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“I’m not vengeful,” she tells me, grabbing my dog and taking a bite. It’s weird but I like that. I like that we’re sisters again. That she doesn’t think to ask.
I also like that she’s got mustard on the tip of her nose.
“Good.” I check my watch. There’s only a few minutes left in the intermission. “Are you going back to Gramps’ house with Mom and Dad after the game?” I ask her.
“Yeah. But I have to catch a flight to L.A. first thing. I thought I’d stay there tonight so I went and picked my things up from your place earlier.” She looks almost sad about that.
“That’s fine.” I nod.
“Good.” She nods, too. And for a moment we say nothing.
“I’m going to miss you…”
“It’s been so nice to see you…”
We both talk at once, then start laughing. She wrinkles her nose – still with the mustard on it – and I grin back at her.
Through the crowd I can see the Zamboni drive off the ice, and everybody starts to cheer again.
“I should head upstairs,” I say. Isabella nods, and then she leans forward and hugs me, pressing her lips against my cheek.
It’s only when I’m sitting next to Brian again, and he starts pointing at my cheek that I realize she rubbed mustard all over it.
Dammit.
* * *
ELI
“Everybody needs to keep their cool,” I say, my voice a low warning as the game is about to restart after a commercial break.
“Yeah, well if that asshole would stop trying to fight me, everything would be fine,” Carter grumbles.
“Shut up,” Goran hisses. “The kids are listening.”
We arranged for the students we’ve been coaching all year to be here watching. They’re sitting next to the tunnel, and when Goran waves at them they wave excitedly back.
I know exactly who Carter’s moaning about. Hart has decided to be asshole-in-chief for the All Stars. Every time any of my team goes up against him he tries to start a scrap.
Each time he does, he looks over at me. I’ve been sitting on the bench for most of the game. I think that’s what’s annoyed him the most. He can’t get to me, so he’s getting to my boys instead.
So this time I’m calling his bluff. I’m going to play whenever he does. Bring it on.
And he does. Literally. As soon as I have the puck he makes a beeline for me, cross checking me with his stick, earning him a two minute stint in the sin bin.
When he’s back on the ice, he’s really pissed. Greg skates over and grabs his shoulders, whispering something I can’t hear. Hart nods, but then he looks over at me, his eyes narrowed.
I smile sweetly back at him.
Carter scores again, putting us ahead by two, and I’m grinning like a loon when I look up at the staff box. I can’t see my girl, but I know she’s there, wearing my shirt like she promised.
And I know she’s looking right down at me. That makes everything better. It also makes me distracted, and Hart takes advantage of it, skating behind me and jabbing his stick against my legs.
Of course I fall onto the ice, air escaping my lungs in a rush. Luckily, my knee is fine and I’m straight back up, but I taste blood in my mouth. My tooth must have pierced the inside of my bottom lip as I fell. There’s a small spot of blood on the ice which means I have to head for the bench to get my mouth cleaned. Simons jumps onto the ice to replace me as I skid into the break in the boards and make my way to the bench.
“You’re bleeding.” It takes me a moment to realize it’s Isabella talking. She’s sitting with her family and Wayne on the bench next to the team. Or at least she was. Now she’s standing, leaning over, holding something out to me. A tissue.
I take it and rub my mouth because there’s seriously hardly any blood and I want to keep on playing. She smiles and shakes her head. “Come here,” she says. So I lean forward and she grabs another tissue, wiping the corner of my lip, her fingers curled around my arm to steady herself.
