Chapter 21 #2
Coach drops the puck at center ice, Lucas faces off against the second line center. It’s clean for the first few minutes. Everyone is doing their job, playing sharp and clean. It might just be me and Boqvist, but there’s a hum across the ice between the two of us.
Axel gets the puck, playing it up the boards and I angle toward him. He sees me coming and lowers his shoulder.
I lower mine in response, and in two seconds we collide. Hard. The boards shake and the puck ricochets free.
“Careful, Murphy,” he says. “You don’t want to get suspended again.”
His words hit like a puck to the ribs. My fingers tighten around my stick, the urge to ram him into the boards and break his nose drumming through me.
“Easy!” Coach shouts, and I swallow the heat rising in my throat.
Axel recovers and tries to push past me by faking to the inside. I read his play before he can properly execute it, stealing the puck clean. I send it up the ice and skate past him, clipping his shoulder. Not dirty. Just enough to remind him who owns the spot.
Coach’s whistle blows again. “Good battle. That’s how it’s done, Murphy.”
Axel’s breathing hard. “At least you’re more than just your fists,” he says with a nod.
“Don’t forget it,” I shoot back.
He smirks and skates off. I breathe out heavily, my pulse still pounding. This is how I control the situation. I can feel the need to act all the way through the game, but there will be no reacting to bait.
It might’ve been Avah’s words, or knowing that she expects more of me…but I kept control. I’ll continue to do so, because I earned this spot with my skill and hard work, and I’ll keep it the same way.
* * *
The hallway outside the locker room hums with familiar pre-game energy.
Reporters are gathered at the far end, waiting for us to reach the tunnel to step onto the ice against the New Jersey Devils.
A few staffers are getting gear ready as the bass from the speakers in the arena above reaches us down here.
“Do you feel ready?” Lindgren asks, his grin filled with excitement as he grabs his gloves from the staffer. “I know it’s only been two weeks, but somehow it felt longer. And it sucks to not live with you anymore.”
Not living with Lindgren hasn’t been hard at all. It’s not that I don’t like the guy…we had fun. But living with Avah is better on all fronts.
I smack him on the back, hard. “You’ll get over it, Barney.”
“Guess you wouldn't miss me, especially since you get to go home to her,” he says gesturing behind me.
I turn to see Avah coming toward me. Her hair is in a long braid, tossed over her shoulder, her blue eyes sparking with excitement as her gaze lands on me.
She’s wearing tight jeans and heels, and of course a Rangers jersey.
Hannah is right next to her, her smile widening as she peels off toward Lucas.
“Since when are women allowed back here?” I ask, watching Avah draw near, warmth spreading in my chest.
Lindgren shakes his head, muttering something about Disney, before heading off toward the tunnel.
She lifts her left hand, wiggling her fingers, her diamond ring glinting in the overhead lights. “I have a VIP pass.”
I narrow my gaze at her…wondering. She’s always worn EJ’s number, never missing her brother’s games and supporting him at home and away. She’s been a constant with the Rangers for the past year.
But that was before…
“Turn around for a sec?” I ask.
“Why?” she asks, lifting her brows with suspicion.
I shrug. “Humor me.”
She spins around slowly. There, stretched across her shoulders, is my name across her back, the number 23 bold in blue against white. Seeing the number makes me think of Psalm 23…the first line popping up in my mind for some reason.
The Lord is my Shephard. I lack nothing.
Maybe it’s because the pastor preached on it last week, or maybe it’s because it’s her.
For a second, I’m caught off-guard, but then it settles. It fits.
She faces me again, frowning. “What are you looking for?” she asks. “Is something wrong?”
My chest swells and for a moment I can’t believe this is happening. The woman who’s always given me a hard time, the one who said that she would never hate herself enough to waste a minute on me, is now wearing my jersey.
“I’m just checking to see if there are any pigs flying around,” I say, unable to keep a giant smile from spreading on my face.
“What—”
“Cause you’re wearing my jersey, Snowflake.” I can’t deny the fact that I absolutely love seeing my name and number on her. I can’t believe I’ve spent all this time handing out my jersey to other women…whoever wanted it, they could have it.
When Avah was clearly made to wear it.
She tries to jam her tiny fist in my stomach and I flex on instinct.
“All steel, Snow.” I smirk. “Your tiny fist ain’t making a dent.”
“You have a problem with your ego,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I aim to please,” I tell her. Glancing over her shoulders, there are a few reporters at the end of the hallway, their cameras now shifting toward us. “They’re watching us.”
“That’s their job,” she says with a teasing smile. “You should be doing yours and try to keep the puck from going right past you. You can even try to score a goal.”
I grin. “True, so maybe you should just give your husband a kiss so I can go kill the Swede trying to steal my place.”
Avah blushes, following my gaze to where more of the press are now realizing we’re in the hallway.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she says, stepping closer, her hands resting on my chest.
I can’t deny that I am. But not for the reasons she might think.
“Hey, you’re flashing that ring to get private access. I think that earns me a kiss.”
She turns back to me, and I lean down slightly, tapping my cheek.
