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“Exactly, so leave the door open.”
“You’re not gonna accept anything but yes, huh?”
“What do you want to say?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure I know her answer.
A breathy sigh leaves her sweet lips. “Yes.”
“Then say it.”
This time, she doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Music to my ears.
I bite my lip, trying to keep my excitement in. “Awesome. I’ll see you soon.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I can hear the excitement in her voice though as she whispers, “I seriously can’t wait, but no funny business.”
My heart stops. “Funny business? Nothing is funny about sex with me, Sofia. I can promise you that.”
Her soft voice drives me insane. “See, not sure I’m ready for that.”
“You’ll get there,” I assure her, and she groans loudly.
“Bye, Ryan.”
I laugh. “Bye, babe.”
As I hang up the phone, my eyes are watering from smiling so much.
I just can’t get enough of her.
Man, I want to play on this ice.
I love Luther Arena. It’s the best arena in the world, in my opinion. It has the best seats, soft and comfortable, and I swear there is not a bad seat in the house. When a player scores, the whole place goes crazy with lights, and the horn sounds loud and proud. But even with all that, the fans are louder and way prouder. The food here is great, the music is badass, and hell, I want to immerse myself in it all.
I want to be a Nashville Assassin.
The thought has my body tingling with anticipation as I watch Assassins’ forward Vaughn Johansson rush up the ice with the puck. He practically flies. I love watching the dude play. He is one of my favorites. As he passes the puck, he doesn’t leave the play, and while I want to watch, I’m being called by the lead trainer, DJ.
“Justice, smelling stick.”
I unzip the front pocket of my jacket, pull out a pack, and hand them to him before looking back at the ice. Johansson shoots, but he misses. I squeeze my fist in frustration. The Assassins are trailing by a goal, and they hate when they’re losing. They’re going through a rebuilding year after trading a few players and then losing Lucas Brooks to retirement and Karson King to injury. They haven’t had the greatest start, but they’re still the best team in the league to me.
Johansson, he’s just ruthless.
He shoots again, but the goalie blocks it. He gets the rebound, though, and when he flips it up and over the goalie’s shoulder, I swear I’m the loudest one on the bench as the goal horn blows.
We’re tied.
“Justice, get me some tape,” DJ yells over everything.
Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be working.
Smiling to myself, I rush back to the bag they keep by the tunnel. I get out the tape and then refill my smelling salts. Grabbing a few other things I think DJ might ask for, I hurry back to my spot. DJ holds his hand out to me, and I give him what he needs. This is how the first two periods go, and while some may say I’m just DJ’s bitch, I don’t feel like that. I feel like part of the team.
I absolutely love it.
I love hearing Coach Baxter yell and get the boys fired up. I love the joking on the bench, and I love the camaraderie. I love how the fans lift the boys up, and I even made a friend with the backup goalie, Fraser. He’s got this wicked Scottish brogue I know Amelia would get a kick out of, because I sure do.
I don’t ever want to leave, and if I didn’t know I was going home to Sofia, I probably wouldn’t.
“Yer doing a great job there, Justice,” he tells me, and I grin.
“Thanks, Fras,” I say, tapping his pads.
When another player asks me for something since DJ and Mikey, the other athletic trainer, are too far away, I get it. I’m quick, efficient, and damn it, I know I’m making Elli and Shea proud. I want the highest grade on my evaluation at the end, and I want to graduate magna cum laude. I know I can do it. There is no doubt in my mind because, in the end, it will look great when scouts are checking me out for the draft.
I will be on that ice sooner rather than later.
Just as I look up, I see Johansson collide with a Coyotes player, their knees hitting hard against each other. While the other player skates off, Johansson falls forward. When he doesn’t get up right away, my stomach drops. Play stops, and he gets up to his knees slowly, the pain all over his face. He looks as if he is okay, but DJ is already running onto the ice, Mikey close behind. While I want to go, I stay put since I’m unsure if I’m allowed on the ice. That reminds me to make sure to ask if I’m supposed to follow.
Thankfully though, before they reach him, he is limping toward them. They take him under his arms, and when DJ looks to me, wide-eyed, I spring into action. I clear the way of sticks and then the bag so they can get through the tunnel.
“Come on, Justice, grab him.”
I shuffle under Johansson’s arm, taking Mikey’s place, and we head down the tunnel while Mikey heads back to the bench.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” DJ says, but what I see is a really big dude in some serious pain.
Johansson grimaces. “My fucking thigh is tight. I think it’s a charley horse.”
“Okay, let’s get the gear off.”
We help him up onto the table when we reach the athletic training room. I make quick work of his skate as he lies back, groaning loudly. Once I have his skate off, DJ pulls down his sock, and we look at his thigh. It’s spasming like crazy, and the separation is mind-blowing. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen.
DJ looks to me. “What do you think?”
“It looks like a charley horse to me.”
“What do you do? Quickly, Justice.”
“Ice it.”
“Get the ice,” he demands, and I do as he says. Immediately, because time is crucial to a hockey player. They don’t want to miss shifts. When I come back, DJ is massaging the muscle as I lay the ice pack on Johansson’s leg, wrapping it up to let it sit.
