Chapter 25
NETTIE
Something was changing.
It wasn’t physical, not something you could measure, but she could definitely tell that she was not the same person deep down inside anymore – because the last time she was at the game, it was full of excitement and wonder.
This time it was visceral, deep, thrilling, with a knowledge that was more about the man than the game.
Nettie shifted in her seat, fingers twisting lightly around the strap of her purse as her eyes skimmed over the rink that glowed like glass under the lights. She couldn’t wait to see Tate in his uniform again.
To watch the way Tate skated, effortless, like the ice had been made for him.
To see that confident swagger that rolled off him with every stride, every turn of his blade.
The arrogance that might look cocky to the unknowing eye, but, to her was nothing short of breathtaking—because he could back it up.
Every bit of trash talk, every grin thrown at an opponent and that swagger?
So hot…
Remembering his smiling face, that laughter, that feeling of friendship, while they had made those silly buckeyes he loved so much had been a thing of beauty.
Chocolate smeared on his fingers, that crinkle at the edge of his eyes when he teased her.
Those were the moments she hoarded—the unguarded pieces of him he gave only to her.
The laughter, the warmth, the friendship that had bloomed between them.
Knowing it came from him, was a part of him that only she got to witness, made seeing this shell, this armor, so much more sexy.
“Oh my gosh, this is gonna be so good,” Gina hollered next to her, practically bouncing in her seat as the arena buzzed with restless energy.
Nettie laughed under her breath. It was louder tonight. The crowd didn’t just murmur or cheer; it roared, a living, breathing thing. Kodiaks fans, fierce and sharp, were pouring out their noise like a weapon, trying to rattle the Coyotes before the puck even dropped.
If that was their plan, she thought with a small smirk, then they didn’t know Tate.
And tonight wasn’t just another night.
Her chest swelled with pride at the thought—Tate was wearing the Captain’s crest. Just for tonight, just for this game. He had mentioned to his family that they were going to need to watch the game, but he hadn’t told anyone else about the temporary boost.
Just her.
The knowledge pressed warm and sweet into her heart. He trusted her with it. Wanted her to be the one to know first. It made her feel so good deep down inside to know he was sharing these private moments with her, singling her out, and making her feel special.
Tonight, she was wearing his number again – but not Gina’s borrowed shirt, but her own.
She bought Tate’s jersey, added a few sequins to a ‘C’ she stitched on there, and crocheted a simple ‘cozy’ to wear around her head that would keep her hair from her face – and keep her ears warm.
It had snagged at her mind when she saw the deep gray strands of yarn in her hand, and then looked at the beautiful pink that he’d given her.
She made the cozy, crocheted a little pink and green flower on there and began something special for herself.
She was making a pineapple-pattern cardigan with almost a lacy imagery between the elements.
The soft yarn would look so beautiful, so airy, that she could wear it over anything to make her feel feminine.
And she wanted to wear it around Tate as a thank you for the gift.
She wanted to see his eyes darken, to see that flare of longing in his gaze, to memorize the way his lips would part when he wanted something, someone…
and she swallowed at the thought that rushed to the forefront of her mind.
“Here they come,” Gina screamed in excitement, slapping her on the arm in her enthusiasm as the lights darkened in the arena, fog filled the ice, and the green and white lights danced wildly, almost in a frantic pattern that matched the music, which got infinitely louder.
Yes – here they come, she thought silently, watching.
The announcer’s voice boomed, echoing across the rafters:
Welcome to the North Texas Coyotes Arena – and tonight, our golden boys are up against the Great White North, the rugged, the nasty, the wildest boys on the ice… the Kodiaks! Three-time Stanley Cup champions that are led by Coach Raymond Phillips…
And Nettie hesitated as the crowd suddenly booed that comment.
She and Gina exchanged a glance at the hostility as several men in white, blue, and gray colors seemed to flow out onto the ice with a vengeance, like they had a chip on their shoulders or needed to show up with an attitude that screamed, ‘You’re gonna lose tonight’…
They skated around, held up their hands, and one even spat on the Coyote insignia frozen under the ice, creating a wild fervor of angry boos once again.
