Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
LUKE
Coach’s voice cracks like a whip across the parking lot behind me, “Locke, bus, now!” but my mouth is still on Madeline’s, stealing one last, faint taste of strawberry from her lip balm. She laughs against my lips, a small, startled sound that hits me in the center of my chest.
She doesn’t try to stop my PDA any longer. Madeline goes along with it, even though she gives an eye roll. I know she’s into it. Madeline isn’t a girl you can make do anything if she doesn’t want to.
Everything between us has shifted and feels more settled since the other day in the shower.
She really is all in. I have to say I love that about her.
That passion she has inside of her. I’ve never had that.
I don’t think many do around here. Not when things are handed to them on a platinum platter. But she’s changing that for me.
I pull back just far enough to see her eyes, bright with mischief, then kiss her again, slower, because tonight feels three states away. I already know she’s rooming with Georgia while I get my own room with the team. I picture every hallway between us and hate all of them.
Grant claps me on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re gonna get us all wind sprints.” It would be worth it. Besides, Coach isn’t going to wear us out before tonight’s game.
Coach screams my name again, and I finally step back, but I don’t look away from her.
“Text me when you get there.” I tell myself I’m only being this psycho because of all the bullshit going on.
But I’m fairly confident I’d still be acting this way if there wasn’t a murderer on the loose.
I’m sure a therapist would have a field day analyzing why I have latched on so tightly to Madeline, but they can go fuck themselves.
Everyone is still wondering what the police were doing down by the lake. They have done a good job of keeping it under wraps, but it’s only a matter of time before it’s announced.
“I will,” she promises, and her smile is so open, so hers, that I almost pull her back in. “Go.” Now it’s her giving me an order.
“All right,” I say. “But don’t be saying I’m the bossy one.” She laughs, and I have to force myself to turn and start walking. Every step away from her feels wrong, like gravity working in reverse. Unnatural.
Grant falls in step beside me, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Shut up. You’ve been here two seconds.” You wouldn’t know it, though. Grant is excellent at blending in and making friends.
He laughs, not meanly, just surprised. “Seriously, Locke. You’re fucking cooked for her.”
I don’t respond. Can’t. Because he’s right.
We step onto the bus. It’s one of those luxury coaches Kingmakers rents for away games—leather seats, tinted windows, actual legroom. I take a window seat and immediately check my phone. No messages. It’s been two seconds, I remind myself. I’m being ridiculous.
My thumb hovers over her name. I shouldn’t text her already. I just left her. But my chest feels hollow, and I need to fill it with something.
Me: On the road yet?
I hit send before I can stop myself. Pathetic. I’m really pathetic.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Buttercup: You haven’t pulled out of the parking lot yet. LOL. I’m hopping into Georgia’s car now.
The bus lurches forward. I watch through the window, searching for Georgia’s car. I spot it pulling out behind us, and I can just make out Madeline’s head through the tinted glass.
She’s right there. Forty feet away. Might as well be forty miles.
Grant slides into the seat across the aisle. “Dude, you gonna stare at that car the whole ride?”
“Maybe.”
He laughs again but softer this time. “She’s good for you. You know that, right?”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure “good” is the word. She’s necessary. Like oxygen. Like blood. Like water. All essential to maintain life.
And that should scare the fuck out of me, but I’m embracing it. No point in fighting the inevitable.
“You think Georgia is a good driver?” I ask Grant. He glances around, stalling. “Grant,” I snap.
“I’m sure she follows all the rules of the road.” She is a stickler for those things. “But she’s also a little clumsy.” Now that I think back, yeah, she is. Fuck.
“Clumsy” means you drop shit. Not run into a ditch. That’s what I tell myself.
“Nah, she’s more likely to turn in the wrong direction or forget she still has the gas pump connected and pull away with it still attached to the car.” I grab my phone and text Madeline again.
Me: How much gas does the car have?
“Bro, chill. I was teasing.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I jerk my head up. What the hell did he say? It does. “Those pumps just disconnect. No harm, no foul.”
Buttercup: Almost a full tank.
She answers, not bothering to inquire why I asked. Madeline is getting used to my level of crazy. I’m still adjusting.
Caleb stands up in the aisle, yelling some bullshit about the other team’s goalie, his voice cutting through everything, wanting to be the center of attention.
I don’t bother looking up. Caleb is one of those guys who thinks volume equals personality.
He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s a damn good shot.
I pull out my headphones and put them in, not even bothering with music at first. I just need the barrier. The noise of the team fades to a dull roar.
Almost without thinking, I open the tracker app. I watch the little dot that marks Madeline’s car as it moves along the highway behind our bus.
I finally start my music, but I barely notice it. I’m focused on the dot. Once we get there, we’ll drop our bags and head to the rink to start warming up for tonight’s game.
The Kingmakers Ice Crew only performs at home games. Madeline will be in the stands for this one.
The bus pulls into the rink’s lot, and I grab my bag, already scanning the parking lot for Georgia’s car.
Nothing. They’re not here yet. She got to the hotel a little after us, but we quickly dropped our shit and got back on the bus.
The hotel already had all our keys ready so that we could haul ass.
I follow the team inside, but my head’s not in it. I have played hockey for most of my life because it got me out of the house and it was a place to take my aggression out. Now, it’s getting in the way.
The locker room smells like every other rink—stale sweat and tape. I get dressed without thinking. Before heading to the ice, I check my phone. The tracker app says they’re five minutes away.
