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Lexie had more important things to worry about than the Chinooks’ newest superstar. Like appearing calm, cool, and collected when what she really wanted was to run away before someone in the control booth recognized her and flashed her face on the jumbotron.
With a hard thwack, the puck shot around the boards and was stopped in the corner seconds before players from both sides slammed into each other and shook the Plexiglas. Elbows flew, and thuds and grunts punctuated the air as they all dug for the puck.
A boom and vibration she could feel beneath her feet, and the number 36 flattened against the Plexiglas. “KNOX” was sewn across his shoulders, and his helmet fell off in the scrum.
“You wanna have a go?” one of them asked.
“On your mother, you tit baby.” Thirty-six threw a fist and his big blue glove connected, knocking the player off his skates.
Lexie drummed her fingers on the armrest. Mothers and sisters and tit babies were all fair insults with hockey players.
Whistles blew and two referees entered the fray. They pointed to the biggest offenders, and Lexie leaned forward to look down the boards to where her father stood with his arms folded across his blue blazer. She couldn’t see his face, but by his stance, he wasn’t happy.
From the other side of the glass she heard, “You’re a pussy, Kuch. Go back to the minors with the other girls.”
Her brows creased and she returned her attention to number 36. He shoved one glove beneath his arm, then bent forward and disappeared from her view. An odd jolt ran up her spine to the back of her neck. For a split second, she felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate universe where she recognized something that she couldn’t possibly know. That split second hung in the air, confusing and bizarre.
“Welcome to the Jungle” blasted through the arena and she raised her gaze to the jumbotron. Dark hair at the top of his head filled the large screens, then 36 straightened and combed his fingers through a damp lock of hair curling over his forehead like a big C.
Everything within Lexie came to a shuddering halt except the jolt shooting up her spine to the back of her skull. On the huge screens, his green eyes glanced up at the scoreboard and his oh-shit smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
The screens cut to a loop of him throwing his big fist and the Avalanche player going down. The crowd around Lexie went wild, and the jolt at the back of her skull zapped her brain. The knot in her stomach clutched her chest. On the huge screens, number 36 calmly shoved his helmet on his head. He chewed one side of his mouth guard, and Billy Joel’s “An Innocent Man” played overhead as he calmly skated toward the penalty box.
Chapter 9
•i love the way you lie
Sean grabbed his blue blazer off a hook in his locker and shoved his arms inside. The ends of his just-washed hair wet the collar of his white dress shirt. He’d scored two of the four points put up on the board tonight and secured his worth on the team.
The usual hazing period seemed to be over, although some of the guys still resented the trade. Sean understood that. During the season, players spent more time with their team than anybody else. They were on the road half the season, and the other half was spent working out at the team’s clubhouse inside the arena, watching game tapes and practicing for the show. Inevitably, the guys got close. Sometimes closer than their own families, which explained the high divorce rate.
Sean shoved his feet into his calfskin loafers and reached inside the open locker for his wallet. He’d played for several different NHL franchises. He had good friends in all of them, even though it might take him a bit longer to get as close to his teammates as some of the other guys. He wouldn’t say they were family. At least not as he understood family.
He stuck his wallet in the back pocket of his khaki trousers and looked across the locker room filled with hockey players. Some half dressed, others completely naked. He’d been around naked guys since he’d played peewee and hardly noticed anymore. A few of the guys sat on a bench, watching an iPad and betting on college hockey.
Left defender Brody Comeau groaned as he tossed his towel on the bench and rolled his left shoulder.
“Still feeling the Russell hit?” Sean asked.
“I hate that guy.” Brody was built like a pylon and had a long scar on his right cheek. Since Brody was thirty-five, Sean imagined it was harder for him to shake off the pain.
“He’s probably feeling a hell of a lot worse after Kevin put him in the third row.”
Brody chuckled. “How’s your hand?”
Sean flexed his fingers and made a fist. His middle finger felt a bit stiff. “Fine.”
“Next time, you let someone else drop the gloves.” Brod
y reached in his locker and pulled out a pair of boxers. “KO or Letestu or me. One of us will be your shadow. You break your hand and you’re fucked.” He stepped inside his underwear and pulled it up. “That means we’re all fucked.” He looked up. “Got it?”
There had been a time when Sean might have taken offense to another player telling him what to do like he was back in the shinnies. When he’d walked around with a chip on his shoulder the size of a log. When he’d sought attention by glove rubbing his points in everyone’s face. When he’d hotdogged to shove the facts home.
“Got it.” He hadn’t been that guy for a few years now. Not since he’d realized that his talent was overshadowed by his need for attention. He’d also realized that he was more like his mother than he’d ever let himself think was possible. She sought attention through her hypochondria, he through his ability to hit a puck between the pipes. He’d had a girlfriend to thank for the revelation. “You’re an attention whore,” she’d told him. She hadn’t meant it as a compliment or to be helpful. She’d yelled it as she’d kicked his Maybach. He’d broken up with her for denting his car door, but she’d been right. Sure, he might ride his stick when he scored a hat trick, but he let his talent speak for him these days.
Again Brody chuckled. “Decent muck-up though.” Ever since he’d returned from Sandspit and hit the road with the team, things were better. No more prank calls to his room at two a.m. or smashed crackers between his sheets. The roster shakeup was now cohesive, and he was getting to know each player and their style and quirks.
“Good game, Knox,” Coach Kowalsky said as he passed, even going so far as to pat Sean on the shoulder.
