Love on Ice (Manhattan Mavericks #1)

38. Felix

38

FELIX

“ G et your head in the game, man. Those assholes from LA are in the next changing room and deserve some fucking revenge,” Pierre says, slamming his hand into my helmet as if to try and knock some sense into me. He’s right, it’s going to be the first time I see Stephen, Dave, and Aleksander and I’m going to fucking make them pay.

“We have your back,” Emmett Black says as he walks past, and a couple of the other guys mumble the same sentiments, too.

“Envision annihilating them.”

It’s hard to do when I’m trying to work out if Harper is going to turn up. She wasn’t there when we went out for warmups, as I skated around and checked but no one was in her seats. Traffic. You know how bad traffic can get in New York, and on game day it’s going to be even worse. True.

“Felix,” my brother knocks our helmets together, “nothing matters more than beating those assholes. You hear me.”

“Yes.”

“Good, now let’s get out there and fuck their shit up.”

We walk out of the changing room and wait in the tunnel until we get called out. The adrenaline has kicked in, my heart is racing, my palms feel sweaty, you can hear the crowd going crazy outside, and the music is vibrating through my body. But my brother is right, I need to put everything out of my mind because I need to decimate my old team. One by one, they call our names out and the crowd goes wild.

“Welcome to The Mavericks, Felix St. Pierre,” the announcer calls out my name. I step out onto the ice, and everything vanishes, all my anxieties, all my worries, nothing but the goal of beating LA’s ass is in the forefront of my mind until I spin around and see the seats empty where Harper should be.

Fuck!