Page 76

CHAPTER 18

The plane was already full when Bennett dropped his bag into his usual seat next to Noah. The 2-1 OT win in St. Louis had been brutal, a back-and-forth death match the Reign hadn’t deserved to win—yet somehow, they’d emerged with the two points. He was exhausted, having logged over twenty-nine minutes of ice time.

“There’s our OT hero,” Noah said as Bennett pulled his tablet out of his bag. “How are you feeling, Cap?”

“Like I want to sleep for a decade,” Bennett said.

“That snipe was a fuckin’ beauty, Cap,” McPherson said from the row behind. “The clip’s already all over Instagram.”

As Bennett avoided social media as best he could, he wouldn’t know. He noticed the seat next to McPherson was empty, Sewell nowhere to be found. “Mac, where’s your boy?”

“Dunno. In the back somewhere, probably.” Then Mac shoved in his earbuds and closed his eyes.

Bennett sat down and began the usual pre-flight preparations with his headphones, tablet, and reading material. The trip to Chicago was short, but habits were habits. He’d already grabbed a prepared sandwich, pasta, and sports drink from the front of the plane to help him refuel for tomorrow night’s game. There wasn’t enough time to properly recover—there was never enough time—but they had to do what they could, especially at this time of year, right at the close of the regular season, when every game mattered for playoff positioning. Where the prize of home ice dangled like a cheat day full of burgers and pizza, so close Bennett could almost taste it.

As he uncapped and chugged the sports drink, he began doing the math, a constant and necessary skill during the season. After all these years, he knew the flight times for every city, as well as the distance of every hotel from the airport. This meant he could already calculate how much sleep he’d get tonight. Tonight was a fifty-minute flight, plus thirty-five minutes to the hotel, give or take. With thirty minutes to shower again and unwind, he’d be lucky to be asleep by 1:45 in the morning.

“Fuck,” he said with a heavy sigh and took his sandwich out of the container. Chicken cutlet with arugula, tomato, and cheese. He shoved it in his mouth, big bites that he barely tasted, chewing and swallowing quickly. He was starving and shaky, and his knee hurt like a motherfucker. Morning skate would be optional for the boys, but as a captain Bennett felt it was his responsibility to attend.

How many more years can I do this?

Noah was texting intensely on his phone, even though it was late and they were readying for takeoff. Through a bite of sandwich, Bennett asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just Becca. She ran home from her parents’ house around dinner time to grab something and is freaking out. I think it’s just pregnancy hormones.”

Bennett swallowed his food. “Dude, do not tell her that. I don’t know much about pregnancy, but I do know ‘it’s just your hormones’ doesn’t fly with a lot of women.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid.”

“Why is she freaking out?”

“She says a lamp in the living room is broken.”

Bennett paused mid-chew. No, it couldn’t be. He was tired and not thinking clearly. Because the idea was . . . insane. Except Becca had been gone all day and Noah was the only player not to experience a break-in. Would Nico really disregard everything Bennett had said and break into Noah’s house during the day?

He nearly slapped his forehead at such a stupid question. Of course Nico would do this. He would absolutely search the fifth house—even after Bennett said several times that Noah wasn’t responsible. Even after the skating. Even after the desk sex. Goddamn it.

Bennett’s skin turned hot, his chest burning with outrage. Noah was still texting, no doubt still reassuring Becca that everything was okay, which definitely was not, but Noah didn’t know that.

Fuck, if only someone had confessed the other night in Dallas, then none of this would be happening. Instead, Bennett’s texts remained quiet, and the six players had been jumpy for both games, their shifty gazes almost accusatory in the locker room, attention definitely not on the opponent.

As calmly as Bennett could manage, he set his sandwich down and picked up his phone. He thumbed open his text thread with Nico, angled away from his friend, and started typing.

Bennett: What the fuck?

Bennett: You broke into his house????

Bennett: I told you it’s NOT him.

Bennett: His wife is pregnant. What if she’d been at home?

The dots appeared, then disappeared. The plane was moving toward the runway, wheels bouncing on the asphalt, but Bennett didn’t take his eyes off the screen, waiting for Nico to explain himself. But nothing appeared. No more dots, no characters or letters. Not even an emoji. Bennett’s throat tightened with frustration and resentment. He could do nothing sitting on this plane, trapped in a metal box, while Nico Marzano caused chaos back in Toronto.

“You good?” Noah asked as he put his phone away. “You look like that time Peterson cross-checked you into the boards during a playoff game last year.”

“I’m fine. Just some annoying shit.” The attendant announced that everyone should turn on airplane mode, so Bennett followed directions, then stored his phone for takeoff. Fuck Nico Marzano. Bennett would deal with him when they landed in Chicago.

“With the team? Or with Lauren?” Noah guessed. “I thought she was just here and you guys were good.”