Chapter 22
TRAVIS
“Listen up. If we win the face-off, then we have time for one last play,” Coach yells over the noise of the stadium. He looks to me. “Got one more in you?”
“Hell yeah.”
My teammates murmur their agreement, some even tap me on the head or shoulder. We’d typically be more discreet about a final play, but Houston has to know the puck is coming my way. I’ve been on fire tonight. An assist and two goals. One more and I’ll have a hat trick.
Adrenaline courses through me. It’s one of those nights where I can’t feel any of the aches and pains or even the burn of my legs and lungs. I feel unstoppable. It’s been a long while since I’ve had a game this good.
Coach draws up the play and then the first line takes the ice.
The stadium is on their feet. It’s a sea of purple—jerseys, signs, hats.
I find Hannah the same way I’ve found her all night.
She’s already looking at me, smiling. Damn that feels good.
I can’t believe she came. She can’t possibly know what it means to me.
The last time someone came specifically to watch me play was so long ago I can’t even remember it.
Nick wins the face-off and D-Low comes up with the puck. We set up in front of the net. D-Low passes back to Nick and then he gets it to Shep. Victor Aven is all over me. He’s been talking shit all night.
He sends an elbow to my side. “Everyone is watching, Bennett. Try not to choke. Though that’s what you do best. Three rookies could do your job for half the cost. You’re not worth the hefty price tag they’re paying you.”
I’m not sure he even believes the dumb ass things that come out of his mouth. Whatever. He can say or think whatever the hell he wants. Tonight, it’s not getting to me. The only thing that’s important is that he wants to stop me less than I want to win.
“As long as you’re watching. I don’t want you to miss me scoring all over you.
” I finally get the edge on him and Shep fires the puck my way.
I get off a quick high shot to his right, but the goalie is ready for me.
He blocks it with his stick and when the puck bounces back at me, I’m ready too.
I go low and left and the goal light flashes only seconds before the final buzzer sounds. Game over.
Nick, D-Low, and Shep throw their arms around me, followed by the rest of the team. Hats around the arena are being thrown down onto the ice, but nothing is better than the smile on Hannah’s face.
We have a tradition after every win to award one guy with the player of the game award.
The glorious award is a purple wrestler belt with a silver plate inscribed with the Moonshot logo.
It’s hideous and amazing. It changes hands every game and on the back there are names and dates going back ten years or more.
It’s fun, slightly silly, and highly coveted.
Whichever guy was awarded it last, hands it out after the game. And tonight, Nick gives it to me.
“Congrats, man.” Nick gives me the belt and pulls me into a side hug. “Well deserved. That was something special tonight.”
“Thanks.” I hold the belt up over my head as the guys cheer.
It’s the first time I’ve had it all season and it feels like a turning point.
All my teammates come by again to offer their support and congrats.
I’m buzzing with energy, almost too amped to get showered and changed.
The only thing focusing me is getting out of here in time to find Hannah before she leaves.
I place the belt on the shelf in my locker to display before I strip out of my jersey and pads, then sit to take off the rest of my gear.
“Are you headed to MVP?” Shep asks from his stall next to mine.
“I’m not sure. You?”
“Yeah. One drink. You should come by for a bit. It’s your night, man.”
I nod, hurrying to get out of the rest of my gear. I’d be tempted to skip showering if I didn’t smell so bad.
As soon as I’m ready, I head out with my phone in hand.
Me
Where are you? Did you go home already?
I’m staring at the screen waiting for Hannah’s reply text when I hear someone call out my name. No, not someone, Hannah.
I glance up and there she is. My heart fucking stops for a beat. Then all at once, I’m buzzing with the same energy I had on the ice. She’s here. She stayed.
As amped as I am, it feels like I move to her in slow motion. She’s in jeans and a white tank top with a short, black leather jacket. Her hair is in a low ponytail and the end hangs over one shoulder. I wonder if she’ll ever stop being so damn beautiful it takes my breath away.
When I’m within a few feet, she finally reciprocates and takes a step toward me. There’s something off in her gait. She’s favoring her right leg.
“What’s wrong?” I ask instead of hello.
