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Not gonna lie. Having Aliyah in the box or near the box isn’t a bad idea. I always like to keep her close.
* * *
We’re halfway through the second period. Montreal is up by one. Gray was right. For some reason, they’re out for blood tonight. Why tonight and not any of the other times, I have no idea. But if it’s blood they want, it’s blood they’ll get. It just won’t be mine.
I slam my left shoulder into Garrison, their best defenseman. His body smashes into the boards. Gray is right there, fighting for the puck. He eventually gets it out and slaps it over to Jameson, who sends it flying right over the goalie’s glove and into the net. The horns sound off and the red lights flash as Jameson does his little dance around the end zone.
Garrison shoves at me. “Asshole,” he hisses on his way towards the bench. This was a man I once considered my friend. I was at his wedding, his son’s baptism. And all it took was me being traded for him to forget all of that.
“Yeah, I’m the asshole,” I scoff.
“Yeah, you are. We had it in the bag. The Cup was ours and you had to go and lose your shit, all because your mother’s a dirty whore,” he grunts.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I ask at the same time as I drop my stick and shake my gloves off my hands.
I get one punch in before Gray is pulling me back. “He’s not worth it. He’s trying to get to you, King. Let it go,” he says.
“Back off. I’m going to fucking kill him,” I yell.
“No, you’re not. You’re going to do your time in the box and make that look on my sister’s fucking face disappear.” He shoves me towards the bin.
I turn around and see Aliyah. She’s standing next to her father. Her fingers are pressed to her lips and I know she’s chewing her nails. She only does that when she’s nervous. I mouth an apology. I know she hates the fighting part of hockey. I get it. But it’s also part of the game. I take my place in the bin and keep my eyes on her across the rink. She relaxes the moment I enter the box. As soon as the three minutes are up, I’m off and chasing the puck.
The Knights managed to prevent Montreal from scoring during their power play, and not long after I hit the ice again, the buzzer goes off, announcing the end of the second period. So everyone makes their way off the rink and heads into their respective locker rooms. I hang back in the hall with Aliyah.
Picking up her hands, I inspect her nails. “You need to stop chewing these,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“Never been better.” I smile. “I have the world’s hottest fucking girlfriend.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” She laughs.
“And it’s only my opinion that matters.”
“Well, I happen to have the world’s hottest boyfriend,” she says.
“And here I was, thinking you were attracted to my sparkling personality,” I feign offense.
“You have a personality? Where?” she asks me, making a point to look up and down the tunnel, only to come up empty.
“Funny. Come on, let’s get in there,” I say while leading her into the locker room. It’s not until I walk in and see all the guys in various stages of undress that I want to march her back out. “Aliyah, close your eyes.”
“King, get over here,” one of the trainers calls me to him.
“Go, before you get fired,” Aliyah says, shoving me in his direction.
* * *
By the end of the third period, we’re tied, so the game goes into overtime. Three on three, Gray, Jameson, and me up against Montreal’s top three.
We take five shots at the net, and each one is caught by their goalie. Montreal gets two shots at ours. The timer sounds off and we go into a shootout. Montreal’s goalie is good, but ours is better. They got one in the net and we end up with two, Grayson having scored the winning goal.
They teach you about the importance of sportsmanship when you’re in the youth league. Guess those lessons didn’t quite stick with Montreal, though, seeing as the opposing players—the same ones I once considered family—breeze by me without touching gloves. When Jameson and Gray notice what they’re doing, my teammates drop their fists and follow Montreal’s shitty example.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Iroll over on the bed and watch as Liam walks out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist. I’m not sure how we’ve been dating for seven months already. Every day I wait for the newness of this relationship to wear off, but it doesn’t. If anything, I fall more and more. Of course I haven’t told him those words yet. I want to, but with the team having made it through to the playoffs, I didn’t want to mess with his headspace.
