Chapter 6
AVAH
I don’t have a lot of games left to watch if I don’t come up with a plan soon.
Today, I followed two leads of potential jobs with different companies, but both of them told me the same thing Vivienne did: They’re not looking to add international editors with how everything is going in the traditional publishing world.
But I’m not giving up hope. I still have some time left and I plan on using every single minute to figure out a way for me to stay in New York.
“Sooo,” Hannah says, taking a seat next to me and handing me my mocktail. “Last night’s dinner ended weirdly, right? I didn’t just imagine it?”
We’re seated in the VIP section at Madison Square Garden. They’ve reserved a permanent section for the team’s wives, girlfriends, friends, and family. It’s much more comfortable and private than having to sit in different sections during away games.
“No weirder than usual,” I say, taking a sip of the mint and lemon ice slush. “It was typical Declan fashion to make a scene.”
The words feel flat and untrue, even to my own ears. I haven’t known Declan for longer than a year, not personally anyway. I’ve always seen him as the crazy skilled defenseman from Boston and when I met him, confidence and charm was added to his persona.
I grew up with hockey, so of course I knew who he was.
I watched his games when he played for the Bruins when he first got drafted.
He was a first round pick, a defenseman you couldn’t ignore.
Smooth, sharp, impossible to shake on the ice.
He’s always been the kind of player even non-hockey fans take notice of.
But last night at dinner, he was a different person. Someone who seemed hurt, or trapped. Desperate for…something.
The intro music starts, the beat pulsing through the Garden as the team takes to the ice. I spot Declan as he skates out of the tunnel, his shoulders seem stiff, his posture tight. It’s subtle, but not to someone who’s used to watching him.
He’s off.
“You okay?” Hannah asks, bumping my arm gently. “Have you had a chance to talk to EJ yet about your visa?”
I shake my head, keeping an eye on Declan as he takes his place for the puckdrop.
The buzzer sounds and the game against the Minnesota Wild starts.
They have a great team this year, and a great goalie, but the Rangers have a killer first line.
Add in Declan’s defense ability…they should easily win tonight.
“No, not yet,” I say, watching Declan skate backwards, meeting the Wild’s center stride for stride. He swipes his stick just in time, stopping a puck that would’ve gotten by Nikolai and proving my point.
“I’m determined to get a job in the next two weeks. I refuse to accept that I have to go back to Sweden, Hannah.” I take a sip of my mocktail, not taking my eyes off the ice. “There’s nothing left for me there.”
“Would it really be the worst thing in the world to face Axel after everything?” Hannah asks, her voice filled with careful consideration. “I mean, it’s been a year so your heart has had some time to heal. Eventually you will have to move past this, so why not start now?”
Her words sink in, but I don’t want to hear them. I know she’s speaking nothing but the truth, I’m not an idiot.
I’m just not ready.
Everytime I think about the last time I saw him…it doesn’t feel like my heart has healed. It’s still raw and real, it’s still humiliating and painful.
Keeping my eyes trained on Declan instead, I wonder what has him off tonight.
He throws his shoulder into a check that’s a fraction too late, boarding the guy harder than necessary. It’s not too reckless…but in some games it would be picked up.
Could it be the conversation around the dinner table last night?
He seemed genuinely bothered that everyone around him had picture perfect families, or marriage stories, and he doesn’t.
I thought it would be something he’d welcome, instead it looked like it was hard for him to accept.
I’ve never seen him react that way before.
His default is usually charming defense, which fits him on and off the ice, but that’s not who I saw last night.
And if that’s true, that means that maybe I misjudged him.
Perhaps I not only took my anger out on him, but I lumped him into the same category as Axel, because it was very convenient. Convenient to me but not necessarily fair to Declan.
A laugh from behind me draws my attention. Melissa is standing at the bar, Declan’s number 23 splayed across her back as she leans against the counter with her cellphone held high. She’s taking selfies with two girlfriends she brought along.
I scoff. “She’s not even watching him,” I mutter before turning back to the game, just in time to see Declan getting into a shoving match with the Wild’s goalie.
The whistle blows and Declan gets his first penalty for interference. He knows better than going after the goalie. On his way to the penalty box, he swings his stick against the boards, snapping it in half before tossing it onto the ice.
Please, God. I don’t know if Declan even knows you, but I know You know him. Help him through this. He needs You.
After the silent prayer to God, I’m left stunned in my seat. I have no idea where that came from. I’ve never felt the need to pray for Declan…ever. That fact alone has a frown forming between my eyes.
Why haven’t I ever prayed about Declan?
Sure, I’ve prayed about my judgmental tendencies, about God helping me to guard my mouth and words…but I’ve never specifically prayed for Declan Murphy.
And looking down at where he’s sitting in the penalty box, clearly agitated as he squirts water in his mouth, I can’t believe I’ve never offered a prayer for him.
“He’s not doing so good out there.” The words come out loud instead of staying put inside my mind.
