Chapter 20 Knox
TWENTY
KNOX
I hit the boards hard with a grunt as the body behind me slams into the glass.
Motherfucker.
After our win against New York the other night, our team is amped up and determined to bring home a double win for our fans.
Boston isn’t making it easy, though. They came to play hard tonight and draw some blood as I watch another fight break out, stopping the play.
One of their players next to me starts to intervene, and I block his way. I know McCormick can hold his own, but I’m not allowing a two-on-one. Neither is the rest of my team, as we pair up to stop any other involvement.
Gloves are dropped, and we watch as McCormick throws a few hits before dodging the ones aimed at him. The refs wait until McCormick takes the other player to the ground before they finally break them apart, sending them both to the penalty box.
I see Morris eyeing me a few feet away, and I can tell he’s biding his time before he comes at me. We’ve been playing this cat-and-mouse game all night, and I know he’s not going to leave this rink without throwing a few hits my way.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and it’s scary how much I’m looking forward to it. If he wants to try again this year to bring me down…let him.
“Watch your back, Stone. Morris is out for blood tonight,” Kane says quietly as he skates by me to get in position.
“The bastard can try,” I chuckle, skating into place for the face off.
I glance up at the scoreboard and double-check the time.
Eight minutes left, and with a score of three to three, we need to dig deep for that last net shot.
I know the guys are exhausted and took a beating with some of their hits, but I have no doubt they will push through the pain and give one hundred percent up until the very last buzzer sounds.
Puck is dropped, and I snatch it up, passing it to Hayes, who circles around the goalie net before sending it down the rails to Foxx at the centerline.
Foxx sees a shot and takes it, but it bounces off the pads of their goalie before one of their players takes control and brings it back to our side.
Blade crouches low and focuses all his attention on the small black object.
They take their shot, but he deflects it off his stick, sending it straight to Kane, who maneuvers it back and forth on his stick as we all race to the other side.
Kane shoots it to Foxx, waiting for him at the far end of the center line. The other player is on him hard as he turns his back to him to stay in control of the puck before sliding it toward me.
Keeping my eye on the puck, I wrestle with the opponent next to me, our sticks clashing and fighting in a battle to take control.
I finally pull it away just when Hayes breaks away from the player guarding him, and I make a quick pass to the curve of his stick.
He doesn’t hesitate to take the shot as we watch it slide between the goalie’s knees, lighting up the red light with just two minutes left in the game.
Grinning, I skate over to Hayes with the team and shake his helmet with my glove.
“Nice fucking net.”
“Nice pass,” he grins before his eyes narrow. “Turn around, you’ve got company,” he says, focusing behind me as he skates forward to stop whatever is coming at me, but it’s already too late.
I turn just as Morris’s glove slams into my helmet. Shaking my head, I snap out of the hit and grin.
I notice my team surrounding us, as they hold back any other players, giving us our space.
“That’s your one hit, Morris, and you only got that one in because you’re a fucking pussy who takes cheap shots.”
Dropping my stick, I throw my gloves off along with my helmet as I skate around him.
I faintly hear the crowd go wild, knowing they are going to get one last show in this game.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Stone,” Morris spits out, dropping his gear to the ice as his hand curls into a fist as we circle each other.
“I’ve been called worse,” I laugh, “but at least I add value to my team with netting the puck. You’re just a deadweight enforcer, and you’re not even good at it.”
I hear Kane chuckle seconds before Morris slams his body weight into me. He’s strong, I’ll give him that, but he fights recklessly, and it’s easy for me to predict his moves.
Digging my blades into the ice, I remain upright as I fist his shirt in my hand.
Dodging a hit I see coming a mile away, I get a clip in on his chin as his head rears back.
He loosens his grip on my jersey, and that’s all I need to get the upper hand as my fist hits him square in the mouth, splitting his lip wide open.
Red stains his white jersey as drops of blood drip from his mouth.
“You would think after last time you would have learned your lesson,” I grunt out as he rams me like a bull into my stomach, sending us both to the ground.
“And miss this fun?” He growls, trying to regain the top position, but I’ve managed to pin him to the ground with nowhere to go.
The refs take the opportunity they’ve been waiting for and pull me off of him, breaking us apart. The whistle blows for a penalty, and knowing a roughing call is coming, I skate over to the box to serve my time.
