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My eyes bug out of my head. That’s why he beat the shit out of his former coach. Why didn’t he tell anyone? It’s not an excuse, but it’s a hell of a lot better than what all the headlines are saying. That he snapped and had a mental break, couldn’t handle the pressure, or that he was just another spoiled athlete with an anger problem.
Me:
My mother tried to kill me when I was eight.
Shit! Delete, delete, delete! I hitunsendon the message, hoping it vanished before he could see it. I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell anyone that.
Me:
Why didn’t you explain what he did?
Liam King:
Because that would hurt her too, and as pissed off as I am about what she did, I don’t want to destroy my mother like that.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. He didn’t see the message. Thank god.
Liam King:
Go to sleep, Aliyah. Try not to dream of me too much. The real thing is far better anyway.
I smile. I don’t doubt that one bit.
ChapterTwenty
My arms are resting on my thighs as I listen to the coach’s opening talk. This is the first game of the preseason, my first game with the Knights. Over the last few weeks, I’ve managed to build a rapport with my new teammates. We work well together. The guys on my line have accepted me, and even though we don’t know each other personally yet, we know each other’s game. We’re strong during the practices. Tonight will tell just how strong, though.
I can hear the fans chanting for their team. My team. It’s an addictive feeling, being in a packed out stadium, the crowd’s excitement palpable. I fucking love it. Live for it.
“Okay, let’s start the season strong, boys. Go out there and win!” one of the coaches says.
We all push to our feet and line up behind Peter Franks, the team’s starting goalie, as we make our way down the tunnel and skate out onto the ice. We begin with a few warm-ups, taking turns shooting a couple of pucks into the net. Then the announcers call out the starting lineup. When they get to my name, I look up at the crowd. I’m so used to the entire stadium cheering for me, but that’s not happening right now. They’re cheering, but it’s not all that loud and it certainly isn’t for me. I guess that PR work I’ve been doing with Aliyah hasn’t paid off quite yet.
Not that I’ve minded hanging around her one bit. I’d like to say my charm is winning her over, but it’s not. I’ve tried—really fucking tried—to get her into my bed. She’s headstrong about us maintaining a professional relationship. It’s a pity. I happen to think we’d be fucking explosive together. I haven’t kissed her again, been trying real hard to respect her boundaries and all. She also hasn’t slept in my apartment since. I glance up into the stands, looking for her and coming up short. I was hoping she’d be here…
Then, right when I’m about to look down again, I spot her. Next to the Sin Bin, with her little group of friends. I’ve never wanted to be put in that box before, but here I am, praying like hell for a penalty. This woman is bringing out a lot of firsts for me. She smiles and waves. I lift my gloved hand to return the gesture, only to find myself pushed into the boards.
This time, when I glance up, I see Gray glaring back at me. “Don’t look at her like that,” he warns.
“At who? Like what?”
“Aliyah, my fucking sister. Don’t look at her like that. I might be your teammate, but don’t think for one second that I won’t break your fucking kneecaps if you touch her,” he says.
I’d like to think he’s just another overbearing, protective big brother—the kind that talks shit but will never actually follow through with any of it. Unfortunately, for me, he’s not. Grayson Monroe wouldn’t think twice about ruining my career by making sure I’d never walk again… that’s if he leaves me breathing at all.
“Dude, I waved. Relax,” I tell him.
“Just making sure. Now, come on, we’ve got a game to win.” He pats the top of my helmet and skates off in the opposite direction.
As soon as the coach announces that I’m part of the starting lineup, it sinks in that I’m also competing for the first puck drop of the season. No pressure at all. This is something I’ve done a million times before. I can do this. Iwilldo this.
I take position, my stick ready and waiting for the ref to give us the green light. I look my opponent in the eye, Jason Welch, captain of the Ice Bears. And a real fucking asshole. This isn’t the first time I’ve played against him. It’s just the first time in this uniform.
“I hear they gave you a sitter. I’ve seen the pictures. Hot piece of ass,” he says. “Mind giving me her number? She can watch over me anytime, and I can show her how a real man fucks the babysitter.”
I don’t even have time to react before Gray, who was right behind me, shoves me aside. He throws his stick down, then his gloves come off. I don’t think the Bears’ fuckwit captain knows what hit him when Gray’s left hook connects with the guy’s face and knocks 'em backwards. The refs are quick to step in, dragging Gray back towards the penalty box. I watch as Welch pushes to his feet, gets into position, and lines up his stick, ready for the drop with a smile on his face. That fucker just took out one of our best players at the jump. And he knows it. I wish I could blame Gray for coming in so hot, but I can’t. I was two seconds away from throwing gloves myself. I’ll do one better, though. I’ll win this drop, we’ll score, and then we’ll win this game. We’re not going to start the season out with a loss.
Fuck that.