She stands on her tip toes, and just as she moves to press her lips against my cheek, I turn slightly, just enough to allow her lips to brush the corner of my mouth.
Her breath hitches when she realizes what happened. Her fingers are warm against my chest and instead of pulling away like I thought she might, she lingers for two heartbeats longer.
And the world goes quiet. Her lips are soft and warm and real.
She smells like something clean and floral, and for the first time I feel like I’m home. Not the kind with four walls and a roof, but the kind you never want to walk away from.
When was the last time I felt like that?
Not since I was a kid. Before everything fell apart.
“Good luck,” she says, her blue eyes sparking with something soft and steady. “Stay in control, Declan. You were made for this.”
Her words sink deep, steadying me in a way nothing else has before. I can still feel her breath on my lips, the noise from above in the arena fading away. All I can think about is how close she is, and how badly I want to close the distance.
I look down at her mouth, knowing I’m in trouble. Because this doesn’t feel like pretending.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for her. My hand finds the small of her back, the other slides to the base of her neck, my thumb brushing against her jaw as I claim a kiss.
A real kiss.
Not for the cameras or for who might be watching, but because I have this need burning through me. The need to make her mine and to never let go.
Instead of pushing me away, she sinks into me, sighing against my mouth. I tighten my grip, deepening the kiss as I lift her off the floor. Fire burns through me, the sense of being in the right place for the first time in my life pulsing through my veins.
For the first time ever, I can understand what others talk about. That innate sense of knowing…the undeniable, terrifying feeling that she’s the one I’m meant to be with.
I reluctantly pull away, because if I don’t stop, I never will. Her blue eyes are wide and bright, filled with questions and something else, something softer.
“Still the worst kiss ever?” I ask, my voice rougher than I’d like.
“You’re getting better,” she says, her voice raw and her cheeks flushed. “Or maybe it’s just growing on me.”
I grin, but inside everything feels different. Like something has clicked into place.
Because I’ve kissed a lot of women before. Many of them have worn my jersey. But no-one has ever made me want to play for it, work for it.
But tonight I will play for her, and tomorrow and every day after that, I will work for what we could be.
* * *
We’ve killed the Devils and Petrov got his first shut-out for the season.
The locker room is loud. Music is blaring, guys are yelling and cheering while reporters are hovering just outside waiting for post-game interviews.
Mitch throws me a towel. “You good?” he asks with a giant smile on his face.
“Yeah,” I lie, dragging a hand through my hair. “We had a good game.”
My gaze finds Boqvist, his smile big as he celebrates with Kade. They made a good pair tonight, even I can’t deny that.
“You did,” Mitch says. “Now you need to shower. The reporters are waiting, I’m sure Coach will want you in front of them tonight.”
Slight worry and disappointment settles in my stomach. I didn’t play as much as I’d like though. I had two shifts with Mitch in the first period, one in the second. And the third I didn’t even touch the ice.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Brady Sullivan: You got ice time, brother. Not as much as you wanted, but it’s a start. Don’t do anything stupid tonight. Go home to your wife.
He knows me too well. I might not go pick a fight with Boqvist, or head to a bar to numb this feeling of rejection that’s coursing through me…but I will have to talk to Coach about this.
“I’ll find out after my shower,” I say, getting up and tossing my gear in the bin. Mitch nods, slapping me on the shoulder as I pass him to head to the showers.
When I’m done, I pull on my team sweats and head to Coach’s office. I knock on the door once, and he looks up, nodding.
“Thought I’d see you after the game,” he says, taking off his glasses and gesturing to the door. “Close that, will you?”
I close the door and settle in front of his desk.
“Mitch said you want me to go out for an interview tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “The press will want to hear about your first game back. They’ll want to know about the suspension.”
I really want to avoid that. As far as I’m concerned it’s over. Brodin is cleared, he’s back on the ice. I paid my fine and I did my time.
Coach looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “They’ll ask you about Boqvist.”
I nod. “I figured.”
Coach leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I’m not blind, I can see the tension between the two of you on the ice.”
“You surprised?” I ask, unable to keep the bite from my voice. “He’s here to replace me.”
“He’s here for a try-out,” Coach says, sighing. “Listen, you played well out there tonight. You were sharp, under control.”
“The whole five minutes I got?” The sarcasm slips, unable to help myself.
Coach’s tone hardens. “Did you expect a hero’s welcome? You messed up, kid, and you’re going to have to work to get back to where you were.”
I bite my tongue, forcing myself to nod. “Understood.”
He studies me a second longer, then softens just a bit. “Listen, just go out there and tell the media that you’re glad to be back. And that Boqvist has done his part for the team. You don’t have to go into details.”
I nod. “Basically you’re telling me to not make things worse when they’re getting better.”
“Exactly.” He opens his laptop, setting his glasses back into place. “Now, get out there. They’re waiting for you.”
When I step back into the hallway, the noise has thinned. Half the team’s gone, while the rest can be heard from the media room. The high of being back is already fading, replaced by that gnawing frustration I can’t quite shake.
Somewhere down the hall I hear Avah’s voice.
And another one.
Low. And Swedish.
Boqvist.