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Eli flashes me a wink. “For about ten years. Nat, when you going to throw me a bone?”
Mmm. That would be a firm never. Eli’s a fun guy, but not one you want to date… or let any of your friends date either.
George is wearing a Nirvana T-shirt and has the longer fall of her pixie-cut bangs pinned back from her eyes. She’s cute as hell in a totally careless way and even with her brother being within ten feet, two of the guys in line are openly staring at her.
“Hey girl, what brings you over to my little neck of the woods?” she asks me, flashing a warm smile at the customer on his way out.
“Julia had to bail on tonight’s game against the Epics. I know you probably have four cousins with birthdays, a great aunt celebrating retirement, and two baptisms—” She rolls her eyes with a laugh, but I’m probably not that far off. George has one of those enormous families that all live within a ten-mile radius andlovehanging out. “But is there any way you can come with me to the game?” That awesome, bright-as-the-sun smile dims, so I hold up a hand. “The game. That’s it. No Five Hole after. Promise.”
She bites her lip, thinking it through.
“I’m supposed to help my Aunt Lydia move into her apartment. But there are like fifteen of us planning to go over. She won’t mind if I come by tomorrow instead. And if you want to go out with Rux and Greg after, don’t skip on my account. One of them can give you a ride and I’ll head out after the game.”
“I’m not up for hanging out with the team,” I say with a look I don’t need to explain.
Mouth pulled to the side, she nods. Then after grumbling something about the players ruining a perfect game, she grabs my hand.
“Come on upstairs with me so I can clean up, and then we can go.” We head toward the back of the shop to the stairwell that accesses the apartment she shares with her brothers. “Eli, you’re in charge while I’m gone but don’t even think about touching that Cannondale I’ve got on the rack.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he calls back, and then just before we hit the stairs, he adds, “No such promises about Nat, though!”
* * *
The game is rough,the contact charged and excessive. Vaughn’s been in the box once already and Rux twice. The Epics are a solid team, but they’ve got a few guys—like Daryl Hoffman and Rick Gunther—looking for trouble and somehow managing to avoid the worst of the calls. It’s getting heated, and I’m glad I’ve got George beside me for this one.
Flying out of her seat, she bellows, “Cheap shot, Gunther, you Epicdouchebag! And where’s the call, huh? Get your eyes checked, Montgomery!”
George is exactly the kind of distraction I need.
She had a beer in my hand before we sat down and when Vaughn skated past for that first lap, giving me the subtle nod I’d been agonizing over whether I’d see, she gave my hand a squeeze and started talking about the time in college when half the girls on our team got some stomach bug before a bus trip.
But nothing can distract me from the escalating tension on the ice by the third period. The game’s 2-2 and Hoffman has been getting into it with everyone. He and Vaughn almost came to blows at the end of the second, and now he’s tied up with Greg, helmet to helmet. The whistle blows, and Greg shoves him off, turning to skate away—as Hoffman throws the first punch.
* * *
Vaughn
The swing is bullshit,glancing off Baxter’s pads and barely budging the guy. Hoffman’s an asshole with a short fuse and a grudge against most everyone in the league. He scores like a motherfucker, but he doesn’t have the sense to know when to back down. Case in point, the fact that he’s still coming after Baxter with Ruxton Meyers closing in fast.
My pulse jacks. Everyone can feel what’s coming.
Another shove at Baxter’s back, but this time the guy doesn’t let it go. Rounding on Hoffman, Baxter shoves the guy, calling him a pussy while Rux holds off another Epics player.
Natalie’s up, hands clenched together. Worry etched across her face because this is a volatile mix. But Baxter is a fucking smart player. He’s not going to let some shithead goad him into a fight that could get him a turn in the sin bin or worse, tossed from the game. So instead of pushing for the fight brewing in Hoffman’s eyes, he gives him a final shove and lines up to face off.
Smart.
The puck drops and it’s on. Brutal, intense. Baxter gets control. He’s faster than Hoffman, outmaneuvering him at every turn. I see the play open up. Baxter burns down the ice. A flick of the wrist and he wings the puck to Rux for a one-timer into the net. The arena goes wild. But Hoffman isn’t done. He flies up behind Baxter, stick raised in both hands as he fucking checks the back of Greg’s head into the boards.
What happens next is like a series of stills flashing through my consciousness.
I’m vaulting onto the ice.
My gloves and stick bouncing behind me.
Impact.
Players flooding the ice.
