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“It’s not so much the game but the crowd that comes with it.”
“You don’t have to apologize for him.”
I remember she’s still holding my hand when she squeezes once before releasing it. With a tight release of breath, I pull it back and clasp my fingers together on my lap.
“This must be so nerve-racking for you. Of course I have to apologize for him. We want this to go well.”
“Well, I appreciate it. Thank you.”
My spine snaps straight when players from both teams start flooding out from the dressing room and push onto the ice. The Colorado players take one end while the VW take the other. Like magnets, my eyes are drawn to Maddox as he skates a few quick laps around half-ice and then comes to a dead stop by the blue line.
My heart clunks around in my chest when our eyes collide, locking together in a heavy embrace. With a quick shake of his head, his shoulders drop, and the end of his stick pushes backward, nearly tripping one of his teammates as they skate behind him. White noise bubbles in my ears when he adjusts the stick and tucks it beneath his right arm before pulling off his left glove.
I shake my head woodenly at him a single time, but he acts as if he doesn’t see it.This wasn’t part of the plan.We hadn’t planned on doing anything yet besides having me here tonight. Ava gasps, and I know she wasn’t told about this beforehand either.
As if in slow motion, I watch as he drops the glove and then covers his heart with his fist before pulling it away to point at me. A swell of emotion builds and builds inside of me as I push myself to press two shaking fingers to my lips and kiss them before pointing right back. Just like I used to.
The moment shatters like a broken mirror. Hurt and anger flash across his face seconds before he’s spinning around and quickly grabbing his glove off the ice. Shock and disbelief have me in a chokehold, but it’s the searing pain of our beautiful past being tainted by our broken present that does the most damage.
Girls giggle a few seats away when Maddox pulls his helmet off and squirts water from a Gatorade bottle over his head before shaking out his wet curls. He’s only been on the bench for a minute, but he’s already leaning over the boards, ready to get back out there. It’s only a junior game, but that doesn’t matter to him. Every game is as important as an NHL game.
His features are tight with determination, but his eyes are light when they find me in the stands. He grins at me, and I wave back. “You got this,” I mouth.
He glances at his coach before looking back at me and mouthing, “For you.”
Then in one quick motion, he has his glove left off and pounds his chest with his fist before pointing across the rink at me. My laugh is pure and raw as I kiss two fingers and point back.
Ava’s hand on my knee has me jolting back to the present just in time to see the teams clearing off the ice, preparing for their big entrance that comes ten minutes later.
I spend the entire time sitting in silence, and nobody tries to get me to speak.
14
MADDOX
“Hutton! Hang back a sec,”Coach orders once the dressing room has started to clear after the game. I’m usually one of the last ones out, but that’s how I’ve always been. The first guy there and usually the last one out.
Colt and a couple of other players tip their chins at me as they leave, but Bentley lingers, his eyes full of concern.
“All good, man. Go home,” I say.
He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”
My relationship with Coach has never been great. He thinks I’m a spoiled kid with a famous last name and a chip on my shoulder. But I never chose my last name, and the chip on my shoulder is what pushes me to be the best player on that fucking ice. He only seems to mind it when we lose.
“Positive.” I nod.
“Text me later. Good game tonight.”
It was a three-to-one game, with two of those goals being mine and the other his. I grin. “You too, sweetheart.”
And then he’s gone, a low chuckle following him out the door. I finish buttoning up my shirt—opting to leave the top two buttons undone and the tie I wore earlier stuffed in my bag—before slipping on my black leather shoes and heading to Coach’s office.
I find Coach Pelant sitting on the soft brown sofa at the far side of his office with his head leaned back and legs spread wide. He looks about ten years younger with his eyes closed and the stress lines between his thick eyebrows relaxed. I almost don’t want to interrupt his small break, but he’s already noticed me.
“You played good out there. I was worried you would be too distracted to focus on the game tonight,” he says lowly, sleepily.
I lean in the doorway and push a hand through my still-damp hair. The quick shower I took after the game was solely for Braxton’s benefit. Usually, I prefer to shower at home, but I doubt she would have appreciated having to take a ride home with a guy who smelled like a homeless man’s sock in the summer.