“Looks like you might need a bandaid, Morris,” I point to my lip as he swipes the blood away on his chin. He starts to skate toward me, but his teammates stop him.
“He’s not worth it, Morris. Just let it go.” I hear one of the other players say to him.
I step into the box and grin when Morris also gets a misconduct call for instigating. He slams the door open when he gets to the team bench and heads to the locker room, ending his game tonight.
McCormick skates over with my gear and drops it on the bench beside me as I run a towel over my damp face and hair.
“Nice right hook,” he grins.
“Had to leave him with a little something to remember me by.”
Chuckling, he skates over to take his position for the puck drop. One of their fans bangs on the glass next to me, and I ignore it as I watch the clock start to die down.
Two minutes may not seem like a lot of time, but in hockey, I’ve seen teams score twice in that time frame.
They pull their goalie with forty-five seconds left, giving them the extra man on the ice. My leg bounces with adrenaline as every part of me yearns to be out there again. Gripping the railing with my hand, I watch my guys fight to gain back control of the puck.
Blade stops a shot that most goalies would have never seen, and instead of keeping it for another whistle blow, he sends it shooting to the center line just as eager to finish the game as we are.
Foxx finally gets control of it and sends it straight over to McCormick as he breaks away toward the empty net and shoots it easily in as the game buzzer goes off.
Jumping out of the box, I head straight to Blade, tapping my helmet to his.
“Nice save. I don’t know how you even saw that one,” I chuckle.
“It’s a gift,” he grins. “I see Morris wanted another go with you this year.”
“I’m sure it won’t be the last. Fucker never learns,” I laugh as the team surrounds us as we celebrate our second win on the road.
Waiting until the last player has left the ice, I follow the excited chatter toward the locker room. I’m usually on such a game high that I can’t focus on anything else, but right now all my thoughts go straight to one thing.
Tonight I’ll be coming home and, for the first time, my high isn’t coming from just a win. What I want more right now has hair darker than the blackest night, and blue eyes that pull me in so deep that it’s quickly becoming my favorite thing to get lost in.
I’ve been gone three nights, and it’s been four days since I’ve been able to touch her. Between her work schedule and my games and travel, we’ve managed to get a few phone calls and texts in, but it doesn’t come close to sating this intense need I have to be able to feel her.
Pulling my jersey over my head, I remove my pads and strip down to my black boxer briefs before submerging myself in an ice bath.
A thousand needles hit my skin, but I tune it all out and focus on my breathing until my body accepts the pain that the ice-cold water brings.
It doesn’t take long for the five minutes to be up as I grab a towel and take a seat on the bench, letting my body warm up naturally before I jump in a hot shower.
“How’s your house hunting going?”
Cayden sits down next to me, his body wet from the ice bath as he grabs a towel.
“I plan on looking at a couple next week.”
Truth is, I haven’t been in any hurry to move out, so I’ve put it on the back burner. I had my assistant send me over some options, but I haven’t even opened the email yet.
“Bring Savi. Girls are good at that shit. They somehow always know how to make a house a home.” Sadness touches his eyes briefly before it disappears.
“How’s Scarlett doing?” I ask, wanting to bring it back to a lighter subject.
His green eyes brighten at the mention of his two-year-old daughter.
“Growing like a weed. My mom got her this pink tutu, and she refuses to take it off. She says she wants to be a ballerina when she grows up, and it’s the cutest fucking thing in the world. I’m thinking of putting her in dance class soon because she loves it so much.”
Over the summer, Cayden and I became close. He volunteered at some of the hockey camps we held, and I got to meet his daughter. He’s not wrong. She’s the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen and, for some unknown reason, she loves me.
“You need to stop by soon. Scar’s been asking for you. Maybe bring your friend over for dinner one night.” The amused look on his face lets me know he’s definitely not buying the friend part.
“I could probably do that.” I throw the towel over my neck as I go back and forth on whether to say more.
Cayden’s wife died in a freak car accident soon after Scarlett was born. He’s the only one I know who understands what losing someone close to you feels like.
“Is it hard for you to look at Scarlett? She’s the spitting image of Juliette,” I say quietly.