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And then it happens, that high stick from number twelve coming down in a slash.
My breath stalls in my lungs, and I’m off the couch, stumbling toward the TV like there’s something I can do. Like I can stop the flow of blood on the ice or the look of murder in Rux’s eyes.
Players from both sides are coming at each other, while the refs struggle to regain control. Then Quinn O’Brian is there, helping Rux to his feet and blocking him with his body when Rux turns back to the fray.
The camera cuts away when he gets to the bench, and my heart stops. Who cares about the stupid game? The only thing that matters to me right now is the man who just left it.
My phone pings with a message from Julia telling me he’s fine and she’s betting Rux is back on the ice in the next five minutes.
Me: Maybe he shouldn’t go back out?
Julia: LOL not my call, Sis.
Julia: It’s a rough game. They’re used to this. And from the look in Rux’s eyes skating off, something tells me he’s more than ready to get back on.
I watch the rest of the game, texting back and forth with my sister. She was right, Rux is back in for the last five. And the hit number twelve takes from Vaughn when he gets out of the penalty box sends him sailing. Hard. It’s legal. And definitely intended to cut Rux off before he had the chance to retaliate on his own.
When the game is through, I text asking if he’s okay before I can talk myself out of it.
He’s probably got someone looking at his mouth. There are interviews and who knows what else after the game. But I’m hoping he’ll call if he gets a minute.
But when I hear from him, it’s just a text telling me he’s fine and that I should get some sleep.
Translation: He’s not calling.
Which is fine. Except then I can’t stop myself from wondering… what he’s doing to burn off all that aggression from tonight’s game.
Chapter 25
Rux
Igot home late last night, and it felt weird walking into my apartment without calling Cammy or stopping over. But I’m self-aware enough to recognize that no way am I in a place where I can handle calling at two a.m. and maybe hearing Jeremy in the background, rumbling sleepily—or worse, not so sleepily—about who’s on the phone.
I’ll get there, maybe. Or maybe I’ll just stop calling in the middle of the night. I’ll keep my calls and visits—like today’s—restricted to the hours when Matty’s awake.
I rake a hand through my hair, feeling agitated and out of sorts.
What if Jeremy is here? What if he’s moving in?
I feel like I’m going to puke. What if she marries him?
I plant my hand against the wall beside the door and hang my head, trying to catch my breath.
I don’t want to think about Cammy dressed in white and looking into fucking Jeremy’s eyes while she vows to love him for the rest of her life.
One breath becomes two, and then two becomes three.
I need to get my shit together. Get my game face on. Just not the one where I’m visualizing Cammy’s ex in place of all the opposing players and giving myself free rein to vent my aggressions when they try to take something from me I don’t want them to have.
The door creaks open and I catch a little blue eye going wide at the sight of me.
Times’s up.
“I told you he was out there!” Matty calls back to his mom as the door swings wide and my favorite kid in the world bounces from foot to foot.
“Hey buddy, how you doing?” I ask, stepping into the apartment because as much as I know he wants to, Matty’s very good about not leaving the apartment by even a foot without his mom right there.
Little arms with the strength of a man lock around me as he starts rambling. “You were awesome, Rux. I watched part of all your games and then I got to see the end of some but not all. My mom didn’t want me to worry about you getting hurt, but Billy Felton had it on YouTube and so I saw it anyway and you looked really mad. I bet that number twelve guy was scared of you. Is your mouth okay? Can I touch it? Does it hurt? Do you need some ice? When’s your—”
