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I don’t respond. Instead, I skate out onto the rink. The crowd is loud tonight, and as I look up into the stands, I see more people wearing my number. More Knights fans have started embracing me, claiming me as one of their own. But they’re not who I’m looking for. I glance over to the penalty box and find her. Aliyah, sitting right next to it, with her friends. I skate over to that side of the ice, skidding to a stop just before the boards.
“Show off.” Aliyah laughs.
“Stand up and turn around,” I tell her.
“No,” she yells back. She’s wearing a Knights jersey but there’s no number on the front of it, so I can’t be sure if it’s mine or not.
“Aliyah, don’t make me jump over this wall,” I warn.
She sighs and pushes to her feet. When she finally turns around, albeit reluctantly, I see my name scrawled across her back.
“Nice shirt.” I wink at her before pivoting on a skate and heading in the opposite direction to where everyone is warming up.
* * *
Two minutes left on the clock during the third period and we’re up by five. There’s no doubt who’s taking this game, not that there ever really was. The ref drops the puck and I win, slapping it over to where Gray is supposed to be, except he’s not there. No, his gloves and stick are in clear view but not him. Because he’s on top of some poor fucker who must have looked at him the wrong way.
Four Dallas players then start in on Gray. Yeah, fuck that. By the time I reach them, Luke already has one of them pulled off Gray and is throwing fists with the fucker. I join the chaos. I might not be best buddies with the guy, but he’s still my fucking teammate. And I’m not going to sit around and let anyone beat on one of my teammates.
One on one, that’s fine. But four on one? Fuck no.
I get hit on the head with something solid. When I look up, I realize it was a stick. Some dirty fucker just hit me over the head with a stick. I see red. Fisting his shirt, I pull my right arm back and land him square in the jaw. His head tips to the side and blood splatters out of his mouth. By the time the refs are able to lock it down, we have four players in the Sin Bin and Dallas has three. How the fuck one of their players got off, I have no idea.
I look to where Aliyah should be, right next to me as I sit in this damn box. She’s not here. She’s gone. “She doesn’t like blood. Has a thing about seeing blood on the ice,” Gray says. “That’s why she leaves whenever a fight breaks out or shit like that.”
“She loves hockey though,” I say.
“She does, just not the fighting part of it. She’s petrified of skates—well, the blades anyway.”
“Understandable.” I nod. I get why she doesn’t like blood or sharp objects. Her own mother sliced her wrist open when she was just a little kid.
“What do you mean by that?” Gray asks me.
“Just with what she’s been through, I get why she doesn’t like blades or blood.”
“She told you?” He tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure something out. I nod my head. “Shit. She doesn’t talk about that. With anyone,” he says more to himself.
I feel a sense of pride that she feels comfortable enough with me, safe enough with me to talk about that time of her life.
* * *
I’m out of the stadium as quickly as I can be when the game finishes. I left before the interviews were over. They can send me a fine for skipping out early. I don’t give a fuck. I need to make sure my girl is okay. She sent me a message saying she had a headache so she went home early and that she’d see me tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder if she knows who she’s dating. As if I’d ever not turn up to see her…
I let myself into her apartment and look up at the camera that sits above her door. I know her father monitors who comes and goes. Aliyah hates it, but I like it. You can never be too safe, right?
“Babe, you here?” I call out. The apartment is dark, silent, so I make my way into her bedroom and find her curled up on the bed.
She opens her eyes when she hears me enter. “Liam, I thought we were meeting up tomorrow,” she says.
I toe off my shoes and pull my shirt over my head. Leaving my sweats on, I climb into the bed, place her head on my chest, and wrap my arms around her. “Why didn’t you tell me that the blood bothers you?” I ask her.
“Because it’s stupid. We don’t need to make a big deal about it,” she says.
“It’s not a big deal, but I want to know. I want all of it, Aliyah. The good, bad, ugly—not that it’s possible for you to have an ugly anything.”
“Nice save.” She laughs.
“I thought so.” I shrug a shoulder.
