20. Mine, All Mine
The puck slides across the ice in my direction. Without a second thought, I slam it toward Ken, our center. The stadium erupts in roars so loud, we can hardly hear each other on the ice. Still, I feel the intensity of Ken’s glare.
“Didn’t ask for an apple,” he yells over the noise, before skating off to outmaneuver the Minnesota Wild’s winger closing in on him. I catch Luke’s eye, our other winger, and we both dart to flank Ken, covering him as he attempts to fake out the opposing wingers. Suddenly, the Wild’s center cuts in front of Ken, snatches the puck, and fires a one-timer at Nelson, our goalie. Nelson snags it just in time, drawing groans from the crowd.
“Can’t believe this,” Ken mutters, returning to us, a line of blood trailing from his split lip—a souvenir from a clash with the Wild’s center. “Last season, that guy was a nobody, and now look at him.”
Nelson flashes a grin, shaking off the close call. “Just gotta hold them off for the next fifteen minutes, and we’ve got this game in the bag.”
With a nod, we’re back in formation, the adrenaline pumping, determined to keep our lead intact.
“Guess they didn’t get the memo that this was supposed to be a friendly game,” Ken says, scowling at the center as he skates back into position.
“Or they don’t want to lose their first game of the year. Remember, Blake? How you almost broke the Red Hawk winger’s collarbone?”
I grin. “Yeah, that was almost fun.” When we exchange memories during a lull, it makes it easier to forget that there are thousands of people roaring at us and we’re playing an intense game.
The conversation stops. Luke and Ken exchange a look. I glance from face to face, confused.
“What now?”
“You look . . . er . . . happy,” Ken says, exchanging another cautious glance with Luke.
Great. Not this again.
Luke has a stupid little smile at the corner of his lips. “Well, we all know why . . .”
“Doesn’t look like the Minnesota Wilds are going to make it back before the game ends.” A commentator’s voice booms out on the speakers overhead, cutting us short. “The Philly Titans have owned this game from the beginning.”
We all get back in position as the referee drops the puck on the center line. Ken dives for it as the other center swoops in too. I come in second, poised for offense.
“Looks like White is in fit fighting form.”
“He would be,” says another, and I can almost detect the smirk in his voice. “You know, since . . .”
“A good personal life does make a difference in one’s career.”
A wild cheer goes up then. Since Ken and the other center haven’t made much progress, I know it’s got nothing to do with the game.
I glance at the video board, even though I don’t necessarily need to. Only one thing would cause that kind of exuberant shouting in the middle of a game.
One thing . . . or person.
Faye Strummer is sitting in one of the boxes overhead. She gives a little wave to the camera once the spotlight is on her, but her eyes are glued to the game . . . and me.
Even now, I feel a slight twitch in my pants, along with a greater dose of impatience, willing the match to end.
Just before the game, she came to my place and I fucked her, mere hours before we started to play. And now, my body is already brimming with excitement at the prospect of having her again.
Ken dodges the opposing center and heads straight for the net. Barely two seconds later, he’s checked hard by the left wing. The puck is cleared to the other end of the ice while Ken, knocked down to the ice, struggles to regain his footing. The referee immediately blows his whistle, signaling a penalty. The crowd lets out a collective groan.
“Can’t the time go any faster?” Luke spits through gritted teeth as we skate across to help Ken.
I glance at the timer. We have only six minutes left. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the Wild’s players, they’re still very much trying to win.
“I’m going to kill him.” Ken spits out a mouthful of blood and jerks himself free of our grasp. “Can’t believe the referee isn’t even going to call a foul.”
Our coach is leaning over the boards, arguing hotly with the referee. The man looks like he’s not budging. I skate back to position, already slightly bored. What I wouldn’t give for the time to run down so the game can finally end . . .
So the game can finally end and I can hold Faye in my arms again.
Discomfort rears its ugly head in my stomach. I look over at Ken and Luke, who are still both fuming. Our coach seems to be blind with rage. In fact, I’m the only person on the Philly Titans team who isn’t fuming.
Are the guys right? Have I changed all that much?
