Page 124 of Traded

Carter is going to kill me. Or Boone.

Definitely Boone.

The three of us sit in stunned silence as the Aces finish their run and Boone and Carter face off over the puck.

Katie clears her throat. “So… did you have dinner with him?”

“We don’t talk about that.” My words are a croak. “And no, for your information, I did not.”

Carter promised he’d get me out of it. Although since neither of them have any missing limbs, I’m assuming the discussion hasn’t happened yet.

“First goal by our home team is the signal.” Mike’s voice echoes as Boone and Carter wait for the drop. “When the Titans score, toss your teddies!”

Cheers ring out, and the puck drops.

By the time the second period starts, I’m genuinely concerned that the hockey gods hate children. Every time Carter jumps over the boards, the crowd is on their feet before he gets anywhere near the puck, but he can’t get it past Yukov and Navarro’s defense. He smashes a stick in his frustration, Eddie tossing him another from behind the bench.

“Come on!” Katie screams beside me. “Move your ass, Reynolds!”

But it’s the Aces who score first, and then again within a minute as Boone sweeps past Mason and Liam, both a split-second too late to defend as Boone flicks the puck past Benji’s head and into the net. The Ace’s cheers are loud enough to drown out our collective groan.

“Well, shit,” Maddie mutters, and Katie and I nod in agreement.

Well shit, indeed.

Third period starts off with a brawl. Liam slams into Yukov, and it’s the equivalent of the Himalayas colliding. I swear the Furnace shakes. Liam yells and Yukov responds, gloves dropping before the linesmen can get close enough to break them up.

“Shit.” Leaning forward, I watch through clenched teeth. The first few punches miss completely, jerseys stretched over shoulders as they wrestle for position before Yukov’s fist slams into Liam’s ribs. “What the fuck did hesay?”

“Dunno.” Katie winces. “Must’ve been good.”

Yukov’s next hook catches Liam across his visor, knocking his helmet loose. By the time the linesmen jump in and peel them apart, both alphas are bleeding from split knuckles. Liam swipes his hand across his busted lip as he shoves a clearly furious Carter away and skates for our penalty box, Yukov heading for his own.

“Do you think he’s lost a tooth?” I ask as Liam spits into a bottle. “That looked pretty toothy, don’t you think?”

“You’re so fucking bloodthirsty.” Katie cackles. “How many would that be?”

“For Liam?” I mentally count. “Third, I think. Jonas is the only one who’s never lost any.”

“And I’m sure the world would end if he did.” Maddie snickers. “No offense, Ro. But your guy is pretty and he knows it.”

I scrunch up my face. “Believe me, none taken.”

Am I the only one who didn’t notice how fucking self-obsessed he is?

Was I in some sort of knot-induced love haze for the last three years?

Jesus Christ, Johnson.

We enter the third period without a home goal, and all of us are getting restless. Everywhere I look, people are clutching teddies. Even the Aces side seems to be waiting for our moment.

With thirty seconds left, Carter scoops the puck up from Noah’s pass andflies.

Yukov closes in on him. Then Navarro. By the time he reaches the blue line, four Aces are converging on him, but he doesn’t stop. Somehow, he slips through the smallest gap as Boonelunges, dragging the puck behind his skates as Boone's stick comes down on nothing but ice.

Mac comes out from the net to cut down his angle, but Cart doesn’t give him one. He snaps the puck over Mac's freaking shoulder, slamming it into the top corner so fast that the red light is flashing before the arena realizes that he’s fuckingscored.

My arms fly up with a gasp. Words flash up on the Jumbotron and across the ad runners, music blasting.