Tonight’s starting team for the Kodiaks is number eight – Gage Devereux, number sixty-seven Colton Starr, number forty-two, Perry Jefferies, number twenty-two, Jacob Ashwood…
The announcer’s voice droned on and on, and then it was their time, their moment, and you could feel the adrenaline pumping into the arena as the fans went wild.
Presenting tonight’s starting lineup for the North Texas Coyotes: number twenty-three, Goalie Justin Aldonard, number eighty, Travis Giroux, number eighteen, Dominic Lansing…
The voice went on and on for a few more moments – and Nettie held her breath, knowing the Tate’s moment was here.
And tonight’s captain for the Coyotes, number seventy…
“What?” Gina exclaimed in excitement, turning to look at her, but Nettie was focused on the ice, on her man, her Tate, her everything…
Tate Cassidy…
Gina shrieked, jumping up and down, her hands waving over her head – as Nettie stood there, drinking in Tate’s appearance.
He skated forward, face turned upward as if he was drinking in this moment, absorbing it like the sunshine, and then he turned slightly, his eyes racing across the crowd and met hers.
And he pointed.
Tate held up his hockey stick – and pointed at her.
Nettie’s heart was pounding. Her soul was screaming. Every nerve within her was pinging in exhilaration. She might look as cool as Tate did in that moment, but the rush she felt was staggering.
He was singling her out in the crowd like a knight searching for his lady for a token before a joust, acknowledging her. Nettie lifted her hand to her lips and blew him a kiss – and to her shock, he reached up, snatched the air, and pressed it against his chest where the ‘C’ was.
The crowd lost it.
The very air around her was rattling with noise as a slow smile spread across her lips – and Tate winked at her before skating off to get to work. The music, the people, Gina, her heart, everything was roaring with an intensity that was staggering.
That man, that player, was slowly transforming into more than a friend – and she darn well knew it. Holding back this feeling, those sensations, that knowledge would be like trying to hold back a wildfire with an empty squirt gun.
Maybe they were going to have to redefine what ‘friendship’ was, she thought, watching as the players lined up and waited.
She waited with bated breath. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage. This was Tate’s moment to shine, and she hoped they cleaned up the Kodiaks for his sake.
“Let’s gooooo!” Gina screamed wildly – saying everything that she felt in her heart and soul.
The puck dropped.
The game was brutal. It was carnage dressed up in helmets and padding.
Every crack of a stick, every thunderous slam of body against body, echoed in her chest. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was violence, sharp and resonant, like a drumbeat of chaos pounding through the arena.
The smell of cold air, sweat, and metal hung around them, making her pulse race faster with every clash.
Her stomach turned when she saw the first streak of crimson slash across the ice. Blood. It gleamed shockingly bright against the whiteness, an ugly reminder that this wasn’t just a game—it was a battlefield.
Nettie flinched and pressed a hand over her mouth.
She didn’t like gory things. She couldn’t even watch horror movies without peeking through her fingers, and here she was, watching the man she was falling for fight in a world that seemed so barbaric.
She saw sprays of blood from the full-contact sport on the ice, saw screaming matches that would make anyone blush as their voices carried over the ice, one player shoved another into the boards - hard…
A Kodiak player slammed Theo Batiste into the boards with such force while he kicked at him, causing Batiste to hit the boards and then collapse onto the ice. Nettie winced, the sharp crack of his helmet’s impact ringing louder than the whistle.
They had a player down.
Aimee, his wife, gasped in fear nearby.
Before Nettie even processed the hit, she saw Tate’s expression transform. Rage lit his face like fire catching dry kindling. The man she knew—calm, collected, a little distant—disappeared. In his place was something raw, furious, and terrifyingly protective.
He launched himself at the offending player.
It was a blur of dark green and gray as the Coyotes swarmed, forming a protective wall around the chaos at the center of the rink.
From the stands, it looked like a storm of muscle and fury, an impenetrable shield for their teammate while Tate ‘handled’ the Kodiak player beneath a wall of green and grey jerseys, cheering him on in obvious approval.
The Kodiaks were trying to start more fights on the ice, but none of the Coyotes were willing to engage. They were protecting Tate and giving Batiste a chance to get to his feet from such a hard hit.