42. Penelope
I’m gonna barf.
I think I’m more nervous than Tate is.
He was cleared for play this week by his own doctors, the team doctors, and the coaching staff. I guess I’d been holding out hope that he’d get benched, or he wouldn’t get the all-clear, or there’d be some reason he couldn’t ice this weekend.
But, true to my high achieving boyfriend, he aced all his tests and has a severe boner for getting back on the ice. For real, I wouldn’t be surprised if he humped the ice a bit more than usual during warmups.
There’s never been a time in his hockey-playing life when he’s been off-ice for this long. He was buzzing with so much excitement this morning that his body was quivering.
Dad and I have taken our seats, for this game, we’re right up against the plexi. It’s not our usual spot in the stands, but for this game in particular, we needed to be up close and personal to the action. My brother’s team is in town to play my boyfriend’s team. Talk about being torn.
I guess either way is a win, right?
The girls are sitting right behind us, which in hindsight may not have been the best plan. Eloise gets kind of jumpy during big games and last time, she dumped half a box of popcorn over the people in front of her.
I’ve got my back to the ice to chat to them while we wait, we’re super early, so it’s all quiet. There are a few more minutes before the teams burst onto the ice for warm up, and I plan to keep my back exactly where it is.
I’m not sure I can stare at his face. Hiding my anxiety from him has already been a challenge. Offering to make game day protein shakes for the whole team sounded like a good idea at the time, however, now the fate of the whole fucking game rests on my shoulders by throwing out their usual patterns and superstitions.
What was I thinking?
If they lose it’ll be because of my shakes, if they win, they’ll want it every damn week. When in actual fact, it was a distraction tactic from the fact that my beloved, my healing, grieving, strong-and-stubborn-as-an-ox other half will be stepping out onto the ice. I’m not ready.
Would I ever be ready though?
Something I probably should have avoided doing was looking up the game footage from the night he caught the puck with his jaw. A shiver snakes up my spine, making all the hairs on my body stand on end and my gut flip-flop as I re-watch the footage in my brain.
There’s no erasing that now that I’ve seen it.
Eloise offers me her popcorn but I cover my mouth, shaking my head.
“She’s gonna blow.” It’s Athena who states the obvious. “She’s green.”
Edith is the one who takes my hand. “He’s going to be okay. I know you’re freaking out, but he’s going to be okay.”
She can’t know that. No one can. But the way she’s trying to calm my nerves means a lot so I give her a nod.
“He’s been through a lot.” Dad tosses a few pieces of Eloise’s popcorn into his mouth. “You both have. It’s perfectly understandable that you’re anxious.” He takes my other hand in his.
Edith nods. “It is. I know after our accident, Pollo freaked the fuck out before he got back on the ice. And he wasn’t even injured on-ice.”
Eloise’s eyes widen like this is news to her.
Savannah leans across Athena to steal some of Eloise’s popcorn. “No one had any idea Apollo was nervous to get back on the ice.”
Edith shrugs. “It’s only natural. If you’ve been hurt, and you’ve fought through a tough recovery, going back to do something physically demanding is scary. What if you get hurt again? What if you have to stop doing the thing you love again? Or worse, what if you have to stop doing the thing you love forever. I get it.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs on a heavy breath. She really does get it. Edith spent just over a year in Australia busting her ass to recover from the car accident she and Apollo survived together. Apollo’s injuries were more surface-level, and he was back on the ice in no time.
Edith, on the other hand, required at least two rounds of surgery, and traveled to the other side of the world, and she’s still not healed correctly.
When she came back, we all thought she’d be okay. And she is, for the most part, but she doesn’t get to dance, and from what I understand, dancing and Edith were synonymous until that car crash.
Dad’s sad eyes hold mine, telling me that Tate’s lucky that he gets to go back to doing what he loves doing, but every piece of my body is ratcheted tight with tension. I’m not sure Tate can take another push-back at this point. He needs forward progress, and that means having a good game, without incident.
