Chapter 37 Juliette
JULIETTE
The energy in the arena is electric.
Game Five. Up three-one in the series. One win away from advancing to the division finals. If we win this one, we’re twelve wins from the Cup.
I’m sitting in the family section with the other WAGs. Goldie on my left, chattering nervously about the game. Mackie Anderson on my right, quieter than usual with her eyes locked on the ice.
On Zach specifically. Always on Zach.
She’s barely in college and the way she watches him is so obvious. Everyone can see it. But she’s Anderson’s daughter and Zach is, well, Zach is Zach. Oblivious and focused and completely unaware that an eighteen-year-old girl is quietly falling apart watching him.
“They’re going to do it,” Goldie says, gripping my arm. “They’re going to close out the series.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
“I’m not jinxing. I’m manifesting.”
Down on the ice, the teams line up for the opening faceoff. Romeo’s first line, Luca in net, the crowd deafening even through the thick glass.
The puck drops and immediately the game is fast, physical, desperate.
The other team knows they’re facing elimination. They’re playing like it. Hitting hard, getting under our guys’ skin, doing everything they can to stay alive.
Five minutes in, there’s a scrum in front of Luca’s net. Bodies everywhere. Sticks tangled. The whistle blows but the pushing continues.
One of their forwards says something to Luca.
I can’t hear it from up here. Can barely see through all the bodies.
But I see Luca’s reaction.
He goes completely still. Then his whole body tenses like he’s been electrocuted.
“Uh oh,” Goldies daughter Blythe whispers next to me.
The other player skates away and play resumes. Luca makes a save, then another. Everything looks fine.
But two minutes later, their forward is in front of the net again. Says something else.
This time Luca doesn’t hesitate.
He drops his gloves, throws his stick, and launches himself at the player.
The arena erupts.
“Oh my god,” Goldie gasps.
Luca’s on top of him, pummeling him with his blocker still on, screaming something in Italian that echoes through the arena even over the crowd noise.
The refs blow their whistles frantically. Both teams pour off the benches.
Romeo gets there first and tries to pull Luca off. Gets an elbow to the face for his trouble.
“ROMEO!” I’m on my feet without meaning to, my heart in my throat.
He staggers back with his hand to his face and blood already dripping between his fingers, but he’s already diving back in. Dex and Brody are there now too. Roman skates down from the other end of the ice.
It takes six players to pull Luca off. He’s still screaming, still fighting to get free with a feral intensity I’ve never seen before.
Security comes onto the ice. The refs are conferring. The other player is being helped off by trainers with blood streaming down his face.
So much blood.
“Jesus,” someone behind us breathes.
They’re escorting Luca off the ice. He’s still yelling, still fighting the hold, and I can’t understand the Italian but the rage in it makes my skin crawl.
The arena is chaos. Fans screaming, the jumbotron replaying the fight over and over, the announcers talking over each other trying to explain what just happened.
“What did he say?” Goldie asks. “What did that player say to him?”
“I don’t know.” I’m watching Romeo on the ice with blood dripping onto his white jersey. “But it must have been really bad.”
They’re clearing the ice. Luca’s gone. The refs are still conferring. The coaches are arguing with officials.
Finally the announcement comes: Luca Moretti has been ejected from the game. Five-minute major for fighting. Game misconduct.
Which means they need a goalie.
“Oh no,” Mackie whispers.
I follow her gaze. Almardon is skating toward the net, pulling on his mask with quick, efficient movements.
Going in cold. Just straight into a playoff game that’s going to either push us forward or force a Game 6.
Mackie’s hand finds mine and grips tight. Her palm is sweaty.
“He’ll be okay,” I tell her.
She doesn’t answer. Just squeezes tighter.
Play resumes. The other team is fired up now, energized by what happened. They’re pressing hard, throwing everything at the net.
Zach makes the first save. Then the second. Mackie’s grip on my hand tightens with each shot.
“Come on, Zach,” she whispers. “Come on.”
Three minutes later, they score. A deflection Zach had no chance on. The puck just bounced wrong off a defenseman’s skate and slid past him.
Mackie makes a small sound that’s almost a whimper.
“It’s okay. It’s one goal. They’ll get it back.”
But they don’t. The team is rattled, off their game. Romeo’s line tries but nothing’s working. The puck won’t go in.
Five minutes left and they score again. Short-handed, a breakaway that Zach almost stops but not quite.
Mackie’s not breathing. I can feel it. She’s just sitting there frozen, watching Zach in the net getting peppered with shots, watching him carry the weight of this entire game on his shoulders.
The final buzzer sounds.
Loss. Four to two.
The series is now three to two.
The team skates off with their heads down, exhausted, defeated. Romeo doesn’t even look up at the family section.
Zach is the last one off. He pulls off his mask and even from here I can see the devastation on his face. The way his shoulders are slumped. The way he won’t look at anyone.
Mackie finally lets go of my hand and stands abruptly.
“I need to—I’ll be back.”
She’s gone before I can stop her, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.
Goldie and I exchange a look.
“That poor girl,” Goldie says softly.
“Yeah.”
We make our way down to wait for the team. The mood in the family area is somber, shocked. No one can quite process what just happened. We were supposed to close out the series tonight. Instead we’re going back for another game.
Romeo comes out twenty minutes later with a bandage over his eyebrow and bruising already forming around his eye. He looks exhausted.
“Hey,” I say, touching his face gently. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a stray elbow.” He pulls me close and I can feel the tension in his body. “Luca though—”
“What happened? What did that player say?”
“I don’t know. None of us know. But whatever it was—” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him like that. He was out of control. Completely out of control.”
“Is he okay?”
“Physically? Yeah. Everything else?” Romeo’s jaw tightens. “We’ll see. The league’s going to come down hard on this. Game misconduct in the playoffs? He’s going to get suspended.”
“For how long?”
“Could be the rest of the series. Could be longer.” He runs his hand through his hair. “We’re fucked if we don’t have him.”
We head back to his apartment in silence. The energy from this morning, confident and ready to close out the series, is completely gone. Now everyone is shell-shocked.
In his room, Romeo strips off his suit and climbs into bed without even turning on the lights. I follow, curling into his side.
“Tell me what happened,” I say quietly. “From your perspective.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. His hand traces patterns on my hip while he thinks.
Then he starts talking.
And what he tells me is so much worse than what I saw from the stands.