I clench my hands tighter around my hockey stick. I don’t even need to wonder what’s changed about me. The whole world knows it.
Other incidents start popping into my head. Like the fact that I seem to be completely immune to the guys’ teasing. I’ve barely even noticed it.
More than that, when Kevin suggested Faye come to the game, arguing, “If her father really starts telling people your relationship is a fake one, we need to have as much public evidence as we can to combat it,” I’d okayed the plan without thinking. I’ve always been the guy who thought it was cringey to invite your girlfriend to watch a game just so the cameras could get the after-game kiss. And yet, here I am.
I’m changing. And I can’t even bring myself to care.
The referee blows the whistle again, and my coaches return to the box, their faces bright with anger. Ken and Luke look even more tense as we start to play again. My sense of boredom increases. There’s just four minutes left, but it feels like it could be hours.
Without even meaning to, I glance up again at Faye. She’s still visible from her seat in the box, but I notice that she’s no longer looking down at the ice.
She’s got her attention focused on a man sitting beside her. I squint, my head already starting to pound. He looks vaguely familiar.
Ken and the Wild’s center crash against each other as they reach for the puck, but I can’t look away from the man with Faye. His soppy little smile, his weak chin . . .
My gut tenses. Weak Chin. Of course.
“If you don’t start focusing, White, I’m going to bench you!”
I start. Coach is screaming down at me. I’ve been completely stationary for five seconds, while the centers are basically in a headlock.
Blood rushes to my ears. A mix of mortification, shame, and pure unchecked rage is always a good combination on the ice.
Barely thinking, I rush toward the center. He’s burly, about fifty pounds heavier than me and an inch taller. He’s about to throw Ken to the ice again when I thrust a fist between their bodies and disengage them. He turns his attention to me, his face brick red.
My ears are still ringing. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I’ve nothing to lose. There’s less than three minutes on the clock, and this beefy bully poses no threat to me in the slightest.
And yet, when I stare back at him, all I can think of is Weak Chin. The fucking asshole talking to my girl.
I arch my shoulders and drive myself toward him, headfirst. He comes at me with similar intensity. In a second, however, he’s ricocheting off my shoulders and spinning away. Ken lets out a victorious whoop, but I feel nothing for hurting him. Hell, I’m half tempted to go over to him and punch him until he’s unconscious.
Not him, anyway. Someone.
I’m tempted to look up at the box once more when Ken yells, “The puck! You’ve got the puck!”
The Wild’s wingers close in on me, swift and aggressive. Frustration overriding finesse, I lash out, sending the puck flying toward the goal with all my might. It slips between an opponent’s legs, zeroing in on the target. The goalie lunges in a desperate attempt to intercept but falls short. As the puck settles in the net, the buzzer sounds, sealing the moment.
The crowd erupts in their largest cheer yet. The commentator is screaming, “And with the one-timer of the decade, White closes the game! Folks will be talking about this for years.”
My teammates crash into me, yelling loudly with jubilation. All along, there’s a dull ringing in my ears and my face feels hard with tension.
Why is Weak Chin at my game? Why the hell is he talking to Faye?
And why is she giving him the time of the day?
I push past my teammates a second later, already done with the celebration. Coach is bearing down on the ice, but I look around for Faye. She’s no longer in the box. Instead, she’s down in the stands, surrounded by her bodyguards and just out of reach of the yelling fans. She hurries over to the boards, still being guarded by her human boulders. I skate the distance between us.
“You were amazing!” she screeches, pushing past one of her bodyguards and launching herself into my arms without warning. I catch her, her weight causing me to move back a few inches.
Pulling off my helmet, she brings her lips to mine. I automatically kiss her, my annoyance leaving me in droves. A cheer goes around the stadium, and I’m aware that a dozen cameras are pointing at us. My teammates are probably looking at us and laughing their asses off.
But once more, I can’t bring myself to care. Not when she’s in my arms. I can’t even bring myself to be pissed about Weak Chin being anywhere around us. Doesn’t even matter if I get jeered to death back in the changing rooms.
Doesn’t even matter if she’s just doing this for the cameras.