Something smacks on the plexiglass behind me, making me jump off the ledge I’ve been leaning on. Spinning around to face the offending stray puck, my eyes land on my guy.
Suited up, ready for battle, and a raging fire blazing in his eyes. He jerks his chin at me.
“Was there something you needed, Satan?”
There’s a gasp from behind me.
“Don’t fuck with me, She Devil.” His words probably shouldn’t sound so fucking hot, but they’ve got my panties melting. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What?” I shrug.
One of my friends behind me snorts. Or maybe it’s Dad, I can’t quite tell.
“I don’t know what you mean, Tate.”
“Your shirt.” He points his stick at my shirt.
“You like it?” Slowly, painfully so, I do a twirl, giving him another look at the name and number on the back of my new Raccoon’s jersey.
“Are you trying to make us lose?” His penetrating gaze bores into the crest across my chest like it owes him money.
One single eyebrow arches as I smirk back at him. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”
He stays silent as his eyes flicker to Dad, then rake over me again, hungry, confused, and those flickering flames in his eyes raging stronger. He should be warming up, not standing staring at the green and white Raccoon on my tits, especially not in front of my fucking dad.
“Isn’t this what you’ve wanted since the day we met?”
He nods.
“Then I guess you’d better go win, then.” I blow him a kiss. “Can’t have me wearing your name on my shoulders be what causes the team to lose now, can we?”
His nostrils flare, that muscle in his cheek working overtime as he grits his teeth. Hockey players might be superstitious as fuck, but if he’s going to ice for the first time since he got injured, he needed to know I was on his side. Figured the easiest way to do that would be to wear his name on my body for him, and everyone else in the arena to see.
“I’m not done with you, Pitstop.” He points the blade of his stick at me.
I make a “blah, blah, blah,” motion with my hand, moving my fingers and thumb open and closed. “Go win your first game back, hot shot. Then come talk to me about my shirt.” My wink at him makes him lick his lips like he’s already thinking about what he’s going to do to me when the game ends.
So naturally, it’s where my mind goes too.
He taps the glass with his stick again, but because I see it coming, I don’t startle. He skates backward away from me, not taking his eyes off mine until he’s a good fifteen feet away when he spins his attention back to warm up.
Fuck.
I flop down on my seat. It’s Athena who breaks the sexually charged silence first as she leans across Eloise and pats my thigh. “I hope you’ve done your warmup, amiga. Because that man is going to score on and off the ice tonight.”
Edith nods, like she’s seen that look in Apollo’s eyes before too. “Yup. Dude’s gonna shred your vagina when he’s done shredding the ice.”
Savannah snorts. “Justin’s out of town tonight.” Her voice is whimsical, far away, like if her guy wasn’t out of town she’d leave the rink right now and ride that dick all the way to orgasm town. “I’m so jealous.”
Dad’s covered his ears with both hands, and he’s mumbling to himself about how this wasn’t what he had in mind for the game with his daughter. His cheeks are red but there’s a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as my friends crack up into loud laughter.
By the end of the second period, Tate’s racked up a goal and two assists on the scoreboard. Every time he skates off the bench there’s a trail of fire under his skates. My man is on a mission tonight. Whether it’s to do his parents proud, to prove a point to his teammates and his coaching staff, or to prove a point to himself, it’s working.
“I’m surprised he came back so quickly.” Edith slurps the bottom of her blue slushy. “If I lost my parents just over a month ago, I’d be a ball in the corner.”
“Me too.” Eloise takes a bite of a hotdog that may actually be bigger than she is.
“Me three.” Athena’s got nachos, and for one of the messiest foods in existence, she’s making them so fucking graceful I’m starting to wonder if it’s just me that eats them like an animal.
“I tried to talk to him.” I really did. I told him he didn’t need to push himself to get back on the ice so soon. “Apollo did too.” I never truly understood the role of team captain until the past two months. I mean, I got it. Having a leader, someone to boost morale, it makes sense. But seeing it in practice... it’s so much more than that. Apollo is so much more than that.
