Chapter 24 #2
The period stays clean and fast. With five minutes left, I catch their defense changing.
It’s just a half-second of confusion in an otherwise solid game from Carolina, but I use it to curl through the neutral zone, building speed.
Their left defenseman backs up too far, the space between him and his partner just enough for me to slip through.
I thread it, accelerating into the gap. Their goalie pops out to get in my way, but I’ve got too much momentum.
Quick deke, forehand—and as he drops, I pull it backhand and lift it over his shoulder.
The horn sounds, and this time I let myself feel it—the crowd’s roar, the ice spray, the weight of my teammates piling on.
2-0 after one.
Coach lifts a quiet fist of war lord victory into the air as we file past. “That’s the way to bring the turning the tide, boys. That’s the way.”
Second period starts with the same energy.
We’re rolling, everything clicking.
Then five minutes in, I’m battling in the corner with Patridge, their second-line forward, a big guy, but usually a clean player. There’s nothing special about the battle, just two players working for position.
I’m about to snag the puck when he grunts too softly for the refs to hear, “How’s life with your stalker, buddy? Elly’s podcast is a hit in our locker room, that’s for sure.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
The puck slips off my stick, but thankfully, Nix is already swooping in beside us, turning play back toward the Carolina net.
I glare at Partridge as he surges forward beside me.
“Love the parts about you,” he adds with a smirk. “Sexy shit. She’s got a nice voice, too. Real smooth.”
“What the?—”
“Graves, eyes!” Parker’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion and anger at hearing Elly’s name on this fucker’s lips. I jolt back to the play in time to see their winger scoop the puck clean.
Suddenly, our defense is scrambling—Blue lays out, trying to block the pass, but it slips under his stick. A quick feed to the slot, and Capo barely gets his pad down in time. The puck rings off the post, and my whole body jolts at the sound.
“The hell was that?” Parker hisses as we change. “You good?”
“Yeah. It’s nothing.” But my gloves are already soaked through. “I’m good. ”
I’m not good. Next shift, Partridge’s words echo in my head. I can’t stop glaring at him every time we pass on the ice. As a result, my timing’s off and my passes are just behind the tape. But hell, at least I’m very aware of where this fucker is at all times.
When he comes through the neutral zone fast, I step up to stop him, but I’m late, high, and my shoulder catches him in the chest.
He bounces up laughing. “Guess I hit a nerve, huh, buddy?”
The ref’s arm goes up. Two for interference. I skate to the box with cotton in my ears, my heart hammering.
Then Carolina scores on the power play, and my jaw nearly snaps in half.
The period drags. My legs feel heavy, and every time I touch the puck, I curse the fucking thing. By the time the horn sounds, I’m drenched in sweat and mad as hell.
At myself. At Partridge. At the entire Carolina locker room and whatever the fuck they think they’re listening to in there.
It’s not Elly.
It can’t be.
I’m first off the ice, practically running to the locker room. My helmet comes off before I reach my stall, my hair plastered to my skull as I chuck my gloves and grab my phone out of my locker.
“What’s going on?” Parker asks as he catches up a moment later. “Seriously, man, something is clearly off.”
“Partridge said something about Elly.” I shake my head as I type “hockey” into the search bar in the podcast section. “Something about them listening to her podcast and her voice being hot… I don’t know. It didn’t make any fucking sense. ”
“ Merde ,” Jean-Louis mutters from across the room. “You really don’t know?”
I glance up sharply as the room goes quiet. I must have some kind of look on my face. Half the players in the line of fire take a step back, and Torrance leans back into his stall, seeking refuge.
In the end, Nix is the only one brave enough to say, “Elly has a podcast, man. I guess she made it before she met you or whatever. It’s called Love on Ice, some social media detective figured it out a few days ago.
” He pulls his phone from his bag. “I can show you, if you want. I listened to one of the episodes. It’s actually not bad.
I mean, she clearly knows the game and seems to like you a lot, so… ”
My legs go weak. I sink onto the bench. “Play it.”
Parker steps forward, gloves lifting into the air. “Hold up, maybe we should?—”
“Play it,” I cut in, needing to know what everyone else knows about my wife.
My family.
Fuck . How did this happen? How did I let it happen? How did Schwartz let it happen? If this has been out on social media for a few days, we should have realized and made a plan to handle it by now.
