HAYES
Holy shit. I’ve never scored the first goal of any game since the season’s started.
The crowd is absolutely insane. The puck is back in play, and this time during the faceoff, a player from the Colorado Caracals zips off with it. The burning in my legs is a welcome sensation, and as much as my lungs ache, I’d rather hurt the next day and know I worked my ass off than come away unscathed. I cut number fifty-five off, body checking him into the boards, allowing Fulton to scoop up the abandoned puck.
A chorus of cries rattles my eardrums, but the second Fulton gets an inch away from the goal line, a hulking defenseman smashes him into the plexiglass. The cries evolve into disappointed groans. I know my teammates can handle themselves. Hell, some of the guys are larger than I am, but when they’re on the receiving end of some brutal hits, my vision turns red. It’s some kind of weird, primal reaction inside of me that makes me want to rip my gloves off and scatter teeth all over the ice.
Some Speedy Gonzalez motherfucker flashes past me with the puck, and judging by the uptick in boos and slimy insults, the Colorado Caracals just scored a goal. The Caracals are good. They have some of the fastest skaters in the whole NHL on their team, which I thought was an exaggeration until now. A litany of swears ricochet from my throat, and I blink the sweat from my eyes, my heart probably hastening to a concerning rate. This is going to be a long game.
WE’RE on to the second period, and it’s 2-1. I skate alongside Kit, picking up speed to stay in his passing range, and the second he spies an opposing player bulldozing to get to him, he passes me the puck. I’m more nervous than usual, which unfortunately makes me less aware, and I cover a good portion of ice before someone egresses from my blind spot and rams into me with the force of a pickup truck.
I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to look up before I suffer a face-smashing courtesy of The Incredible Hulk, and my eyes gridlock with a pair of mocha-colored ones that I would recognize anywhere.
“Aeris?”
But before I can double-confirm it’s her, an overwhelming pain cocoons my entire body. My vision comes in tides, and my muscles groan from the force of the collision. God, I forgot how much it hurt to be bitch-punted into the boards.
What is she doing here? Aeris didn’t strike me as a sports fan, much less a hockey fan. I texted her back before I left the locker room, but I don’t know if she saw it yet. The timing of my responses could definitely use some work.
I don’t know why I expected to keep my day job a secret from her. Of course she was going to find out. It’s kind of hard not to, especially since Riverside prides itself on its hockey team.
The third period goes by in a flash, and before I know it, the Caracals have evened the score. It’s 2-2 now. We’re down to the last five minutes. Whoever scores the next goal wins, and I’m determined to end the night on a high note.
Anticipation wrestles with my guts and ties them into ribbons. Bristol has the puck, but he’s flanked on either side by red and white jerseys, and he’s a second away from getting kebabbed. He flings the puck in my direction, and I dance around with it before ultimately deciding to pass it to Casen. Relief funnels through me when Casen gains some distance, nearing the Caracal’s goal. There’s a swarm of players on his tail, and if he doesn’t make this goal, there won’t be enough time for a redo.
I bend over, dropping my gloved hands to my knees, squinting through a sheen of sweat. Casen’s silhouette dwindles to a six-inch-tall version of him, and I see the goal lights flash red just as the buzzer signals the end of the game.
We won. My teammates hightail it over to Casen, pumping their sticks in the air and roaring their superiority over the opposing team. I should be over the moon, but I haven’t even lifted off the ground. Something—or someone—is preventing me from riding out my postgame high.
THE COLD OUTSIDE is no match for the blizzard in my chest. The air shrouds my arms, raising hair and gooseflesh in its wake. The crescent moon blocks out all light from the nursery of stars in the sky, with only the haze from the high-power lamps to guide me through the endless dark.
I need to find Aeris. Why is she here? When I told her who I was, she didn’t seem to have any idea I played hockey. And now, out of nowhere, she shows up to the one place I least expected to see her. Did she know who I was this entire time? Was she putting on a show?
My teammates are probably already at Beer Comes Trouble—the bar we always hit up after games. The place is teeming with puck bunnies, and I’ve been grateful for the easy accessibility a few nights in particular. But the last thing on my mind right now is celebrating.
I’ve been pacing back and forth for twenty minutes in this damn parking lot trying to catch Aeris. I’ve texted her ten times telling her we need to talk.
My phone dings, but when I open it, the incoming message isn’t from Aeris.
DAD: Good game, son. Can we talk?
Can we talk? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t hear from my father in months, and suddenly he’s trying to play nice with me? What’s next, we’re having brunch together and holding hands as we skip off into the sunset? I’d rather have my prostate exam performed by Wolverine.
Frustration balloons inside of me, and I stab aggressively at the keyboard.
ME: Not a good idea.
DAD: Please, Hayes. I just need five minutes.
ME: You don’t deserve five minutes.
DAD: I know I messed up, but I want to make things right between us.
