Chapter 29 #2
The game gets more scrappy as time goes on.
From a skill and experience point of view, Dad’s team should be on top by miles, but the Mavericks have the home advantage, and they’re also young and hungry.
When the second intermission arrives it’s almost a relief, because the sin bin keeps getting filled up thanks to stupid fights that break out across the ice.
Dad and Eli both look grim as they lead their teams into the tunnel.
The Mavericks are winning three goals to two, and everybody around me is beaming. I head down to grab my usual hotdog, too superstitious not to. And as I bite down, mustard and ketchup oozing all over my lips, I see my beautiful, glamorous sister walking toward me.
“Oh hey,” I say, trying to swallow down the oversize mouthful I’ve bitten off. Then I dab my mouth with the white napkin the vendor gave me, though I’m sure I’m just smearing red and yellow around my face.
“Hi.” She smiles at me. “Still loving those hotdogs, huh?”
“Best part of the game.” I lift a brow and take in her black dress. It’s skater style, clinging to all her perfect curves. “You look great.”
“Thank you. So do you.” She lifts a brow at my jersey. “No hiding which team you’re supporting.”
I shrug. “I saw you cheering them, too.”
“Yep. I’m on team anybody but Danny.”
“I saw him say something to you.” I’m curious now. Especially when she frowns. “What was it?”
“Oh he’s a delight.” She sighs. “He told me that my vagina was as wizened as my neck.”
“He said the word wizened?” I ask her.
She grins. “No, he’s not smart enough for that. I think he said arid. Or dry. I’m not sure.”
“You’re looking remarkably cool,” I say, because she really is. “Mom said you were vengeful.”
“I’m not vengeful,” she tells me, grabbing my dog and taking a bite. It’s weird but I like that. I like that we’re sisters again. That she doesn’t think to ask.
I also like that she’s got mustard on the tip of her nose.
“Good.” I check my watch. There’s only a few minutes left in the intermission. “Are you going back to Gramps’ house with Mom and Dad after the game?” I ask her.
“Yeah. But I have to catch a flight to L.A. first thing. I thought I’d stay there tonight so I went and picked my things up from your place earlier.” She looks almost sad about that.
“That’s fine.” I nod.
“Good.” She nods, too. And for a moment we say nothing.
“I’m going to miss you…”
“It’s been so nice to see you…”
We both talk at once, then start laughing. She wrinkles her nose – still with the mustard on it – and I grin back at her.
Through the crowd I can see the Zamboni drive off the ice, and everybody starts to cheer again.
“I should head upstairs,” I say. Isabella nods, and then she leans forward and hugs me, pressing her lips against my cheek.
It’s only when I’m sitting next to Brian again, and he starts pointing at my cheek that I realize she rubbed mustard all over it.
Dammit.
ELI
“Everybody needs to keep their cool,” I say, my voice a low warning as the game is about to restart after a commercial break.
“Yeah, well if that asshole would stop trying to fight me, everything would be fine,” Carter grumbles.
“Shut up,” Goran hisses. “The kids are listening.”
We arranged for the students we’ve been coaching all year to be here watching. They’re sitting next to the tunnel, and when Goran waves at them they wave excitedly back.
I know exactly who Carter’s moaning about. Hart has decided to be asshole-in-chief for the All Stars. Every time any of my team goes up against him he tries to start a scrap.
Each time he does, he looks over at me. I’ve been sitting on the bench for most of the game. I think that’s what’s annoyed him the most. He can’t get to me, so he’s getting to my boys instead.
So this time I’m calling his bluff. I’m going to play whenever he does. Bring it on.
And he does. Literally. As soon as I have the puck he makes a beeline for me, cross checking me with his stick, earning him a two minute stint in the sin bin.
When he’s back on the ice, he’s really pissed. Greg skates over and grabs his shoulders, whispering something I can’t hear. Hart nods, but then he looks over at me, his eyes narrowed.
I smile sweetly back at him.
Carter scores again, putting us ahead by two, and I’m grinning like a loon when I look up at the staff box. I can’t see my girl, but I know she’s there, wearing my shirt like she promised.
And I know she’s looking right down at me. That makes everything better. It also makes me distracted, and Hart takes advantage of it, skating behind me and jabbing his stick against my legs.
Of course I fall onto the ice, air escaping my lungs in a rush.