And Elly should have told you. She really fucking should have, a voice in my head pipes up as Nix thumbs the screen, sending Elly’s voice floating through the room.
It’s her—undeniably, absolutely—but she sounds different. Her voice is deeper, looser. She sounds confident and playful and… fucking sexy. Just like that dick Partridge said.
“Okay, listeners, I wasn’t going to do another episode this week, but my roommate’s asleep, and I’m two glasses of wine deep and I just…” She sighs, another sexy-as-sin sound. “Well, I need to talk to someone about a certain someone.”
My hands start shaking as dread dumps into my bloodstream, but I press them flat against my thighs.
What the hell is she about to say? In front of my entire team?
Maybe I shouldn’t have told Nix to hit play.
But hell, most of them already seem to know all about the podcast. They’ve probably already listened, laughed, and formed their opinions about what kind of person Elly is.
But they don’t know her. Not like I do.
Like I thought I knew her anyway…
“You know who I’m talking about, loves,” she continues.
“My boy, my MVP, the rookie sensation I can’t stop gushing about every ten minutes.
But seriously, his forearms are poetry, ladies.
If you don’t believe me, check out episode thirty-six.
I do a deep dive on those arms, supporting their place in the forearm hall of fame with charts and science. ”
She exhales a husky laugh that has me shooting a quick glare around the room to make sure no one else is thinking about how hot it sounds.
But most of the team still looks embarrassed for me, concerned, or like they’re wishing they had a box of popcorn to accompany the show.
“But here’s the thing,” Elly adds, her voice going soft.
“Grammercy Graves is so much more than a sexy pair of forearms.” I flinch a little at my name on her lips, but do my best to hide it as she continues, “Guys, he spent the entire weekend visiting sick kids in the hospital. But he refused to let the cameras film him because he didn’t want the kids to feel like it was some kind of publicity stunt.
He wanted them to feel special and important and to protect their privacy. How beautiful is that?”
“It is pretty beautiful,” Torrance whispers, only to slide back into his hidey hole as I jerk my glare his way.
“Beautiful and kind and thoughtful,” Elly continues wistfully. “I mean, if he weren’t already my number one hockey crush of all time, this story would have done it. Now, well…” She sighs again. “I might as well have Property of G. Graves tattooed on my inner thigh.”
“Jesus,” someone mutters as my teeth grind together.
“Shut up,” Nix hisses. “Just listen, it’s not bad.”
“I’m sure there are other men like him out there in the world,” Elly says.
“Other men who are great at their jobs, devoted to their families, and funny and charming and classy and sweet to sick kids, all while looking sexy as hell with sweaty hair, but…where do we meet them? Because so far, I haven’t found a guy who even comes close.
So, I guess I’ll just keep crushing on a man who has no idea I’m alive and talking about him in my bathtub.
Unless I find a better place to record. What do you think, loves?
I’m feeling the bathtub acoustics right now, but the closet wasn’t bad, either.
Anyway, now that I’ve spent the mandatory eight to ten minutes bragging on our favorite hockey boy, let’s move on to some other big news that dropped yesterday.
Over in the Western Conference, they’re?—”
Nix cuts the feed. The sudden absence of Elly’s voice accentuates the buzzing silence in the room, the tension, the feeling like everyone is waiting for me to throw something or storm out of the room, but…
“She wasn’t talking about some anonymous celebrity,” Blue pipes up, nailing exactly what my spinning head hasn’t fully gotten around to processing. “She was talking about you. The real you.”
“He’s right,” Nix agrees. “I mean, I wouldn’t be sad to find out my girl was saying those kinds of things about me before we met. It’s actually kind of nice.”
“Me, either,” Torrance says, lifting his hands in surrender as I shoot another glare his way. “What? Why does Nix get to talk, and I don’t?”
“You’re a fetus,” Jean-Louis says with a sniff. “You know nothing about love.” He nods Nix’s way. “But he does.” He shifts his attention to my corner of the room. “And so does Grammercy.”
Before I can respond, Merwood is in the doorway, “Five minutes until third period! Have you hydrated? Why are half of you in wet gloves?”
We all launch into motion, hurrying to get ready for the final period, but even after we’re back on the ice, a part of me is still in the locker room, wondering if Jean-Louis is right.
Do I know about love?
When Elly and I haven’t even been brave enough to say the words yet?
When she’s been keeping secrets from me?
When I’ve been keeping secrets from her ?