the changing room. My heart starts pumping hard, the phone in my hand crushed in a death grip.
Give me a sign, baby, I think to myself. Just one little sign.
“We’re stronger, faster, and more agile than those fuckers. Three periods and” – Benson points his finger in my direction – “I want you scoring in every damn one.”
I give him a jerk of my chin, feeling some of the team clap me firmly on the back, and determination immediately shoots up my spine.
“Got it, Coach.”
“Get your asses out there and win this damn thing, now!”
We’re instantly moving, shoulders knocking into shoulders, but as I go to toss my phone down the screen suddenly lights up.
I borderline bulldoze into Tanner as I lunge forward to catch it from falling.
He bites back a gruff sound and then thumps me with his uninjured leg.
“Door’s that way, genius,” he grunts. Then he catches a look at what I’m looking at and his expression lightens, his eyebrows lifting up as his tongue swipes over his lower lip.
It’s one sentence from Fallon and all it says is, I’m here.
It’s exactly what I fucking needed.
“Yes.” I practically growl as I move my thumbs across the screen, ready to send her back a damn essay about how much I love her, how grateful I am that she’s here, but then Benson is grabbing the phone from my hands and using it to point towards the exit.
“Now!” he barks, his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “You can text your girlfriend after you win, Wilde.”
Tanner does a double-take. “Wait, what? You’re telling me that we’re allowed to have girlfriends now?”
“Jesus Christ.” Benson muscles us through the doorway, his face beet red.
“How come you’re only telling me that in the year that I graduate?” Tanner exclaims, genuinely in shock. “I could’ve been securing Ash this whole fuckin’ time?”
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Benson says, disregarding the fact that he just used the exact same language that Tanner did.
Benson gives us one last push until we’re standing at the far end of the rink with our teammates, strobes of light whirring over the ice as the guy on the mic hypes the crowd into total chaos. I can see some of the Michigan guys near the away teams’ player’s box and I roll my shoulders as I get a good look at them, shoving my hands into my gloves.
“We still have four minutes ’til they let us on the ice,” Austin says, so ready to go that his shoulders are bouncing. “Why’d they bring us out here if there’s still four freakin’ minutes?”
It’s a good point but I don’t care because I’m going to spend the next four minutes scanning the stands for my girlfriend.
Shit, can I still call her that? I mean, surely she wouldn’t come to the championship finals if she was going to break up with me… right?
Or is she here as one final show of support before telling me that we need to go our separate ways?
I swallow thickly, shoving my mouth guard between my teeth like a chew toy. I gnaw on it for a few anxious seconds before shouldering Caden and saying, “Hey, hypothetically speaking, if a chick was going to break up with you–”
“Why are you asking Caden about break ups? The dude’s borderline married. Ask Tanner,” Austin says, smirking wickedly.
Tanner uses his stick to smack Austin’s to the ground.
“Good one, asshole, but you can’t experience a break up if you’ve never been in a relationship.”
Then he turns to me like he’s about to say something but, just before he does, his eyes flit to the other side of the ice.
He throws his own stick to the floor and presses his gloves up against the glass.
“What the hell is that?” he says hoarsely, as he stares over to the other end of the arena.
The music changes overhead and we all follow his line of sight.
And the second that I see her, my jaw hits the floor.
“Oh my God,” I say, my heart thundering in my chest.
Because directly in front of us on the other side of the rink, on those long unused mats beneath the huge Carter Ridge Rangers curtain, is Carter U’s cheer squad dressed in their home team colours, cart-wheeling into position, their red bows twinkling.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is happening right now?” I rasp.
But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know.
That secret event that Fallon has been preparing for ever since she left the comp team?
This whole time she’s been training for this – to perform for the home team at the championship finals.
A surge of gratitude spears through my chest as I watch her flip on the mats, psyching herself up for her imminent performance.
I shove my glove against my helmet, my head spinning.
So this is why Fallon didn’t quit cheer completely after leaving the comp team, why she was so secretive with me about what she was practising for, and why she already knew so much about the Rangers’ championship game plan.
And even though I won’t allow myself to believe it, deep down I want to think that she’s doing this for me.
