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Chapter fourteen

Puck Drop - The moment the official drops the puck to begin or resume play.

Ash

The building was deafening by puck drop, twenty thousand people on their feet as we lined up for Game Four with a two-one series lead and the chance to put Vegas one loss away from elimination.

Normally, this was the part I loved most.

There was something about those last few seconds before the puck hit the ice when everything else ceased to matter. Whatever had happened this morning, whatever waited outside the arena, and whatever problems I'd have to deal with tomorrow disappeared beneath the noise until my entire world narrowed to the men around me, two nets, and a piece of vulcanized rubber.

Tonight, my father came onto the ice with me.

Not literally, although at this point I wouldn't have put it past him.

His last two messages had been sitting in my head since I'd woken this morning.

Your captain must be worth a lot to you.

Good to know.

There'd been nothing since.

The silence should've reassured me because I'd paid him. Five times the usual amount had disappeared from my account before midnight, and for years, that had been how our arrangement worked. He demanded money, I paid it, and the video stayed exactly where it belonged.

Except this time, I'd paid because he'd threatened Max.

My father knew that, and I had no idea what he intended to do with the information.

“Game Four in Denver,” Dave announced as the referee moved into position. “Colorado holding a two-one series advantage after Tuesday's 4-2 win, and this is a huge opportunity for the Dragons. Win tonight and they head back to Vegas with three chances to close this series out.”

“Which is exactly why Vegas can't afford another slow start,” Jack replied. “Colorado dictated too much of Game Three, particularly that Thorne, Russo, and Baelor line. If Vegas gives them the same amount of room tonight, this could get ugly.”

“They certainly had trouble containing Ash Thorne.”

“They did, although judging by the reaction after his goal, his captain didn't seem to mind.”

Dave sighed loudly enough to be heard over the crowd. “We're not even at puck drop yet, Jack.”

“I was talking about hockey.”

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitched.

The puck dropped.

For the first few shifts, hockey did exactly what I needed it to do.

Vegas came out fast, forechecking hard enough that we barely had time to breathe when we recovered the puck. Dante took a pass through center and pushed it left to me, and I carried it across the blue line before cutting inside their defenseman and sending it back across the slot.

Baelor missed getting his stick on it by inches.

We turned immediately, chasing the play the other way, and for those few seconds, there was nothing in my head except positioning, speed, and the familiar calculation of where everybody on the ice would be by the time I reached them.

Then Max's line went over the boards.

I saw him because apparently some part of me had developed its own fucking radar where he was concerned.

He hadn't called last night.