Chapter 32 – Josie
chapter
thirty-two
Josie
In the end, I didn’t wear any jersey to the hockey game even though Marcus had someone drop his off at my place anyway — the same one I’d left on his couch.
I’d put it in the trash, where it belonged. He didn’t want me. He just didn’t want to lose.
The arena was freezing and loud, but thanks to Waylon, I didn’t feel it. His care kit was coming in handy.
Kimmy was on my left with a foam finger and a cup of something she swore was just Sprite, bouncing her knees to the RiRi song they were pumping out of the PA.
Lena sat on my right, her shoulder pressed against mine.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Totally fine,” I said. Lie number one of the night.
I was wearing Waylon’s hand warmer vest under my jacket, my palms pressed flat against it.
During warm-ups, Marcus frowned when he saw me.
Yeah, dipshit. I’m not wearing it. I’m not yours.
Just like last time, my eyes found Waylon. I couldn’t help it.
I tried to act as normal as possible despite my churning gut. Waylon might not be worried about Marcus, but I was.
I watched the puck, clapped when Kimmy clapped, wrapped my fingers around the warmers in my pockets, and pretended I was having a normal time. I kept looking for number seventeen anyway. I always knew where he was now.
During the game, my eyes kept drifting to Marcus. He was fast but sloppy, impatient, overcommitting on checks and taking himself out of position.
Waylon played controlled and efficient, reading the play two steps ahead, only moving when a gap opened.
Kimmy elbowed me at one point. “God, it’s so hot how you two stare at each other.”
“I’m watching the game,” I lied. I was watching exactly one person in it. He was beautiful.
“Didn’t know you were such a fan.”
I took a drink from her cup. Definitely not just Sprite. “I’ve recently learned a whole new appreciation for the sport.”
“A new appreciation of Waylon’s shoulders, more like.”
She let that go, which meant she was saving it for later.
Then Marcus got a breakaway.
Even I knew what a breakaway was, and an open net with that much space meant this was supposed to go in. The whole arena held its breath.
He shot... It went wide.
The whole building groaned.
I saw the rage on Marcus’s face.
Everybody else saw a hockey player who missed a shot. I knew better.
My thumbnail dug into the side of my index finger hard enough to leave a mark.
You’re fine. You’re done with his bullshit. His rage tantrums are no longer your issue. My shoulders climbed toward my ears anyway. After three years of reading that jaw, I still tensed up without meaning to.
The next shift happened fast. Turnover in the neutral zone, loose puck, and number 17 picked it up and was already driving toward the net before I realized who I was watching.
He moved the way he always moved on ice, that controlled power thing he did that made you think he was playing a different sport than everyone else out there.
He drove through traffic, took a hit along the boards that would have put most people on their ass, kept going, and buried it top corner so clean I heard the twine snap from the third row.
The building went crazy, and my heart leaped into my throat as I screamed along like everyone else.
Waylon’s arms went up. Trace crashed into him from one side, Ryder from the other, helmets knocking together, and four thousand people were on their feet.
Kimmy was screaming next to me, foam finger in the air.
And I could only think of how hot he looked as he grinned.
I’m aware of how pathetic that sounds. Trust me.
Marcus skated past him instead of congratulating him. But he did say something.
Obviously, I couldn’t hear it from my seat. But I saw Marcus change his line, curve across Waylon’s path, lean in close enough that his helmet almost touched Waylon’s ear.
Waylon went still, his head tilting toward Marcus.
The gloves came off before Marcus skated away.
Kimmy grabbed my arm, fingers digging in above my elbow. “Oh shit. What the hell?”
Waylon spun Marcus around by the shoulder, and the first punch connected before Marcus had fully turned. The crack carried all the way up, and I felt it in my teeth.
Marcus stumbled back half a step and then came forward swinging.
Waylon hit him again, jaw tight, eyes locked on Marcus, nothing held back. On the bench, Coach was losing his mind.
Marcus caught him in the jaw, and Waylon’s head snapped sideways, and blood hit the ice. I saw the red on the white, and my stomach dropped because I thought he was going down.
He didn’t go down, though.
He grabbed Marcus by the collar and drove him into the boards so hard the glass shook. The crowd was on its feet, screaming, and the people around me were leaning forward in their seats like they’d paid extra for this.
I was gripping the back of the seat in front of me so hard the plastic edge cut into my fingers.
Lena grabbed the back of my jacket and held.
The refs did their best to break it up. Two of them grabbed jerseys, wedging themselves between bodies.
Trace, Ryder, and a few of the guys tried to help.
A linesman caught a stray elbow and went sideways.
Marcus was still trying to swing around the ref’s arm.
Waylon stood there bleeding from his mouth, his chest heaving, and his fists still clenched.
But eventually, they all managed to pull them apart. Marcus’s lip was split, and there was blood on his chin and down the front of his jersey. Waylon’s knuckles were raw.
The ref sent both of them off the ice. Around me, people were already replaying it on their phones, zooming in, texting the clip.
Loveland lost by two in the end. I sat there wondering if I was the reason.
Waylon’s blood was on the ice, his knuckles were split, and his mouth was bleeding, and all I could think about was his draft. Waylon had just handed Marcus all the ammunition he needed.
I wanted to go to the tunnel and find him and put my hands on his face and tell him I was sorry, because all of this was my fault.
But I couldn’t move.
Kimmy was talking to me, and I couldn’t hear her. The arena was emptying, and I was sitting there watching the Zamboni erase the blood, and I couldn’t feel my fingers.
“Josie.” Kimmy’s voice came from somewhere far away. “Hey. Look at me.”
I finally managed to slide my gaze to her.
“We need to go,” she said.
Lena took my hand.
I stared at the ice where the blood was.
Marcus was serious. He was never going to let me go.