Page 114 of Three Hockey Hotties

The game sucks too.

Dash already let a goal slide past him. It was an easy save too, but he is clearly distracted.

Kane is being reckless. He’s spent two minutes in the penalty box and checked another player into the boards so hard, the guy turned and took a swing at him. Kane had ripped his gloves off and was ready to go before his teammates had pushed him away.

He’s also frustrated.

I know we don’t have the right to tell Abby how she should feel.

This relationship is brand new. We’re all getting to know each other. I can acknowledge that the three of us can be overwhelming. For someone used to holding people at arm’s length it’s probably pretty damn smothering.

But I know—we all know—that this much love, attention, and care is exactly what Abby needs. She’s been starving herself of attention for a decade, afraid to impose on anyone.

It’s going to take time for her to recognize why she wants to be with us and fully embrace it.

Having patience is hard as hell, though.

Especially when my personality is to be a problem solver. I like action. Present me with a problem and I will walk you through the steps to fix it immediately, if not sooner.

The Mutts finally score in the second period.

Popcorn rains down on the back of my neck. I glance back.

A kid who can’t be more than five is jumping up and down with his fist up in the air in excitement.

The mother looks mortified. “I’m so sorry! Brayden, tell the man you’re sorry.”

But it finally cracks through my misery and makes me genuinely smile. “No worries. Gotta cheer when the Mutts score, right, buddy?” I lift my palm off to offer him a high five.

The kid slaps my palm with fierce enthusiasm. “Yeah!” he shouts, before cramming a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.

I’m watching him and not the ice so when the fans give a collective gasp, I’m slow to realize something is wrong.

Turning forward, I see that a player is down.

“Oh, my goodness, that’s Kane Meyer,” the mom murmurs to her husband.

It is. I see his number on his jersey.

Kane is splayed out on the ice, out cold.

“What happened?” I ask the man to my right.

They aren’t showing a repeat of whatever happened on the jumbotron. They usually don’t when a player gets seriously hurt.

Not fucking good.

“Got tripped and slammed into the wall head first.”

Shit. I jump up. “Excuse me,” I tell the man. “Meyer is my brother. I need to get down there.”

“Oh, damn,” the guy says. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s tough.”

Kane is being surrounded by players and the team doctor. I can see that he’s already conscious again and attempting to sit up. He’s being held down by the doctor.

Relief courses through me.

I don’t usually get rattled by Kane’s injuries. He’s had about a million of them over the years.