Penn was now shoving Cameron. The Raptors were flying into the crease to defend their goalie. The Storm blew into the zone as well. A fist flew and the refs dove into the melee. Both teams were on their feet in their respective boxes beating on the boards with our sticks.
The donnybrook lasted a few seconds. The refs spent several minutes divvying up penalty minutes. When things were calm both teams had a man in the sin bin for roughing.
Cam and Tate were still mouthing off at each other as we hit the ice, four a side, which was always a fun two minutes. The ice was bigger.
Pierre was shouting something at us in French when the faceoff went to his right instead of on my stick. I chased it down, turned, and shot to the left to avoid a bruising bodycheck from a big man in a red jersey.
“Man on!” Pierre yelled to let me know I had a defender on my ass as I streaked behind his goal.
I dug in hard in the corner, moved left and then right to shake off the bigger and slower D-man, and raced down the ice to take a shot on Penn. It hit his shoulder, flew into the air, and was flipping end over end until the puck dropped behind the Raptors tendie. I shoved my stick behind Penn who was on his knees, head twisting to try to locate that round rubber disc. The edge of my stick just brushed the puck. Someone came in hardbehind me, a wrecking ball of solid muscle knocking me off my skates. I went down hard.
The red light behind Penn flared to life. I scrambled up, met my teammates in the corner, and had a nice little celly while Iceberg cleared the puck from the Raptors net. Penn was arguing with the ref, his helmet thrown to the ice, about goaltender interference I assumed. But the Raptors coaches didn’t dispute the goal and Penn eventually went back to his crease but spent the rest of the game slapping me with his paddle if I got within range. Which was fine. I was used to goalies poking at or pushing me. Pierre did the same thing, with way more flair and lots of French cussing, so it was to be expected.
We left Arizona with two points. The flight to Dallas was short and choppy. I disliked turbulence of any kind, but thankfully, I had an audio book to keep me distracted from the bouncing and flashes of lightning as we circled Dallas/Fort Worth. Landing was postponed due to the storm so here we sat, going in circles, which felt kind of fitting since that night I’d had wild sex with Jamie. I couldn’t shake the man from my thoughts no matter how I tried or how many times Claudia told me to. It wasn’t as easy as my sister wanted it to be, that was for sure. He was there all the time. When I slept, when I woke up, on the ice, off the ice. The memories of our night in bed replayed repeatedly whenever I closed my eyes.
I struggled to keep the man out of my head during games.
Water streaked the window. My book played on, but I wasn’t listening to it.
My mind was on this scientific thing with Jamie. I should have refused. Should’ve just said nope and moved on with my life. Now I was stuck. I felt someone watching me. My gaze flitted around the charter jet to find Oli staring at me. I nodded. He smiled. We were friends, Oli and I, and he knew everythingabout that night. He’d never mentioned it or hinted about what he thought of me sleeping with his best friend.
Or not sleeping, as the case may be.
He’d never again tried to interfere with the two of us and the tangled mess of whatever it was we were doing. Maybe he assumed that was personal, or maybe Jamie had told him to never discuss it. Probably so. That would be the wisest.
To remind myself of how wise pretending to have sex with Jamie was, I paused my book, opened my texts, and made sure my headphones were connected because fuck if I wanted anyone hearing this shit. I had my phone read the latest one from Leon that had arrived just last night. The computer voice lessened the harshness of the words, but they still cut me deep, and god knows why I kept them.
Why are you being so stupid, Craig? Don’t make me get litigious. Come back to me, and I won’t take this further. Call me. Soon. L
My exhalation was shaky. I closed my phone, leaving the text to sit with all the others Leon had sent me since I’d left him. Fuck him and his threats and his demands for me to go back to him. All I took the night I left was what was mine.
He’d called me stupid all the time.
And he’d said it again.
Chapter Seven
Jamie
The young manon the end of the sofa was called Ian, a quarterback for the UCLA Pioneers in his final year of a degree in physics, and already drafted to enter the Seattle NFL team. He was incredibly bright, but I got the feeling he played at being a jock a little too well. He was tall, wiry, fast, and he brought a ball with him that he balanced on his hand and spun when he was thinking.
The woman next to him was Annabelle, an artistic gymnast, also in her last year at UCLA with a near-finished chemistry degree, already training for the Olympic gymnastics team, who was sitting so still I wondered if she was meditating. The only thing that kept her attention was Ian and his flirting, and only when he was trying really hard. The two of them shared the small two-seater sofa. Ian was sprawling and posturing and balancing the ball, and Annabelle was side-eyeing him and smiling.
I guessed there could be an Annabelle/Ian matchup happening soon.
I took the seat opposite Craig and glanced around the empty room, feeling proud that I’d found this quiet space within thebustle of the college and had managed to book it even though I wasn’t an assistant professor here.
Yet.
I had reasons to stay in LA, particularly now Oli had implied over beers last night that he’d retire before being traded away from LA and from Jackson. Not to mention the girls loved their new school. He was putting down roots in LA, actively researching a bigger place for him, Jackson, and the girls, with an extra room for me, apparently.
So, if he and the girls were staying, then I was too.
The walls were adorned with whiteboards covered in a myriad of notes and diagrams from countless meetings before us, lending an academic yet comforting air to the place, and I felt calm and collected and in control of my research. More than when it had been Sean and me doing this together, when he would flutter around as if he knew what he was doing.
Craig had followed me in reluctantly, his discomfort palpable as his sight flicked rapidly between the boards and the seats. “You sure this is a good spot?” he’d asked, voice laced with skepticism as he glanced around the lounge, clearly out of his element among the scribbles of quantum mechanics and organic chemistry. I bet he’d be better with all those X’s and O’s of strategy, but I hoped he’d learn to love my world as well.
God knows why that was important to me.