Justin, Savannah’s husband, was the team captain of the Raccoons before Apollo took over the mantle. And from what Tate tells me, Justin was every bit the mother hen that Apollo is now. But it feels like so much more than just a letter on his shirt, or a title on the roster. Apollo cares so much about his teammates it makes my heart hurt.
“He wouldn’t listen.” I continue, swallowing past the emotion simmering at the back of my throat. “He insisted being on the ice, even if he was benched for the game, would be better for his mental health than sitting around at home watching his teammates through a screen.”
Athena nods. “That’s probably what sold it to my brothers.” She dangles a tortilla chip over her open mouth before dropping it delicately, chewing and swallowing. Honestly, how does someone make salsa, queso, and guacamole look glamorous?
“Ever since Ares’s battle through recovery.” She pauses and shakes her head. “Actually, before. They’ve always been invested in good mental health. They get it, too. All of them, Scott, Ares, and the twins. Ever since we were all little the ice was their happy place, the safe space where they could let all their troubles go, step out onto fresh ice, and carve their worries away.”
“Sounds violent.” Eloise is dabbing a napkin on her shirt. Messy, chili dog one, Eloise zero.
Something flickers across Athena’s face. “We always choose violence, Ellie Bellie.”
Edith nods like that’s true. Being Apollo’s childhood best friend, she’d know better than anyone. “I get it too. For me, being in the studio, at the barre, it’s where all my troubles or intrusive thoughts melt away, and all that matters is the movement and the music.”
The more they talk, the more it soothes the apprehension festering inside me. He’s going to be fine. He is. He’s happier on the ice than he would be at home, and right now, his mental health failing is more of a risk than him getting hurt on the ice.
Oh. That’s how I have to word it to myself.
His well-being would suffer more off the ice, than the risk of him getting injured is on the ice. He’s a grown ass man, he’s weighed the risks, and he’s decided that’s how it’s going to work for now.
Pride roars in my ribcage as the teams return to the ice for the third period. We’re all on our feet cheering and clapping as our boys in green skate a lap as the clock counts down to the face off.
With each minute that passes, my pussy clenches tighter and tighter. The girls don’t miss me shifting in my seat.
“You sure you don’t want to go stretch before he destroys your girl parts?” Athena’s moved from her nachos to a margarita. Who knew you could get margaritas at hockey games? I thought they only served beer. She clearly gives zero fucks Dad’s sitting right there listening to everything they’re saying.
Dad clears his throat, and asks if anyone needs anything from the concession stand before shaking his head and making a quick exit.
“Pfffft. He’s lived the hockey player life. He knows I only state the truth.” Athena takes another sip.
Eloise erupts into giggles, and Edith hi-fives the oldest of the de la Pe?a siblings. “Your poor dad! She’s not wrong though, you know. Every time he looks over here my panties catch on fire.”
“Mine too.” A random woman sitting behind Edith raises her beer over the back of my friend’s heads in a very fucked up kind of toast, which just makes my friends crack up all over again.
“You’re so screwed.” Eloise mutters into her drink before taking a sip.
It’s at this moment my darling Satan decides to make a one-on-two breakaway. When he dekes past the lone defenseman and stares down the opposition’s netminder, my whole body tenses.
If he misses this fucking shot it’ll absolutely be blamed on the fact I’m wearing a Raccoon’s shirt for the first time ever in the Trash Can.
Not only do I suck in a sharp breath and hold it—not like the romance novels where people let go of breaths they didn’t know they were holding—I feel this burn in my chest with every single second that ticks slowly by as Tate approaches the net.
When he flicks his wrist, I grab the hands, legs, whatever body part is next to me, and squeeze.
As soon as it passes the goalkeeper’s glove I’m on my feet and screaming before the goal lamp even lights up.
Tate turns to me and points his stick in my direction before his teammates jump on his back and envelop him in a massive group hug.
His victory skate passes right in front of where I’m sitting, and he rat-tat-tats his stick on the glass as he sails back toward the bench.
When the furore has died down and play is about to restart, the woman behind Edith speaks up again. “Girl, if you don’t want him, can I have him?”