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It’s kind of hard to score two goals when your wifeisn’tbeing threatened. Add in the violence, and it’s damn near impossible.
We’re playing Vegas. They made the playoffs last year, too, and went a hell of a lot further than either the Guardians or the Titans. Which kind of sucks, because they’re cocky little shits who won’t stop running their mouths.
Normally that title goes to me.
But Jacob and I have been trying to work together—difficult as that is, since he’s a d-man and I’m a center. So, not quite playing in the same place on the ice. Already, Church has yelled at me from the bench about if I need a map to find the right position.
Ha, ha.
A Vegas player comes flying at me a second after I’m passed the puck. I dig into the ice and let him careen past me, passing the puck across the ice to Scofield. It’s a little choppy, caught on snow from our blades, but he cradles it easily and rockets down the far wall. He sends it back to me.
I’m covered, though. I throw an elbow into the Vegas player crowding my ass, immediately passing to Jacob at the top of the zone.
We play a game of pass-the-puck, until I finally get it and take a slap shot. The puck soars like a bullet toward the Vegas goalie, but the fucker stops it off his arm blocker at the last second.
Fuck.
Vegas takes possession. We change shifts, and I squirt water into my mouth from the bench as they take it toward Haverhill.
He and I haven’t talked much, which is just fine.
And a second later, they get the puck past him.
My attention turns toward Aurora. She’s sitting stone-faced in the stands, her arms crossed. And Luke Abernathy is sitting beside her.
I stiffen, gripping my stick harder. What the fuck is he doing? Why is he sitting next to her? Why is he?—?
He waves.
At me.
I grit my teeth and look away, pretending not to notice. I just need to be Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Church demands. He pops his mouth guard out and sits beside me.
“That’s not the first time today I’ve been asked that,” I reply.
The game is restarting in a minute, our other center, Dawes, lining up for the face-off.
“Is your wife distracting you?”
“No.” Now I’m like her, lying through my teeth. “It’s just an issue with someone threatening her and ruining the sport of hockey as we know it.” I grimace. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Church stares at me.
“What? I mean, if there was a little conspiracy to rig games and, uh, betting… potentially stealing millions of dollars, Iwouldn’t know anything about it.” Shit. I clear my throat, but it’s not making it any better.Shut up, Knox.“I’m just saying, the likelihood of me having knowledge ofthatis so low, it’s like, practically nonexistent.”
“Whiteshaw!” Coach slaps the top of my helmet. “You going to sit here all night or are you planning on playing?”
Aurora’s duster comment pops into my head.
“Okay, yep, going!” I stand and shuffle down the bench with the wingers in my line, swinging my leg over the boards in preparation to get on the ice.
I wait for the first line to return. Dawes grins at me with his mouthguard hanging out. I take off the minute he’s within reach.
I just need to freaking score.
The stars somehow align, and I take a wrist shot through a lot of traffic, shocked when the puck floats straight into the net.
