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Where is Ruby? Is she actually going to miss the game?
The question flashes through my mind as I move the puck across the ice into the offensive zone.
Ruby’s sister, Rowan, is here in the lower bowl, with her boss, Cece, and a couple of her best friends. I haven’t heard from Ruby this week, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s mad at me for some reason, which wouldn’t make sense. What is there to be mad about?
She sent me that text about how she didn’t need my fake-boyfriend services anymore, which must mean that her mysterious ex is no longer a problem. I thought we were still friends, though.
Bam!
One of the Blasters slams into me, almost knocking me off my feet, and I come perilously close to losing the puck. It was a dirty move on his part, but I deserved it. I let my focus wander. I’ve let Ruby crowd into my head way too much this week.
I maneuver quickly and move away from him, but I’m facing a wall of Blasters in between me and the offensive zone. The best person for me to pass the puck to is—
Holy crap. Is that Ruby making her way through the crowd, in her favorite red jacket, holding hands with some dude? He’s big and burly, and I don’t recognize him but I know that bulky build and the way he moves—he’s a football player. He could be any of the guys on my brothers’ teams.
Holding hands with him?
What is she doing letting some other guy put his hands on her?
A few weeks ago, I had my arm around her shoulders while we rode a horse and carriage around Central Park—supposedly for show to make her ex back off, but there was more to it than that.
At least I thought there was.
Bam!
The Blaster’s right wing slams into me. I’m knocked on my ass, my stick goes skittering across the ice, and I lose the puck.
Sweet suffering Jehoshaphat. I just screwed up so badly.
Everyone leaps to their feet. The Blasters fans are screaming in triumph. The Rovers fans are shouting in rage.
Mason skates by, bends down, and grabs my hand. He pulls me to my feet in one swift, angry motion. “What the hell?” he snaps. “You had it.”
I don’t reply. I just skate over to retrieve my stick.
I feel sick to my stomach. He’s right.
The signal blares for a break, so we all skate over to our respective benches while the linesmen stand between the player benches. The jumbotron is blaring the upcoming events that are coming to the stadium and the crowd is still shouting.
I glance over at my family, who are too far away for me to read their expressions, and wince. My mother messaged me before the game to tell me that she had told everyone in Devil’s Fork to tune in to the game to watch me. She’d have to have told them, because otherwise nobody in town would have bothered. But now it’s not just my pride on the line; it’s the family’s as well.
The only time I made the paper in Devil’s Fork was when I punched out the star quarterback because I found out my girlfriend at the time was two-timing me with him.
I look over to see Ruby. She’s with her sister, and she’s sitting right next to the football guy. As I watch, he makes a big show of throwing his arm around her shoulders—just like I used to do every time we were in public.
It started out as me just helping a friend, but maybe it was always more than that.
The thing is, I liked her right away. It wasn’t just that she was pretty and smart. She was also funny and feisty, and she always handed me my ass when I tried to do my joking-flirting thing. After years of having girls basically faint at my feet when they found out I was a pro hockey player, it was refreshing.
“Pax,” Coach Winters barks. I jerk my attention back to him.
“Yes, sir.”
He fixes his icy blue eyes on me. “I know the Blaster are playing dirty, but we’re not a bunch of weak-ass pussies. And this isn’t junior ladies’ day at the rink. Don’t let them pull that shit again.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeat, bobbing my head vigorously.
I grab a bottle of Gatorade and chug it down quickly. We’re back on the ice in a couple of minutes, and I’m grimly determined to do better this time.
