Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
CHANCE
“You with us?” Gunner grunts, skating to center ice for the face off.
I glance at April, taking her in for the last time. Once the game starts, the world around me will become a blur except for my teammates and the puck.
“Yeah.” I nod. Seeing April in my jacket makes it easier to concentrate.
I close my eyes, visualizing the rink the way I always do. A sense of calm, of familiarity, of home falls over me.
This is where I belong.
I open my eyes.
The opposing team faces us down for the puck drop.
Gunner points two fingers at the board and nods at me. It’s a signal letting me know that they’ll keep me away from the offside—which is my biggest trigger. I hate being smashed into the boards, especially by the opposing team. Fifty percent of my fights in the league started that way. It’s like dynamite on a gasoline keg.
Just focus on keeping it together tonight.
My limbs are loose. My stick, secure in my hands.
The referee drops the puck.
I’m off like a gunshot.
A thrill runs through my veins as I skate past my opponents, but it’s not long until I’m picking up the other team’s defensemen. They swarm me like fleas on a dog.
No surprise there. Clearing me from the ice and pushing me into the penalty box was a common strategy for my past opponents.
The team we’re up against isn’t known for a great defense, but they’re wicked aggressive on the attack. Our main plan tonight is keeping control of the puck.
And me?
Well, I need to keep control of my temper.
The cold prickles in my throat, turning the air around me heavy. The lights in the arena are bright enough that I can see the sweat percolating on the defenseman’s chin as he blazes a line straight for me.
Ice sprays beneath my skates when I stop abruptly. He tries to sweep the puck from under me, but I’m ten moves ahead of him. It’s already on its way, headed to Renthrow who takes control like he was built for the ice.
I’m on the move, ready to skate over the line the moment Renthrow crosses with the puck.
The opposing team claims it back and we’re on the defense.
I’m heading into the scrimmage when someone blows into my shoulder. I’m hit from behind with enough force to jerk me forward. My head whips up and I glare at number thirteen, a bulky guy with dull brown eyes. He sneers at me from behind his mouth guard.
The ref doesn’t call it and that, plus the obvious targeting, sets my blood boiling.
Deep breath, Chance.
Getting myself together, I skate ahead just as Theilan clears the puck. We’re back in control of the play and I do an about face, skating into the fray.
The moment Theilan passes and I have control of the puck, the opposing team flies at me. Hockey sticks dart around my legs, fighting to take the puck. In the chaos, I feel a hand shove into my back.
The ref calls the infraction.
But the spark’s been lit.
My nostrils flare when I notice number thirteen smirking at me. He skates close by and, if his words weren’t lost to the wind, I’m one hundred percent sure he’d be heckling me.
Skating ahead of him, I follow the play until we get to our defense zone. There, thirteen skates off with the puck.
Red clouds my vision.
I meet Watson’s eyes. The goalie is dressed in thick knee pads and a strong helmet. But even with all the gear, his concern shines through. He does a slow downward gesture with his hands. Calm down.
I heave a breath, shaking my head.
The coach calls me in during the time out, probably seeing what Watson is seeing.
“Cool off, McLanely,” he says, patting my back when I climb over the boards. “They’re coming for our throats tonight. You won’t do us any good in the sin bin.”
I’m replaced by another forward, who’s ten times slower than I am. On pins and needles, I watch the game proceed without me.
Gunner makes the first score, and the crowd goes ballistic.
I resist the urge to look up at April. I wanted to earn the first point of tonight’s game, but the opposing team made it impossible by closing me off every time.
If Gunner had been as targeted as I was, he wouldn’t have made the first goal.
It’s a selfish thought and I brush it away. Ego has no place in the game. What matters is we’re in the lead.
But it’s not for long.
The other team scores too.
We’re head to head.
As the momentum falters, the coach makes a flurry of substitutions.
I’m back in the game.
A fire lights under me and I cut down the ice, skating with my eyes on the goal. Renthrow and Gunner flank me on either side, waiting for a prime opportunity to score.
