Chapter 14 #3
“Can we get a little more enthusiasm?” Hutch pushes on my shoulder. “Three goals in three games, baby! Our old man is rocking it out there!”
I shoot him a grin, and to my surprise, it’s genuine.
I am feeling pretty damn good so far. We might only be three games into the season, but I’ll take it.
I can’t remember the last time I started so hot, and that includes the season I ended up being a Norris Trophy finalist. Now, I just need to keep it going.
It does make me wonder…does it have anything to do with a certain blonde?
My dad is right that she’s a distraction, but maybe that’s a better thing than I realized.
Perhaps it’s what I needed to loosen up.
Who knows. What I do know is that I’m going to keep doing everything I can to continue playing this way and proving to our GM that I’m worthy of being kept around, despite my age.
Keller rams a San Jose player into the boards right in front of me, and I scoot back out of the way just in time to miss a stick to the face.
“Fuck yes, Kells! Way to play hard!” our assistant coach says to him.
He grins up at the guy, then skates off after the player he just hit, probably already looking to do it again. I shake my head at him and focus back in on the game. When I finally get my feet back on the ice again, I’m flying. Feeling so damn good, better than I have in a long time.
I could do this forever , I think to myself.
It happens so fast—one minute the puck is on the ice and the next it’s smashing into my face. I drop in an instant, cradling my cheek.
“Motherfucker! Shit, fuck!” I scream, and I have no doubt the live feeds pick it up with how silent the arena is now.
Skates stop beside me, but I’m too damn focused on the pain radiating through my face to even pay attention to them.
“Fuck, fuck!” I yell, already able to feel the blood dripping down my face.
“Easy, easy,” someone says, coming into view.
Hutch.
“Just stay down,” he says, trying to keep me calm.
Then he’s gone, the head athletic trainer replacing him.
“Talk to me, Whitlocke,” Ray says.
“Hurts. Everywhere.”
“I know, I know, buddy.” He presses a towel to my face to catch the mess I’m making all over the ice. “Can you get up?”
“My legs didn’t get fucking hit, Ray.”
He laughs. “Good to see you’re still a shithead too. Come on, big guy. Let’s go.”
Ray and Hutch help me to my skates, then toward the bench. I hear the crowd clapping and the players tapping their sticks against the boards and ice. I send them a wave to let them know I’m okay.
“Hey, dude, I’m so sorry,” someone says.
I turn to find the San Jose rookie looking awfully pale. What the fuck does he have to be upset about? I’m the one who got pelted in the face.
“Give him some space,” Hutch barks, and the kid drops his head, skating away.
I can’t decide if I’m grateful for my captain for sticking up for me or if I feel bad for the kid. He didn’t do it on purpose. Hockey is a fast-paced game. Shit happens. Then my face throbs again, and all empathy goes out the window. So much for feeling like I’m on top of the world.
I grab Hutch before I go. “Keller.”
He nods in understanding. The last thing we need is our guy to get tangled up with the rookie or another player over this. Keller got in a fight in the last game, too. No reason to start the season with back-to-back-to- back fights, especially when we’re looking at being 3–0–0 to start the season.
I make my way down the tunnel. One stop with Doc later, and I’m out for the rest of the game. It’s what I expected, honestly. I just hope it doesn’t keep me out any longer.
“At least I’ll get the first shower,” I joke.
By the time he’s done checking me out—no concussion worries, thank fuck—and patching me up, the game is nearly over.
I check the TV in the hall to see we’re up 5–0, and the pain in my face seems to subside just a little.
I hit the shower and get out just as the guys come back in, celebrating their win.
“Locke, man, are you okay?” Hayes asks as he enters the room, coming over to pat my shoulder.
I nod. “Good as I can be.”
“Holy shit! You look like hell on toast,” Lawson says, reaching for my face.
“Touch me and die, Lawsy.”
“Fair enough.” He scuttles away, and I don’t think he’s ever been smarter than he is right now.
He’s right, though. I look like some monster right now. There’s a huge gash on my cheek where the puck split it open, and I’m already starting to swell.
“Any games?” Hutch asks, worry in his gaze, and not just for me. He’s looking at the bigger picture, which I’m proud of him for.
I shake my head, wincing when I do. Doc gave me some meds, but they haven’t quite kicked in fully yet. “Not officially, but it’s up to me.”
“So no, then.” He chuckles when I nod. “Figures. Glad you’re okay, man. Gave me a hell of a scare out there.”
“Scared me too.”
Fucking terrified me, actually. I almost lost everything in one moment. That could have been my last game in a flash. I’m glad as hell it’s not.
Coach comes into the room, his eyes falling right to me. “Good?”
“Good.”
He nods, then tells the team they did a good job and not to be late for the bus.
An hour and some change later, we’re in the air, on our way back to Seattle.
I ice my face the whole time we’re on the plane, and I’ve never been so damn thankful for a short flight in my life because the only thing I want to do is go home, crawl into my bed, and sleep.
When we land back in the Evergreen State, my phone buzzes against my leg.
I take it out, and the name on the screen makes my heart race.
Nessa.
I can’t answer it, not here with so many eyes and ears around. So I pocket it, doing my best to ignore it when it starts to go off again. Even when I climb into my car another forty minutes later, I still don’t call her back. I don’t just want to talk. I want to see her.
No, I need to see her.
It’s after two in the morning by the time I pull into the parking garage of my building.
“Come on, come on,” I say as I stand in the elevator, thankful Keller and I decided not to carpool tonight. I have no idea where he is, but I’m glad it’s not here. He’d know exactly why I’m so eager to get upstairs and would likely have a comment about it.
When the doors finally open on my floor, I practically sprint for my door. I punch half the code in before remembering how late it is. Is she even awake still? I know she just called an hour ago, but that was…well, an hour ago. Is she mad I didn’t call her back? Only one way to find out…
I re-enter the code and push the door open, being quiet just in case.
It’s pointless. Nessa is awake all right, and based on the look on her face, she’s not happy.
She stands ten feet away, arms crossed as she glares at me.
She’s in nothing but the t-shirt I gave her the first night she stayed here, and I wonder briefly if she’s been sleeping in it every night I’ve been gone.
But that’s not important right now.
“Hey,” I say after a few tense moments.
One, two, three.
That’s how many seconds pass before she explodes.
“Hey? Hey?!” She throws her hands into the air. “That’s what I get? You get hit in the face with a puck, ignore my calls, and I get Hey ?!”
“Nessa, listen?—”
“No!” she yells, stomping toward me. “ You listen, Gavin. I was worried sick. I saw you crumple to the ice, and you didn’t move, and my heart was in my fucking throat. I couldn’t breathe, watching you lie there. I wanted to crawl through that TV and…and…”
“What?” I ask when she doesn’t continue, taking a step toward her. “What did you want to do, Nessa?”
“Kiss you! I wanted to kiss you!”
Her eyes widen, her words hanging in the air between us.
I take another step forward. Then another.
I don’t stop until we’re nearly touching, mere inches separating us.
Her tongue slides out against her lips, and I track the movement, my breath coming in sharper than it did when I was lying on the ice after being hit.
“You can, Nessa,” I say quietly, dragging my gaze back to hers. “You can kiss me. Any damn time you want.”
And she does.