“Faye.”
Even through the clamoring fans and the cheers, I hear his voice. A chill grows in my soul as I pull my lips away from hers and look around.
Of course, it’s him. He’s even more pathetic than I remember, straw-colored hair stuck up oddly in places, and his face a touch green.
“Faye,” he repeats. He’s standing just out of reach of her bodyguards, staring at her with a pallid expression. “We have a few things to talk about still.”
Faye turns around too. She has an almost irritated look as she nudges me to put her down. I set her gently on the ice, and she walks across to the boards, as close to him as she can get.
“Ben, I told you, we have nothing more to say to each other.”
A modicum of relief bursts through the chill I’m feeling. For a second there, I convinced myself that Faye invited him. But it couldn’t be clearer that she wants him as far away from her as he can get.
“I just needed to?—”
I step between them, gripping Faye’s arm and pulling her back to me.
“Leave. Now.” My ears are ringing, blocking off the noise the crowd is making.
Ben looks at me. There’s a glint of fear in his eyes, but there’s an even greater pool of defiance there.
“You’re not going to stop me from talking to my fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé,” Faye corrects quickly. “And Ben, please. People are staring.”
She’s right. Half the people in the stadium have their eyes trained on us, and the noise has reduced substantially. Most of them have also pulled their phones out.
After today, there’s going to be a million posts on X talking about this. But I’ll worry about that later.
“Leave,” I growl. He looks even worse as I move closer. “Before I’m forced to throw you across this ice and get banned from playing this season. Something tells me your face wouldn’t look good with a broken nose.”
Ben gulps. He looks around, almost like he’s hoping someone will intervene and tell me to back off. My teammates are already approaching the scene, but none of them say a word.
Finally, he turns and leaves, his shoulders slumped.
The crowd erupts in a mix of cheers, with some boos thrown in for Ben. Satisfaction spreads through my veins as I look at Faye. She’s grinning at me, but there’s a hint of confusion in her eyes.
I kind of get it. I’m confused, too.
“If you were our lucky charm today, we’ll definitely need you for the next game,” Ken declares. Before Faye has a chance to react with more than a radiant smile, Ken lifts her, balancing her on his shoulders. Faye’s joyous laughter fills the air as the team congregates around in a triumphant, shared celebration. I skate up to them, my feelings a mix of amusement and a slight pang of jealousy, watching the scene unfold.
I’m always going to be suspicious of any man who gets to touch her. I’m just going to have to deal with that.
But Faye seems to be having the time of her life.
Good, I think. Hearing from her father a week ago stressed her badly. If my ridiculous teammates can make up for that, I’ll allow it.
A few minutes later, they set her back down as they start to stream toward the changing rooms. I plant another kiss on her lips.
“My place. Two hours,” I whisper. Faye lets out a sound that’s half-acquiescence, half-desire. My dick hardens as I skate after my teammates.
“Look, X is already going crazy.” Ken passes his phone to me as we walk off the ice.
I look down. The hashtag is BlakeWhiteKnight. The first post reads, “Blake White defending his girl from a loser is everything I didn’t know I needed in this life. Second one reads, “Let’s admit it. We’ve all fantasized about two guys fighting over us. Only Blake White knows how to bring our fantasies into real life.” Another, “Tonight, Faye Strummer is the luckiest woman in the world.”
“You win X for tonight man.” Nelson grins.
“Maybe forever.”
“Shut up.” I brush past them into the changing room, but even I have to admit that everything is different. I don’t feel nearly as much irritation. Hell, even the prospect of being branded as a renowned loverboy doesn’t faze me anymore.
I think of Ben’s pallid face, his trying to get attention from Faye. She has moved on from him, sure. But I’m still a fake boyfriend.
Sooner or later, Faye’s going to fall for someone for real. And I’m going to be back at square one. Only, I’m always going to have that tint to my reputation now.
The hockey player who fell in love with—and got dumped by—Faye Strummer.
And yet, even that chilling thought doesn’t make me reconsider meeting up with her in a couple of hours.
I have changed.
And it might be worse thing than I realize.