Renthrow gets control of the puck first and he passes to Gunner who gets stuck at the point, an area just outside the opposing team’s blue line. Gunner should not be so close to the boards, but our defensemen are on the other side of the rink.
Gunner passes and I take possession of the puck. An opposing defenseman skates toward me and I instinctively flick my stick. I don’t even realize it’s a flip pass until I hear the faint roar of the crowd and the announcers screaming about the play.
“ Did you see that? McLanely did not come here to waste time!”
Head whipping back and forth, I calculate the best opportunity to shoot straight past the goalie. A shadow breaks my concentration. It’s number thirteen flying at me.
I shift my weight from my left leg to my right. Instinctively, I send the puck hurtling toward the goal just as thirteen slams me into the boards.
My helmet ricochets off the clear surface. Beyond me, the crowd grimaces and I hear a collective ‘ooh’.
The puck skids against the goalie’s stick and deflects.
I missed.
Faintly, I hear the announcers goading me.
“Oh, that was a nasty slam.”
“Are we about to see a classic McLanely meltdown?”
“They better get that penalty box ready, Stu.”
I lunge forward, not thinking about anything but teaching that smuck a lesson. Penalty box or no, who does he think he is?
My hands are outstretched and ready to grab number thirteen by the back of his gear. On the way, I catch a glimpse of a bright, sparkling red dress.
April.
“I don’t like violence in the middle of the game.”
It’s what she said to me the first day we met.
My body slows and my hands lower before I realize I’ve made the decision to stand down. My eyes skim past number thirteen who’s on his way to the penalty box.
I look through the crowd.
And then I see her.
April.
She’s on her feet, eyes glued to me. Her mouth is open, her brows knitted, her hands clasped in front of her. My jacket is slipping down her shoulders, revealing more of her beautiful red gown, but she seems oblivious to the cold.
Suddenly, the rest of the world rushes in.
I hear the screams of the crowd. Feel the biting cold of the rink. Taste the sweat above my upper lip.
“You okay?” Gunner yells as he skates past me.
I rejoin the game, my heart pumping and my hands shaking.
“Can you believe that? Chance McLanely walked away from a fight.”
“Someone learned his lesson after leaving the league.”
“I never thought I’d see the day McLanely avoided the sin bin!”
Pushing the noises out of my head, I take advantage of the opposing team’s crippled state. They’re down a man and I’m going to make it hurt.
My first score is a punishment for scheming to lock me in the sin bin.
The second score is specifically to number thirteen who slammed me into the boards and robbed me of my chance to score a goal and impress April.
My third score is just because I’m in a good mood, the game’s about to be over and that means, my date with April will begin soon.
Five… four… three… two…
The buzzer goes off and I raise my arms, grinning at the scoreboard.
Gunner, Renthrow, Theilan and Watson converge on me, followed by the rest of my teammates who scramble over the boards to make a dog pile.
“McLanely has done it again! He’s on fire! ” the announcers boom.
The celebration continues with lots of roaring from my teammates.
After three minutes of being suffocated by hockey sticks, hockey gear, and men that weigh more than motorcycles, I’m allowed to surface.
The first pair of eyes I look for are April’s. She’s smiling in the stands, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold and her straight hair flowing down her shoulders.
Tearing off my helmet so there’s nothing obstructing my view of her, I blow her a kiss.
A bunch of ‘awws’ break out from the crowd.
Cameras flash all around.
We’ve got the attention of the entire stadium.
I smirk at her, an eyebrow arched. She sees me staring and her brows lift in response.
Telepathically, I invite her to join me.
Do you dare?
A bright, adventurous smile skirts over her face and she scoots out of her row. For a second, April disappears from sight and then she pops up in the entrance to the ice.
I skate toward her. My cheeks hurt and I realize it’s because I’m smiling too broadly.
Seeing this woman running toward me… my heart is about to burst.
Is this what heaven feels like?
With the crowd chanting my name and confetti spraying down, April springs into the rink and I catch her, skating back slightly before regaining my balance.
“Congratulations,” she says.
“Than—”
My ‘thank you’ is cut off when she cradles my face and kisses me.