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Zoey’s here tonight, wearing a Hot Shots jersey with the number 49 on prominent display.
That’s my fucking number.
She surprised me with it, and from the moment I saw her wearing my jersey, I’ve felt like a damn superhero.
I skate faster, I pass more accurately, my shots have been better. I scored the first goal of the game a minute into play, the earliest goal of my career so far, and there’s not a single doubt in my mind that my girl wearing my jersey in the stands is responsible for it.
My girl.
My stomach sinks for a minute—because that’s not what she is. I can’t claim her. She’s notallowedto be my girl. Suddenly, it feels like there’s a dark cloud over my head even though I’m still in the middle of my teammates celebrating an incredible goal that almost guarantees us the win tonight.
She’s not my girl. I’m not her guy. We’re just a secret. All we can ever be …
I shake off the thought. This isn’t the time to let myself get dragged down.
Like everything else with Zoey, I need to savor and appreciate every moment while I can,becauseI know they can’t last forever.
Zoey wearing my jersey to one of my games is something that might be a once in a lifetime experience. It feels like a stab in the heart to even acknowledge that, but I can’t let myself focus on those feelings right now.
I just need to force myself to focus on how fucking good it feels, how incredible it is to see her wearing my numbers on her sleeves and my name on her back, while it’s here in reality.
Once play starts again, our opposing team, Tennessee, play hard. They know how aggressive they need to be for even a hope of scoring two unanswered goals, and they let loose with every ounce of aggressiveness they have.
They struggle viciously to steal pucks, they’re throwing hard body checks, their passing is on point, and they’re peppering Cole with some vicious shots. To his credit, he’s saving every one of them.
After we’ve let them control the puck in our zone for way too long, Grant finally manages to snag it away. He passes to me, and I skate up the rink. I think about Zoey wearing my numbers, I think about how amazing it would be to score the first and last goal of this game while she’s wearing my last name on her back.
But I’m blindsides by two Tennessee defenders smashing into me at the same time, sandwiching me between their bodies and the dasher boards.
I gasp as I hit the boards with my back at an awkward angle. I fall onto the ice as the Tennessee players skate away with the puck.
I try to sit up to get back in the game, but the second my back moves, a wave of sharp pain blasts through me.
I collapse flat against the ice, clenching my teeth as my muscles spasm in agony. When I try to sit up again, I find that I can’t even summon the strength to lift myself an inch off the cold surface.
From my position flat on my back, I’m able to look up to the stands where Zoey sits. My chest feels tight when I see the look on her face, her cheeks pale with worry, her brow furrowed, her mouth open and her pretty lips trembling with concern.
Fuck, I have to get up for her. I can’t stand to see a look like that on her face. I can’t let her keep worrying.
But when I try to sit up again, an even more intense wave of pain shoots through me, making me clench my jaw and spit out a curse while I lose my strength and collapse back.
The ref’s whistle cuts through the frigid air, and soon training staff are tending to me.
Worry swells in my chest as my spirits come crashing down.
* * *
“Alright,Liam, we’ve got good news and bad news.”
My stomach is a tangle of anxiety as I sit in the head physical trainer’s office the morning after I had to be carted off the ice on a stretcher.
“Let’s start with the bad news,” I say.
“There’s no way I can let you travel to the away game this weekend.”
“Fuck,” I groan, spearing my hand into my hair. “What’s the good news?”
“You’ll be cleared for the home game next Wednesday.”
