He wasn’t giving up, though, nor was he going to back down and try something easier to make. The goddamn swan was going to happen. He’d wanted to make one since he was fourteen years old, and a few of the most painful cuts of his life weren’t going to deter him.
He’d broken bones, torn ligaments, had head wounds that bled profusely, but there was something about the tiniest of papercuts that hurt more than all of them combined. He sucked his throbbing index finger with a groan.
Perhaps it had less to do with the size of his hands, or his skills at folding small colored paper into beautiful pieces of art, and more to do with the fact that Clare Reynolds was back in his head, in his life, in his goddamn space, and he couldn’t concentrate on diddly squat. If he was truly honest with himself, she’d never really been out of it, at least mentally, but her physical presence was turning him upside down and inside out.
While he’d loved Denise a lot, enough to marry her, he’d unknowingly given a piece of himself to Clare when they were just kids, and even if he wanted to, he could never get it back.
Clare sat somewhere in the stands behind him with her son, watching the game.
His game. His team. In his barn.
He swallowed. His stomach was in knots—and not for any reason linked with hockey. The team looked good: better, stronger. He’d go so far as to say they were starting to adjust to the loss of Morgan, Morrison and O’Brien, but he didn’t want to tempt fate by saying it out loud.
Thankfully, they were playing Cedar Rapids and not Alabama. The bad blood between his boys and Johnny White for abandoning them when he transferred after winning the Frozen Four, bumped up Elliott’s blood pressure beyond acceptable limits.
The Raccoons on the other hand, they could handle just fine. Mostly. They had a couple of interesting rookies he’d be keeping his eye on throughout the season, but for the most part, they were an enemy his guys knew how to handle.
Heat crawled up the back of his neck. Was she watching him? Was she impressed by his team? Was Mason? He’d arranged for a couple of the players to sign some autographs for Mason when the game was over, but he was questioning himself. Was it too much of a flex?
He didn’t want to be an asshole, but at the same time, the kid was clearly a fan of the sport and enthusiastic about playing. But maybe he had no interest in the Snow Pirates, and realistically speaking, if he wanted signatures, or even to meet the players, Coach Morrison had an in with his friends still on the team.
It was too much, wasn’t it?
Shit. Shit. Shitting fucking fuck.
He’d missed a goal while he’d been questioning his life choices. Thankfully it was his own team so he didn’t need to bust anyone’s balls for fucking up, but until the commentator announced who scored, he was clueless.
It was time to bust his own balls, to get his head out of his ass, and back in the game. Figuring out where the boundaries with Clare and her kid were, figuring out how to protect himself from the woman who had already betrayed him once before, it would all have to wait.
It was another unassisted goal for the rookie, Theo. Elliott rolled his eyes. The kid plopped down onto the bench with a shit eating grin on his face like he’d single handedly won the Stanley Cup.
But there was no “I” in team. Being a whiz on the ice, scoring a bunch of fancy goals was all well and good, but if you couldn’t work well as part of a team to ensure the “W” at the end of sixty minutes of play then it meant nothing.
Theo needed a lesson in humility, teamwork. Elliott had seen kids like him before, and he’d see them again. It was his job to knock the overconfident asshole out of him and encourage the skillful player, while not breaking his spirit. It was a fine line to walk.
As the second period drew close to an end, Lincoln Scott, team captain and son of a former NHL superstar, elbowed Russell and jerked his chin at Theo. Sometimes players took it upon themselves to teach the assholes a lesson. To show them what it was like when they played for the name on the back of their shirt instead of the logo on the front.
Perhaps Theo needed a reminder that without his team watching his six, his ability to score goals would be greatly hindered.
They were up 2-0 with a period still to play, realistically, it was their game to lose. And a bone-deep feeling from decades of hockey experience told him they were losing this one.
As much as he hated losing a game, sometimes you handed over the battle in order to win the war. If Theo got his head out of his ass and learned to play nice with the other children in the sandbox, their team could be unstoppable.
Off the bench and back on the ice, Theo claimed possession of the puck yet again. Dominated the space. He skated up the wing—not another Snow Pirate to be seen anywhere near him. Christ, the kid was fast. As he approached the blue line, a Raccoon appeared by his side and threw him into the boards with a monumental hip check.
Theo crumpled like a slinky down stairs and the spectators hissed in sympathy. On his way back to the bench, number two for the Cedar Rapids Raccoons, defenseman Artemis de la Peña, subtly fist-bumped Lincoln Scott. To most people watching, the defenseman nearly crashed into the Captain of the Snow Pirates, but Elliott wasn’t most people.
Had Lincoln somehow encouraged Artemis to throw a heavy check at Theo in a bid to teach him a lesson? Any other player on the team and he’d have believed it without hesitation, but Linc? Wow. Things must have been worse in the locker room than he thought. Elliott shook his head as Theo skated like Bambi on ice back to the bench. It could have been worse. Linc could have askedtwoof the de la Peña brothers to check Theo—at the same fucking time.
While Apollo de la Peña was a forward, he and his twin brother, Artemis made quite the checking duo when they wanted to. Most people knew to stay well clear. Apparently Theo hadn’t done his homework. And clearly Lincoln was more aware of Theo’s shortcomings than Elliott had realized.
As Linc climbed onto the bench, Elliott leaned close so only he could hear. “Wanna tell me what the hell kind of shit you’re pulling out there,Captain?”
Linc kept his eyes on the game as he gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Team building.”
Elliott snorted and Theo erupted. “Is no one gonna go after that asshole for the hit on me?”
Silence. You could cut the tension with a knife. Or a hockey skate.
