Chapter 13 #2
My socket wrench clattered to the floor and I gaped at her, confused about whether I wanted to report her or be best friends forever.
The decision made itself, and I grinned. “Me too.”
She chuckled, and walked over to the trailer with more swagger than a frame as small as hers should’ve been capable of. I returned to my job, acutely aware of the random person who was just randomly watching me work.
“I saw a sign that said ‘Authorized Personnel Only’, but must’ve gotten turned around when I tried to follow it.”
The sound of a wrapper crinkled over my shoulder, and then the unmistakable pop of a sucker.
“You always this obedient?”
“Only when I’m bored.” She crouched down and peered at the open control panel, the sucker bulging in her left cheek. “What’s this do?”
I slapped her hand away before she could poke anything that mattered. “Stabilizes the lift pump.”
“Cool.”
When I was sure there’d be no more unsolicited questions, I went back to work. My best friend forever stayed crouched beside me in silence, which wasn’t as weird as I thought it’d be.
“Do they just bring you along wherever, so you can fix things?” She brandished a sucker she’d pulled from her pocket. “Want one?”
I wiggled my stained fingers at her, and she popped the sucker back with a shrug.
“I don’t always travel with the team,” I said. “But yeah, I’m usually the one fixing things.”
“Cool.”
I snorted a laugh, and shook my head. She couldn’t have been older than a high school senior, but her blue eyes held a wisdom of the ages. Striking against her pale skin and black hair. It reminded me of—
“So is it true everything in hockey’s held together with duct tape?”
“Mostly zip ties,” I replied with a soft laugh. “Duct tape’s for emergencies.”
She grinned for the first time, and it opened her face. Made her look half as intimidating. It also made me miss Mason, for some reason. I guessed I was getting used to working with company.
“Your job looks really cool,” she said, dropping to sit flat on the cold concrete. “I still haven’t decided what I want to do. Graduated last year. My dad keeps putting brochures for the most random online classes on my desk. I don’t think he even knows me.”
I let out a dry chuckle. “Big fan of unsolicited advice?”
“It’s his love language. He doesn’t do hugs or ‘I love yous’.”
“Well,” I said, returning to the panel, “for what it’s worth, not knowing what you want yet is normal. Don’t let anyone rush you into a version of your life that doesn’t fit.”
She cocked her head, watching me like I’d just handed her a missing piece of a puzzle. “You make me miss having my brother around. He used to be cool like you.”
I smiled faintly, still fiddling with the stop latch. “Oh yeah? Where’s your uncool brother now?”
“Here.” The admission was perfunctory. Like she was sharing the day of the week. “If you’re online in any capacity, you probably know him.”
My fingers froze on the panel, and slowly turned to look at her. Really look. Those blue eyes, dark hair… Now that I saw it, the obvious relation hit me square in the face.
“Mason’s your brother?”
“Yup,” she said, and pulled the sucker off its stick by tugging it tightly between her teeth. It came loose with a dull thunk, and she stowed the stick in her pocket. “We had some free time so we flew up here for the road series. You’re probably around him a lot, working for the team.”
“Something like that,” I muttered, my stomach fluttering with a thousand tiny knots. Had she not seen the video, or was she coyly teasing me?
Before she could press any further, the intercom buzzed. “Final warmup starts in ten. All staff report to assigned sections.”
“I want to watch.” She shot to her feet, and held a hand out to me. Again, I showed her the state of my fingers and helped myself up. “Are you staying for the game?”
“Sure. I came all this way,” I said weakly, and followed her out of the workshop.
The rink felt different. I’d grown up catching games here with my dad, but it wasn’t the same. Even though it was totally unchanged.
We found seats near the glass just before puck drop. Hallie—she’d introduced herself on our way down—was practically buzzing.
The lights dimmed, and music pulsed. It was Kenny Chesny, and one more point to Mason. Shit. The crowd went wild as the boys hit the ice, focused and sharp.
“There he is!” Hallie’s fingers dug into my arm as she frantically pointed out her brother.
He flew across the ice like he was born for it. His legs pumped tirelessly, blade edges biting into the rink with every cut. Pride swelled in my chest. He had this way of pulling gravity with him, drawing the play where he wanted to go. Pass to Grayson. One-timer. Goal.