Luckily, my knee is fine and I’m straight back up, but I taste blood in my mouth.
My tooth must have pierced the inside of my bottom lip as I fell.
There’s a small spot of blood on the ice which means I have to head for the bench to get my mouth cleaned.
Simons jumps onto the ice to replace me as I skid into the break in the boards and make my way to the bench.
“You’re bleeding.” It takes me a moment to realize it’s Isabella talking. She’s sitting with her family and Wayne on the bench next to the team. Or at least she was. Now she’s standing, leaning over, holding something out to me. A tissue.
I take it and rub my mouth because there’s seriously hardly any blood and I want to keep on playing. She smiles and shakes her head. “Come here,” she says. So I lean forward and she grabs another tissue, wiping the corner of my lip, her fingers curled around my arm to steady herself.
“No fucking way.” Hart frowns, watching us. “You two?”
Isabella smiles then pulls me closer. Before I can say anything her mouth is on mine, kissing me like I’m the oxygen she needs. It’s only when I hear the huge roar of the crowd that I realize we’re on the big screen.
And everybody is watching.
I wrench away from her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy looking over my shoulder.
“He’s much better than you in bed, too,” she shouts at Hart. “He actually knows how to make a girl feel good.”
“What the hell?” I frown. Is this really happening? People are on their feet, shouting and jeering. Phones are being held up, recording our every move. My heart hammers against my fucking chest because this is Mackenzie’s sister.
The one she’s only just forgiven. The one who broke her heart.
I want to shake some sense into Isabella but she doesn’t even know what she’s done. She doesn’t know about me and Mackenzie.
I’m just some guy she’s using to rile up Hart.
“You’re good to go,” the medic tells me, not that he did much for me anyway. And I’m still reeling, putting my helmet back on as I ready myself to get back on the ice.
“Are you and her a thing now?” Simons asks as he skates toward the bench, allowing me to replace him.
“No.” I shake my head as I vault onto the ice. I look up at the staff box but I can’t see Mac. Can’t see anybody. There are too many people, there’s too much noise.
“I need to get out of here,” I tell him, yelling above the cheers. I need to see her, explain. I can’t believe it was on the damn screen. Before I can say anything else I get body slammed by Hart. I don’t fall down this time, but I’m fucking winded and annoyed and about to erupt.
“Enjoy my leftovers, fuckface,” he tells me. “And by the way, her sister was much better.”
Blood rushes through my ears, almost matching the roar of the crowd.
And then I realize. He’s the guy. The one who broke the two of them apart. The one who abandoned Mac when she went viral.
Danny Hart.
I’m a fucking idiot. If I hadn’t been so distracted by the game I would have realized earlier. No wonder he and Isabella were fighting it out.
He’s the one that tore the family apart. And now my girl, the woman I fucking love, had to see this happen again. Watch her sister kiss her boyfriend.
Red mist descends. I throw my gloves to the ice and he does the same, before I launch myself at him. “Fuck you, asshole,” I tell him, grabbing his chin because he needs to hear what I have to say.
In the part of my brain that’s still working I hazily register that play has stopped. The referees are surrounding us, monitoring the fight.
Hart grabs my jersey, pulling me toward him and I push him hard. His face is screwed up and angry, but I’m angrier. I’m fucking furious at him. He hurt Mac. He hurt me. I’m so ready for this game to be over.
And then he spits in my face. I feel it hit my cheek and it makes me want to heave. Through the ringing in my ears I hear the screaming crowd.
They think I’m defending Isabella. Damn. This needs to be finished.
This time I mean business. I push him until he’s down and I’m on top of him, my fist back and ready for impact. But then a hand grabs my arm. Two referees pull me backward, putting five feet of air between me and the asshole who hurt my girl.
“I’m stopping,” I mutter. “Let me go.”
So they do and I wipe the spittle from my cheek and slowly heave myself up, skating backward as Hart does the same.
I don’t need to look at the referee to know what I need to do next.
I’m heading to the penalty box. Even worse, we’ll be a man down because I instigated the damn fight.
This time I can’t even look up at the box to see if Mac is there.
Or at the team because the kids I’ve been working with all year have watched me lose it on the ice.
I’m completely ashamed. But also annoyed. I should have punched that asshole.
My ass hits the bench as the referee whistles and the game plays on.