Page 20 of Road to Redemption

As we headed toward the glass entrance, Kiera looped her arm in Spencer’s. “I’m kind of surprised you guys like sports.”

“Why is that, Princess?” I lifted the sleeve of my jersey and flexed my bicep for her. “Don’t think I’m built for it?”

She shrugged as her eyes traveled down our bodies. “Well, you’re athletic. No doubt about that.” Lowering her voice, Kiera licked her lips. “But I thought all that muscle was reserved for pit fighting and working in the shop. Maybe some extracurricular activities in a warehouse.”

“Not all this.” Kiera nodded toward the stadium as we passed through security.

Clicking her tongue, Spencer shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. We love watching women kick the shit out of each other with blades on their feet.”

The giggle from Kiera’s throat was enough to knock me to the floor.

But instead, I put my arm over her shoulder. “It’s a local team. Well, as close to local as Valemont has. The Reapers were the underdog. They flew across the country for this match and they haven’t won a championship in over a decade.”

“So we’re going to lose?” Kiera laughed.

My jaw dropped open. “Rude. No, this new team is something else. The starting lineup has pulled some crazy points this season. They’ve got a chip on their shoulder."

I was a sucker for the underdog. Always had been and always will be. This was going to be quite the matchup.

As we ascended up to the Main Concourse, Spencer was immediately hunting for snacks. She ran ahead, getting some hot dogs, popcorn, and a pretzel along with a soda for all of us to share.

Though Vivienne was sure to grab her own bottle of water.

I really couldn’t blame her for not wanting to share a cup with us. We were some filthy bastards.

Only once the hallways started to clear did we head inside the stadium and down to our seats. Viv had used her season ticket holder status to get us some killer seats on Dom’s credit card.

Right up on the glass, we took our seats. Kiera was squished between Spencer and while Viv sat between Spencer and Dom.

The lights overhead dimmed as the crowd started to roar. It was a sold out stadium despite being a college matchup. Seattle clearly fucking loved hockey.

It wasn’t long before the two team captains were meeting at center ice. The Yeti’s Captain was dressed in their hometown white and turquoise jersey.

Bending over with her hockey stick in hand, the Reaper’s Captain snarled hard. The black jersey was a stark contrast to the white ice. Number 9, Wick’s helmet was already covered in scuff marks.

She was steady on her skates, an iron gaze as she met her opponent’s eyes.

In a matter of seconds, the referee’s whistle blew and the face-off began. Wick smacked the puck straight back to her defensive line who carried the black circle across the blue line at the center of the rink.

Kiera was struggling to keep up as the puck flung around the ice.

It wasn’t long before the game got physical, Number 33 on defense was throwing the Yeti bodies into the walls. A loud smack rang out over the ice as she took possession of the puck — ice flaring off the rink as her skates made a sharp turn.

As the team careened around the ice, driving the puck toward the Yeti goal, Wick and Hart pressed a player between them, using their sticks to whack the puck into their possession.

Lifting her stick high, Wick launched the biscuit into the net and past the Yeti goalie. A truck horn blared out over the arena, announcing the goal to the annoyed stands.

Still moving, Wick dropped to one knee and pumped her fist, greeted by Hart as she stood and gripped into a tight hug. They slammed into the glass as the opposing team booed — helmets and hands smacking into each other as they celebrated.

The jeering only spurred them on.

My eyes flicked to Kiera as the second period began. She was engrossed but still trying to figure out the rules.

I let the sounds of the stadium fill my ears. The deep rumble and chants of the crowd. They wanted a win, desperately. Their cheers became prayers, became gospel.

In the rink, bodies slammed into the glass. The boards vibrated as the heavy pads smacked against them.

It was brutal, violent. Only a pair of gloves and a metal cage helmet between each player and the fists of their opponent. And at every turnover, I could feel the tension in the air. Each one of the players yearned to rip their gloves off and make contact.