Hallie shrieked so loud it left my ear ringing. “That’s two in a row for the bromance,” she grinned, elbowing me. “Grayson and Mason need a couple’s name.”
It was hard to believe this manic fangirl was the same sarcastic and dry girl from a few minutes ago. She was a blast, though, and made me see the game through fresh eyes. But also mine, which, now that I had stakes on the ice, was kind of fresh too.
Midway through the second, Mason caught a pass, pivoted hard, and delivered a wicked assist that had the crowd on their feet. The guy was on fire.
And then everything shifted.
There was a whistle. A scramble. A Blizzards player, number sixteen, came out of nowhere and slammed Tucker into the boards hard. Sixteen was a big guy known for cheap shots, and this was a bad one.
The sound made me flinch. Glass shuddered.
“Was that legal? That’s not legal.” Hallie bit her fingernails.
I didn’t answer.
Tucker crumpled for a second, then staggered to his feet, dazed. The ref’s arm stayed down. No penalty, no call.
My gaze flicked from Mason’s face, to his line pairing’s, and several other Surge players. It was one face, and I knew what it meant.
“Shit.”
Grayson was first to drop his gloves, and once the captain made the call, everyone else followed. Mason was closer, and he barreled into Sixteen like a freight train, fists flying. The crack their bodies made on contact sliced through me. All I could think about were his ribs. That shoulder.
“Oh my God,” Hallie gasped. “They’re gonna kill each other.”
The crowd ate it up, half in awe, and the rest in disbelief.
It wasn’t some choreographed spat, with just a few polite shoves until the ref stepped in.
This was raw-knuckled fury. My guess was that most of it was frustration spilled over from that Predators game.
Mason’s helmet hit the ice. His shoulder landed a blow that snapped the other guy back.
Cass, breathe.
“Mason’s never hit anything,” Hallie said, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes never left her brother. “He didn’t even want a punching bag for training in high school.”
Blood smeared across Sixteen’s cheek. Mason’s lip split, red trailing down his chin. The refs dove in, flinging Surge players every which way out of the pile. Helmets and sticks scattered like shrapnel across the ice.
Hallie stared at me, eyes wide. She had no more words.
I gave her shoulder a squeeze, and said, “It’s okay. He’ll be fine.”
But I was afraid that was just another lie I’d told today.
Third period was a blur. Mason was in the penalty box for two minutes, jaw tight, still crackling with residual rage. But when he came back on he vented all of it, connecting with Grayson for one last goal in the final minute. The game went 4-2 for the Surge.
The buzzer sounded, and the arena erupted.
“Come on,” Hallie said, grabbing my hand. “We can get closer by the tunnel.”
I let her pull me down through the rows, past security, and into the lower tier hallway just outside the locker rooms. A small crowd had gathered, mostly local fans hoping to score a puck or selfie.
The team filtered past in twos and threes, laughing, sweaty, bruised, and busted up.
But happy about it. Hunter gave a bow to a fan who thrust a sign into his hands that read Goalie God.
But my eyes were only searching for one face.
He trailed the pack, his gait a little stiff, favoring his left side. To relieve the pressure on those ribs, no doubt. His face was flushed, hair damp, jersey hanging loose and out of shape around his hips.
He saw us instantly, confusion and surprise flashing in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Hallie shrugged and sidled up to me. “I’m with her.”
“Smooth, little sis,” Mason chuckled. “But if you don’t mind, I need to borrow your meal ticket for a second.”
“Ice bath,” I said once he had me away from everyone else.
His gaze burned into mine, tired but sincere. “I’m sorry, Cass. That reporter—”
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t. You don’t have to explain.”
“I hated saying it.” His sapphire eyes seemed to penetrate into my soul. “I need you to know that.”
I gave him a small smile, but couldn’t hide the concern I was feeling. He’d never looked this roughed up after a game. “I know, Mason. And we’re okay.”
He nodded, then a slow smirk crept onto his face. “For the record… I’m still bruised. Very platonically.”
Smooth, Calder. Even in his state of disrepair, he was committed to the game.
“Fine,” I gave in. “I’ll check your platonic bruise. Meet me in medical in five.”
He winked at me, then disappeared into the locker room.