“She looks so fucking good,” I murmur, my eyes unblinking as we all stare out across the ice.
“I can’t believe that this is the first time we’ve had our home fucking girls cheering for us pre-game,” Tanner says incredulously, his gloved-fist resting hard against the clear board. “Can you believe that this is what we could have been walking out to for four damn years, for every home game we played? Jesus Christ. I’m gonna murder those football guys for stealing them from us this whole time.”
“Which one’s yours?” Austin asks me.
I elbow him in the gut and he ducks away, smirking.
Fallon is dead centre and already posed for action, spinning in sync with two other gymnasts that are flanking her sides. The three of them tuck in their pom-poms and back-flip straight into the arms of their teammates’ cheer baskets, landing steady in their awaiting arms before ditching the pom-poms, jumping, and then landing in handstands that are so incredible my entire team is saying “ohhhh shit!”
“How long do you think it’ll take before our boners die down?” Tanner asks, giving me a look of legitimate concern. “Never played while hard before.”
“Good to fuckin’ know,” I say, shoving him as far away from me as possible.
“I’m serious, man!” he exclaims. Then he adds, “This song slaps.”
I’ve been so focused on Fallon’s little waist in that red and blue costume that I can’t recount a single lyric.
“What’s the song?” I ask, not taking my eyes off of Fallon as her teammates spring her upwards, making my heart jump to my throat. She swings into the next cheer basket, this time landing on one leg, her other one perfectly straight at a one-hundred-and-eighty degree angle. I get an eyeful of the little cheer panty-shorts that she wears under her skirt and my dick goes from semi hard to fully erect.
Great.
“Something by Taylor Swift, I’ll add it to the group Spotify,” he mumbles, his tongue practically hanging out of his damn mouth.
The commentator on the speakers brings our attention back to the countdown, and my adrenaline thunders in time with the increasing tempo of the music as he announces that there’s thirty seconds until the players will be on the ice.
Can’t deny that the team has never been so pumped, every one of us agitated and itching to do some damage.
Just as the song pounds faster towards the imminent final chorus I see Fallon’s teammates throw her up into the air. She does so many twists that I can’t even count them, but I recognise the move because she had me try it with her one time.
Fallon lands in their hands on her feet, and then the girls holding her grip each of her ankles. They toss her again, a straight vertical throw this time, and instead of catching her on her feet again they move like a wave on either side of her, helping her drop into the cleanest horizontal split that I’ve ever seen in my life.
My jaw borderline dislocates.
But without waiting a single second, the chorus flares to life at the exact same moment that Fallon back-flips like an Olympic athlete straight into a second cheer pyramid stationed behind her, where she lands on her feet, kicks one leg in the air, and smiles the most enchanting smile that I’ve ever seen. She stretches her arms out at her sides, fully completing their pyramid.
The buzzer sounds overhead and suddenly both team gates are opened, players instantly swarming onto the ice to do one minute of protocol and warming up before the real game begins.
But I’m immediately skating to the other side of the rink where Fallon’s teammates are already lowering her down. They collect their pom-poms and then they’re getting ushered into the stands so that they can watch their guys win them the championship.
“Fallon!” I bellow, rapping my glove against the clear wall between us as her team steers her in an excited frenzy towards the seats.
The second that she turns around to look at me, her cheeks pink with exertion, I’m shouting, “I’m gonna explain everything, baby, I just have a game to win first, okay?”
I don’t know what I expected but it definitely isn’t what I get.
She wriggles her way out of the arms of the campus security and she runs right up to the board, pressing her hands against the glass, jumping up onto her tiptoes, and then giving the wall that separates us the biggest kiss that she can.
I align my gloves with her hands and drop my forehead down to hers.
“It’s okay!” she shouts, but she’s already being forced back to the rest of the audience, making my blood about boil as I see campus security put their hands on her. “Everything’s okay, I promise!”
Then she whips her ponytail around to her front and turns her back to me before looking over her shoulder.
My eyes drop to the back of her cheer top and my heart misses a beat.
I rub my glove around the back of my neck as my cheeks grow red, but I manage to give her a grateful smile before she’s fully out of sight.
Because there on the back of her top is a big number 9.