I hit the ice for warm-ups, but all I can do is check to see if she’s here yet.
“Locke!” Coach’s voice cuts across the rink. “Eyes front. She’ll be here.” He shakes his head at me, annoyed. I can’t blame him. I’m fucking annoying myself at this point.
I force my attention back to the puck. Then I see her.
Madeline walks down the steps with Georgia, and my chest tightens. But it’s not just her that is having that effect on me. It’s also what she’s wearing: a white T-shirt, hand-painted in black and gold. My number and name are on it.
She made that. For me. Seeing my name displayed on her makes me want to beat my chest in victory. Now everyone will know she’s mine. Not only the students from Kingmakers.
She spots me on the ice and tilts her head, smiling as she waves to me.
“Locke!” Coach says again. “Let’s go!”
I skate backward to the line. She takes her seat right behind our bench, close enough that I’ll hear her. Close enough to see that shirt every time I look up.
She’s all in. She’s really fucking all in.
The first period starts fast. We are flying around the rink today. I’m on my game, but the referees are making shit calls.
My eyes keep going back to the stands where my girl is. Madeline stands out under the lights, cheering every time I do anything. She’s louder than everyone else and doesn’t hold back.
“If you had another eye, you’d be a cyclops!” I hear her shout across the ice. “Hey, ref, does your wife know you’re fucking us?!” Georgia turns to Madeline, her mouth hanging open. I can’t help but laugh a little.
“Locke!” Grant yells from the wing. “Focus!”
I pull my attention back to the game. The puck drops, and I win the face-off. We’re up by one when I feel someone watching.
Then I see him, number 14. Their center. He’s been doing it off and on all period, and now he’s smirking. He’s gunning for me.
“Pretty girl you’ve got,” he says as we line up for the next draw. “Shame she’s gonna watch you lose.”
I ignore him. He’s baiting me. I don’t want to give him what he wants, but he keeps at it.
Every whistle, something new. “Did she make that shirt herself? Cute. I bet she’s really talented.
” He skates close enough to whisper, and I let him.
Get closer, mother fucker. “Don’t worry, I’ll cheer her up after you lose. ”
My eyes catch Grant’s. He sighs and shakes his head but nods. He’s got my back. He always does. I’m starting to kind of like him.
The whistle blows at the next face-off, and the ref drops the puck.
My gloves are off before I think. I grab 14’s jersey, pulling it over his head so his movement is restricted.
I throw a few punches, knocking his helmet off in the process.
He’s helpless with his arms locked down.
My fist connects with his jaw, and a solid crack echoes.
The crowd roars. He staggers, getting his bearings, and then comes back swinging.
We go down in a tangle of fists and elbows, the ref’s whistle screaming.
I get one more shot in before they pull us apart. My knuckles are burning, adrenaline singing in my veins.
“You’re done, Locke!” the ref shouts, pointing to the penalty box. “Five for fighting!”
I skate off the ice, breathing hard.
I slam the door shut behind me and drop onto the bench. Why do these boxes always smell like shit? I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and look up at the stands.
Madeline is on her feet, hands cupped around her mouth, shouting something I can’t hear over the arena’s noise.
But I can see her face. She’s not mad; she’s got a giant smile while pumping her fist in the air, pointing at me, and then makes a gesture like she’s wrapping something around her knuckles.
She’s proud of me. For punching that guy.
I laugh, shaking my head. She’s fucking crazy. And she’s mine.
The five minutes drag ass. I watch both the game and Madeline, enjoying seeing her full reactions to plays. Georgia pulls her back into her seat a few times, but Madeline keeps popping up.
The buzzer sounds for the end of the period, and I skate back to the bench and head to the locker room for intermission, my knuckles throbbing. Coach gives me a look—not angry, just tired. “Worth it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It was.”
I grab my phone from my bag. One text from Madeline.
Buttercup: That was hot. Especially since I know what that body of yours looks like under that gear.
I smile, typing back.
Me: I want to see how hot it made you tonight… in my hotel room.
I have plans of getting her back to my room tonight. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to sleep without her beside me.
The second period starts, and we hit the ice again.
We’re still up, and I don’t see that changing.
These asshats run their mouths far too much for how they play.
That might be the only thing they’re good at, but it’s not playing well for them.
Number 14 never came back from the locker room.
Good, now the rest of the team knows better.
During one of the whistles, the other team’s Ice Crew comes out in matching sparkly outfits, waving flags and doing some strange-ass routine. I watch them from the bench, waiting to get back in and finish this game and be done. I want to get back to my girl.
The opposing team’s Ice Crew is boring as hell. No energy, no personality, just going through the motions. I think about Madeline on our Ice Crew and how she stands out. You can’t pull your eyes off her. These girls look like mannequins compared to her.
I get back on the ice and look for her, expecting to see her shirt and her smile. But now she’s sitting with her arms crossed.
I make a play that allows me to skate closer to her, sliding past the boards. She doesn’t meet my eyes like she always does. She just stares straight ahead, her jaw tight.
What the hell happened in fifteen minutes?
I force my focus back to the game, but now I’m distracted. With every whistle, I glance up. She’s still sitting, not cheering. Did someone do or say something to her? I’ll kill them. Cut them up and toss them into the lake. I’ll make Murphy’s death look like child’s play.
Something’s wrong. And I have no fucking idea what, but I’m sure as fuck going to find out.