Hatred threatens to drag me to the cusp of no return and throw me down a dark, bottomless pit. The adrenaline inside of me is amplifying my desire to pelt the concrete with my phone, but this is the third one I’ve bought this year, and I don’t want to waste any more money. And yes, if you were wondering, all three times were in response to something idiotic my father said.
ME: Why now? After all this time?
DAD: I don’t want to waste any more time where we aren’t a family again. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize it, I know. One more chance. If you give me that, and I can’t earn your trust back, you’ll never hear from me again.
Without another thought, I pocket my phone. I can’t deal with my father and Aeris right now.
Speaking of Aeris, I manage to catch sight of her chestnut waves swinging behind her like a pendulum as she exits the parking lot. I push my way past some straggling families coming out of the game, and my long legs carry me over to her in two strides.
Jesus, I forget how small she is. Not just compared to me. Her blond friend has at least seven inches on her, and that’s probably without the heels. She’s smiling at something her friend must’ve said before she’s struck shellshocked at the sight of me.
“Did you know?” I ask, trying to catalogue the emotion passing through her. I’ve already learned that she isn’t the best at hiding how she’s feeling, which can be both a blessing and a curse.
“Excuse me?” An iciness lurks under the surface of her tone.
“Did you know who I was?” I repeat, irritation blistering behind my eyes, a searing sensation shooting through me like a five-alarm fire.
To my surprise, she bites back with enough intensity to shake me to the core.
“No, Hayes, I didn’t know who you were. And no thanks to you lying to me about what you did for work,” she hisses, her narrowed eyes terrorizing me.
The knot in my throat bobs. “You didn’t know?”
“No, asshole. And why would it matter if I knew or not?”
“Can we go somewhere more private?”
Aeris considers me for a second, but she eventually nods her head, although I wouldn’t put it past her to eat me alive when we’re alone.
I lead her to a more private part of the parking lot, hand on her bare back, which is cold to the touch. The tip of her nose is red, her skin has been robbed of color, and she hasn’t stopped shivering.
I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her frame, hopefully engulfing her in a decent amount of heat. I tend to run warm.
She only allows me a breath of time before she pulls away from me. “Why the fuck did you lie to me, Hayes?”
Guilt roots in the bottom of my stomach, elongating into tendrils that choke my body in a vise grip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’ve told women in the past about my career, and they’ve used me for fame.”
“So that gives you a pass to lie to me?”
“Of course not. I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”
Unbridled fury rises in her like bubbles in champagne. “Were you ghosting me or something? Did you think you could get away with lying to me because you never intended to talk to me again?”
I gently tip her chin up so I can meet her eyes, and my heart goes all slippery, wanting to jump out of my body and land in her arms. “No, Aeris. That wasn’t my intention at all. I was so busy with practice I haven’t had a moment to text you, but you haven’t left my mind.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I don’t know, but I promise, no more secrets.”
Another fucking lie.
“No more secrets,” she parrots.
I honestly wasn’t expecting her to give me a second chance, but I needed that fucking kick, because it’s shown me just how high the stakes are now.
A sigh billows from her chapped lips, and either her anger’s been snuffed out or the cold has finally gotten to her, because she nuzzles into the bulk of my arms. That fragrant lavender and strawberry mix of hers engulfs me, pulling me back to the night I met her.
I can barely hear my own breath over the blood pistoling through my ears. I need to go through with the plan. Ask her out, dumbass. The sooner we play it up for the cameras, the sooner I can get back to my former life before everything went downhill.
Even though I know this is all fake, this feeling is foreign to me…this nervousness. I only get nervous before a game. I don’t get nervous around women.
I continue to hold her in my arms, and I will my words to shoot out of me and construct themselves into a sentence. “I wanted to ask you out. Properly. On a date,” I mumble against the crown of her head.
Aeris pulls back slightly, moistening her bottom lip. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her tongue in my mouth again right now, tracing the inside of my cheek, running along the blunt edges of my teeth. I remember how life-changing that kiss was. Hell, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
“A date?”
“A date,” I repeat confidently. “You. Me. Maybe some handholding.”
I can tell she’s intrigued, but there’s also a part of her that’s wary, and I don’t blame her. I lied to her, then ghosted her. I was an asshole. And I’m still technically lying to her.
I don’t know how long I’m waiting for her to answer, but it feels like I have to swallow each everlasting second.
She steals a few glimpses at me, then eventually gives me a nod that diffuses the tension in my shoulders.
“I’d love to go on a date with you,” she finishes.
I hold her face in my hands, brushing my nose with hers, my parted lips mere inches away from slanting over her pretty mouth. Our breaths mingle, and I can smell the mintiness on her tongue, like she’d popped a piece of gum halfway through the game.
I want to kiss her. And judging by the heavy pants racking her chest, I know she wants this just as badly as I do.
But my self-restraint must be at an all-time high because I don’t kiss her. I pull away the minute she leans in, and it’s not because I want to be a tease. It’s because I’m afraid what will happen if I lose myself in her.
“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”