“I injured my ankle in practice today.” She waves it off. “Congratulations! That was incredible!”
The compliment hits, but it’s having her here, in front of me, smiling like she’s happy and proud that makes warmth spread through my chest.
I drop my bag and scoop her up, cradling her lower back in one arm and her legs in the other.
“Travis,” she squeaks my name out. “What are you doing?”
“If you’re injured, you shouldn’t be on your feet.”
“Put me down. I’m fine. You’re the one who just played the most unbelievable game. My throat hurts from yelling so much.”
“Thanks. I had some extra motivation.”
She squirms in my hold. “Seriously, Travis, put me down. My ankle is fine.” Some loose strands of her hair cover half her face but her smile peeks out. “This isn’t necessary. I walked into the arena and all the way down here.”
“Uh-huh and now I’m going to carry you out.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Don’t I look serious, wife?”
She tilts her head to give me a knowing glare for using the endearment. I can’t help it. Tonight, looking up and seeing her cheer for me, she felt like my wife.
“Where’s your car?” I ask, then shake my head. “Never mind. You’re coming with me. We’ll get it in the morning. Is Kinsley still here? Does she need a ride?”
“We drove separately,” she says, then, “Aren’t you going to MVP with the guys?”
“Nah. I do that after every game. Tonight is special. I’d rather celebrate with you.”
“Okay, but—”
“If you tell me you can walk one more time, I’m going to toss you over my shoulder instead. Now be a good girl and wrap your arms around my neck so I don’t accidentally drop you.”
Her laughter is sweet and melodic as she obeys. I manage to pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder before I resume the walk to my SUV. She watches with amusement in her expression as I open the passenger door and deposit her in the seat.
Once we’re home, Hannah elevates her leg on the couch, and I pull an ice pack from the freezer.
“How’d you hurt it?” I ask, laying it gently across her ankle bone.
“I lost my line on a front tuck and my foot rolled.”
“Like a front flip?”
She nods.
“Will you be able to train tomorrow?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
I smile. “Fine or not.” I’m betting on not. “Ice won’t hurt.”
She hums her agreement.
“I’m so glad you came tonight.”
“Me too. I don’t think the TV would have done your hat trick justice.
” Her head rests on the back of the couch and she turns to look at me.
It’s pride, I realize, that shines in her eyes.
When was the last time anyone other than my coaches or teammates was proud of me?
It doesn’t matter because coming from her it feels better than anyone else anyway.
“What can I say? I was feeling inspired.” I wink at her, and she laughs.
It’s quiet and dark in the house. I didn’t bother with a light or TV when we came in, but this is nice.
“What’s your day like tomorrow?” she asks.
“I’ll head into the rink after I drop you at your car. We don’t have practice until late morning, but I want to have the trainers work on my shoulder.”
Her gaze shifts and zones in on my left shoulder as I rotate it to ease some of the tension.
“That hit in the second period?”
“Saw that, huh?” I scrunch up my face. I got tossed up against the boards by Victor Aven. Fucker. Not my most heroic moment.
I reach over and rub it tenderly, the action lifting the cuff of my shirt a couple inches.
“Oh my gosh, Travis!” Hannah’s eyes widen. “And you were worried about me?”
My gaze drops to the bruises already splashing color over my shoulder and bicep.
“I’m—”
She arches a brow, daring me to say fine.
“Touché, wife.” I let out a chuckle.
“That looks really painful. Can I do anything?”
I shake my head. “I’ll have the trainers work on it tomorrow.”
With an exaggerated eye roll, she shifts so she’s facing me with one knee tucked and her sprained ankle still elevated on the ottoman in front of her.
When her hands work into the sore muscles, I groan.
I should have gone in after the game to have it worked on, but I couldn’t think about anything else that would get in the way of seeing Hannah.
“Too much?” she asks as she backs off the pressure.
“No. I like it rough.”
She squeezes extra hard at that comment and pain lances down my arm.
“Ow. Ow, I’m sorry.” I swear the innuendos just happen around her. Part of me is always thinking about being with her. I can’t help it.
Abruptly she stops. “Take off your shirt.”
