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“Raiden,” she whispers brokenly and my heart drums,for her.
“I’m fine now,” I kiss her head, looking at her, her looking at me. “We’re both fine now,” she bites her fat bottom lip, chin to my pec. “Safe, Princess.” she nods, but it’s like she doesn’t believe it, doesn’t feel it. “I promise you that you’ll always be safe with me.”
Chapter 20
LYNX
First game back and I'm nervous as shit. My hands shake, my lips look fucking green and my guts churn with a sickness I'm not sure I'll be able to keep down.
But all I keep thinking is, Poppy gave me her stash.
After we fucked in the bathroom at Graves, I asked her to give me the pills, and she was reluctant, but still, she said nothing as she pulled the baggie from her bra, handed it to me for safe keeping.
“Adams!” Hudson, our team captain yells, staring at me from where he sits as I push into the locker room for pre-game practice. “Do not fuck this game up tonight with your nerves. You know how to play hockey. The minute your skates hit the ice, you will fucking judge yourself for being so in your head. It's like riding a bike. You can't fuck that up and you won't fuck this up. Got it?” I love Hudson, and he thinks of himself as some sort of motivational speaker, which he isn't, but fuck, I know he's right.
Head nodding, I grimace, trying to hide it, “Yeah, I know. First game back nerves,” everything else I say is hardly audible above the violent thrumming inside my head.
Hudson rolls his eyes at my anxiety, “You're my guy, you know my moves before I make them. There’s nothing to worry about. Just let the magic fucking happen.” He stands, walking over to me, dropping his arm over my shoulder, squeezing me against him, “Tell your nerves they are no longer needed. We are fine. You are fine,” he assures me, quiet enough not to be overheard. “Now, let's go play some good old fashioned puck!” I push him away as he yells it, some of the guys cheering and banging their sticks against the floor.
I turn towards my locker space, breathing deep when King comes up on my left, dropping his bag on the bench.
“You've got this, bro. You and me, yeah?”
I nod, swallowing bile as I dress in my gear, pulling on my pads, hockey pants and finally my jersey, number eleven and 'Adams' in big white numbers and letters on the back. It feels good to get it back on officially after so long, the weight of my gear like a blanket of comfort. Familiar.
King claps me on the back, fingers tightening over my shoulder,
“All right boys! Let's fucking go!” Hudson bellows, the guys whooping and hollering, as we make it down the tunnel towards the ice.
I feel better after practice, the game now only twenty minutes away, and I'm pumped. Muscles burning, head clear, everything preparing me for the game against Texas State. Confidence fills my chest like an inflating balloon is shoved beneath my ribs, my heart kicking in my chest, adrenaline pulsing through me. King sits on the bench to my right, elbowing me with a slick smirk as Coach Taylor yells at us about our 'goddamn chant'.
Check hard. Play hard. Fuck hard.
Which is apparently a part of our new pre-game ritual. Gotta admit, it's better than the last one. So that's what we echo in the room, sticks clashing, voices booming as he continues to yell atus. My laugh is a bright bursting chuckle as his face reddens, blue veins protruding along his temples.
It's Smiley that stands first, thrusting his stick in the air, and throwing his head back, “All right, boys, let's get 'er done!”
There's ten minutes left in the third, and we still haven’t scored. I'm so frustrated I want to scream, because this game should be a fucking breeze. State have spent all their fucking time forcing us back into our own zone to defend Barlowe in goal, but that determination slowly decreased, and now they just look fucking tired.
Good.
The linesman's arm goes up.Offside.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as Play stops and we're forced into a face off in our zone.
King's shoulder connects with mine where we sit on the bench, legs bouncing in time with one another as we wait to go back out. Reassuring me that we're in this together as we both breathe hard, his light eyes narrowed in on the other team.
Time seems to slow as I hone in on the puck, watching it drop to the ice. State wins it as Raiden roars beside me in frustration, and our guys immediately battle for the puck. It's a struggle. The guys bust their asses to keep it out of the net, Barlowe looking like he might drop stick and tear someone apart instead of defending goal, but he doesn't.
My heart pounds in my chest as it's finally time, and I'm jumping over the boards. Legs pushing hard as our line heads out, pumping my arms, stick sliding effortlessly over the ice, Ikeep my chin dipped, eyes up as I watch Hudson snag the puck and hit center ice.
The air is frigid, my muscles are on fire, and the rage to win burns through my core, splintering out like razored talons in my soul. The sickness from earlier is long forgotten as I race over the ice, skates carving their way across the rink. And just as I make it to Hudson, the whistle blows, Play stops again and hooking on State is called.
Two minute penalty.
I grin.
Powerplay, baby.