Hannah doesn’t respond immediately, but I can feel her intent gaze on me.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says carefully, “but do you think that maybe a part of the reason why you don’t want to leave has got something to do with a certain defenseman down there?”
I almost choke on my drink. My gaze darts between her and the man in the penalty box.
“Are you being serious?” I ask, my voice sounding a bit too high. I shake my head. “I would never make a decision like this based on that man down there.”
She holds her hands up in mock surrender, turning back to the rink with a small smile on her face.
“Fine, just an observation. You’re really invested in his game.”
“I’m invested in the game, Hannah. In the Rangers’ game.” I turn to the ice, watching the team in blue, red and white fight for a win against Minnesota. “I love hockey. My brother has played all his life…I’m a hockey girl. That’s all this is. It’s not about him.”
I’ve always been drawn to Declan’s game. Anyone who knows and appreciates hockey would be. That doesn’t mean I’m drawn to him, right? It’s not the same thing.
“And the girls?” Hannah asks, this time a bit more cautious. “You didn’t really like Megan—”
“Neither did you,” I remind her just thinking about the blonde who really only cared about what she could get from being associated with Declan.
“True,” she says. “I tried, though. And now with Melissa…”
The words feel a bit safer coming from a friend. It causes me to take a second and think about why I’m this offended by Declan and his girlfriends. I never wanted to get to know them or invite them into the WAG group, but that’s because I knew they weren’t here to stay.
“Maybe it’s because his behavior reminds me of Axel. I told you, I don’t like it when people take relationships lightly. And that’s what Declan does. He’s a decent player…but as a man he needs a little help.”
“We all need a little help,” Hannah says, shrugging.
I don’t have an answer to give. She’s not wrong. But I’m not in the mood to unpack the emotional baggage I’ve been dragging around, and apparently tacking onto the people around me.
Declan is back on the ice, and this time he seems a bit more edgy. I hope he doesn’t lose it in this game the same way he did last game. He needs to keep focus. They need him to stay in control.
A shift change blurs by and suddenly Lindgren is charging down the ice, chasing the puck into the corner. But before he can dig it out, a Minnesota defenseman barrels into him…hard. He crashes into the boards with enough force that the plexiglass wobbles.
“That was a clear penalty, right there,” I say, pointing toward the hit. “That was from behind! How could they miss that?”
Hannah leans forward, her eyes following the game on the ice. “Lindgren looks fine at least. He’s up and okay.”
“That’s not the point,” I snap, too loudly.
It doesn’t matter that Lindgren is fine. What matters is that a penalty just went unchecked, when they were keen to hand one out to Declan within the first five minutes of the game.
My gaze finds him easily, number 23, hovering at the blue line. His shoulders are hunched, his stick clutched too tightly. He saw the hit. Every muscle in his body is coiled like a spring.
“Oh no,” I say, shifting forward in my seat. My stomach twists. “Declan don’t…” I mutter quietly, knowing he can’t hear me but hoping that he does anyway.
Declan launches across the ice like a missile. He zeroes in on the defenseman who hit Lindgren, using the fact that the guy has the puck as a thin excuse. The crowd roars, but I don’t hear it properly. It’s all adrenaline now, panic burning in my chest as I inch closer to the edge of my seat.
The hit isn’t a simple check…Declan Murphy demolishes the Minnesota defenseman.
My hands fly to my mouth, and I’m on my feet. Gasps ripple through the crowd and then silence. The defenseman is down, unmoving on the ice.
The whistle shrieks through the arena and a ref skates toward Declan, his arm raised. There’s no hesitation or debate. The penalty box won’t cut it this time.
“Five-minute major penalty. Game misconduct.”
Declan doesn’t even argue. He skates toward the tunnel, chin down, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched so tightly, I can see it from here. The boos and the cheers blur together, but he doesn’t react to any of it.
Overhead, the jumbotron replays the hit, again and again. They show the hit from every possible angle…and I wish it would stop. No matter how you look at it, it’s bad.
In slow-motion, it’s clear how high Declan came up on the hit. How his shoulder clips the defenseman’s head. You can see the moment of impact, the way the other player crumples to the ice…not moving.
“What happens now?” Hannah asks, her voice quiet and unsure.
We watch as the Wild’s players help their teammate off the ice where he’ll definitely receive medical attention after a hit to the head like that.
“They’ll review it,” I murmur, knowing the outcome for Declan will be bad. “They’ll decide on a fine. Most likely a suspension with how hard that hit was.”
I turn to look behind me, toward where Melissa is sitting with her friends. She’s just now realizing something is going on. There’s a frown on her face, but not one filled with fear or worry. It borders a bit on annoyance or indifference.
It shouldn’t bother me.
He picked her to be by his side this season…I have no idea why.
She’s only watching now because she heard his name coming from the announcers. She didn’t see the way he started this game, and how he spiraled from the moment he set foot on the ice. She doesn’t see how close to the edge he’s been skating.
For some reason, I’ve noticed.
And I hate that I did.