Surprised, I glance over at her. Her expression is all business, but I can’t resist messing with her. “Yeah? Pants too?”
She pinches my side in response.
“Ouch. Okay. Okay.” I peel off my shirt and her hands resume their magic, kneading at the tender muscles but avoiding the worst of the bruising.
It is heaven. I let my eyes close, and my body slowly relaxes from my shoulder all the way to my feet.
“What does your tattoo mean?” Her voice sounds closer.
I crack my eyes open to glance down at the ink on my inner bicep but the first thing I see is her. Without even realizing it, I’ve moved toward her.
“They’re tally marks.” I let my eyes close again.
“For?”
“All the important moments in my life.”
Her fingers caress the skin, and she traces the four lines.
“Only four?”
“Life-altering moments are rare.”
“Yeah. I suppose so.”
“You don’t want to know what they were?”
“Would you tell me if I asked?” One thing I can say for sure about Hannah, she doesn’t pry. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to share.
“I’ll tell you one if you tell me one of yours.”
“Easy. Training at Premier. I met Kinsley and I’m working with Coach Rodier.”
“And you met me. Actually, that was life-altering for me too. I might need to add another tally.”
She laughs but it’s not totally off base.
“Tell me one of yours.”
“The day I turned eighteen. It’s the first tally mark.”
We’re quiet. I’m temporarily lost in memories of that day.
I’d gone to get a tattoo—one of many ways I planned to celebrate being an adult and being free from anyone else telling me what to do.
My parents weren’t all that strict, seeing as they weren’t around, but they had expectations and I rarely met them.
“I went in without a plan other than I wanted to mark the occasion I was done with my parents. I thought I’d walk in, and inspiration would hit or something, I guess.
Eventually I picked out some intricate line work thing that looked cool but didn’t really mean anything to me.
I didn’t even know I cared about that, truthfully.
The artist only got one line done before he was interrupted by another artist needing something.
I can’t really remember. I think I was so lost in my head, already regretting it, and wondering how much it was going to cost to remove in a year or two.
I realized I didn’t know what I wanted in that moment or out of life but that I wasn’t going to settle for less than that. So I left.”
Her hands have stopped but they’re still on me. I don’t dare look at her. Instead, I clear my throat. “So that’s the story.”
“Why didn’t you get it removed?”
“I guess I liked the reminder. And it did mark the occasion, just not the way I had planned. And eventually I got the urge to get another. I still had no idea what I wanted so I continued with the tally marks. I kind of like it now. Hopefully someday I’ll have dozens of them.”
She hums her agreement.
“Do you ever think about reconnecting with them?” she asks, and I know she means my parents.
“Nah. We don’t have anything to say to each other.
They were as happy as I was when I left.
I think my being around made them feel worse about themselves.
I was bad at school and that embarrassed them.
I wasn’t interested in fancy dinner parties or learning the family business, which they hated.
I was good at sports but not the sports they cared about.
If I’d been an all-star quarterback or a standout baseball player, maybe they would have come to a game, but hockey was beneath them. ”
“That’s harsh,” she says.
I shrug.
“Still, it must be hard, knowing they’re around but not having a relationship with them.”
“I’m better off,” I say honestly. “Maybe they are too.”
“They’re missing out. I can’t say for sure about you, but I’m guessing not. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to write someone off without a good reason.”
I hope she’s right, but sometimes I don’t know.
“Why’d you come tonight?” I ask without opening my eyes. There have been a lot of nights with her that I felt like adding to the tattoo, but no more than when I saw her cheering for me.
There’s a slight pause and then she picks up massaging my muscles again as she speaks. “I’d love to take all the credit, but it was Kinsley’s idea.”
“Remind me to thank her.”
“Trust me, she got thanks enough by telling everyone around us that I was your wife.”
My lips curve up. “I would have loved to have seen your face.”
She lets out another soft hum. “It wasn’t such a bad night to be Mrs. Travis Bennett.”
“I just got goosebumps. Say it again.”
“Mrs. Travis Bennett.” This time the words are hushed and sultry. She’s totally messing with me, but I don’t give a fuck.