Chapter 38 Rodriguez
RODRIGUEZ
She’s curled into my side, waiting. Her hand resting on my chest. I don’t know where to start. Don’t know how to explain what I saw on the ice.
“It was bad,” I finally say.
“How bad?”
I take a breath, trying to organize the chaos of it in my head.
“The first time, I didn’t hear what the guy said.
I was too far away. But I saw Luca’s reaction.
Saw him freeze up.” I touch the bandage over my eye absently.
“We all did. Dex even asked if he was okay. Luca just nodded and told us to focus on the game.”
“But it wasn’t okay.”
“No. It wasn’t.” I can still see Luca’s face. The way his expression had gone cold and empty. “The second time, I was closer. Right there in front of the net. The guy came in for a rebound and said something to Luca while the puck was loose.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn’t hear the whole thing. Something about—” I pause because even repeating it feels wrong. “Something about having Luca’s sister. About what he’d do to her.”
Juliette goes very still against me.
“Luca dropped everything. Gloves, stick, mask. Just went after him.”
“I saw that part.”
“You didn’t see how brutal it was. How—” I have to pause. Have to push away the image of Luca on top of that player with his blocker still on, fists flying. “He wasn’t trying to fight him. He was trying to kill him.”
Her breath catches.
“I was closest so I tried to pull him off. That’s when I caught the elbow.” My ribs ache where Dex accidentally kneed me trying to help. “It took six of us to get him off. Six. And even then he was still fighting, still trying to get back to him. Still screaming.”
“What was he saying?”
“I don’t know. The Italian was too fast. But I’ve never heard him sound like that.”
“And the other player?”
“His face was—” My stomach turns. “There was so much blood. His nose definitely broken. Maybe his orbital bone too.”
“Jesus.”
“Security came. Took Luca straight to the locker room. I could still hear him yelling from the ice.” I close my eyes. Can still hear it. The rage. “By the time we got to the intermission, he was gone.”
We lie in silence for a moment. Her hand moves in slow circles on my chest, grounding me.
“What happens now?” she asks quietly.
“Nothing good.” I’ve been dreading this part. “The league’s already investigating. They’ll review the footage, interview everyone. The other team is screaming for blood.”
“Will he get charged?”
“I don’t know.” The uncertainty sits heavy on my chest. “It was on camera. In front of twenty thousand people. They have all the evidence they need.”
“But it was during a game. There are fights all the time—”
“Not like this. Fights are part of hockey. This was—” I search for the word. “This was assault. That’s how the league’s going to see it.”
“He could go to jail?”
“Maybe. Probably not. But fines? Suspension?” I exhale slowly. “That’s guaranteed. I’m guessing he’s suspended for the rest of the playoffs. Maybe into next season.”
“Which means—”
“We don’t know who our starter is for the next game.” The thought is sobering. “Barrett might bring in someone else. An emergency backup. Someone from the AHL.”
“He wouldn’t do that. Would he?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s what’s killing me. “We had them. We were one game away from advancing. And now we don’t even know who’s going to be in net.”
“But Zach—”
“Zach went in cold and gave up two goals.” I hate saying it because it’s not his fault, but it’s the truth. “Management might decide we need someone with more playoff experience. Someone who hasn’t been a backup all season.”
“That’s not fair to him.”
“None of this is fair.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “But fair doesn’t matter in the playoffs. Winning matters. And right now, I don’t know how we’re supposed to do that.”
“Anderson’s daughter grabbed my hand. During the game. After Zach went in.”
“Yeah?”
“She didn’t let go. Not until it was over.” She shifts to look up at me. “She’s terrified for him.”
“We all are.” I think about Almardon. About the pressure he’s facing. “He’s going to torture himself over those two goals. Whether he gets to play or not.”
“Maybe someone should talk to him.”
“Roman probably already tried. Though knowing Zach, he’s locked himself in his apartment and won’t open the door for anyone. He processes things alone. Always has.”
We fall silent again. Both trying to wrap our heads around how fast everything changed.
One moment we were about to advance, about to take one more step toward the Cup.
Now we’re scrambling. Reeling. Trying to figure out how to win without our starting goalie.
“Will we ever know what made Luca snap like that?”
“Maybe. If it comes out in the investigation.” I doubt it though. Whatever was said, it was said knowing it would get a reaction. “But honestly? I’m not sure I want to know. Because if I know exactly what he said, I might want to hit him too.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “How’s your face?”
“Bruised. Sore. I’ll live.” I touch the bandage gingerly. “Could’ve been worse. If Dex hadn’t grabbed my jersey when he did, I would’ve taken another hit.”
“My hero. Getting beat up trying to stop a goalie fight.”
“Someone had to try.”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
“I have a black eye and we lost. So not great.” But I’m almost smiling because she’s here. Because even after the worst loss of the season, I get to come back to her. “But I’d do it again.”
“Of course you would. You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
“My idiot,” she agrees softly.
I can’t lie still anymore.
I get up and start pacing. My bedroom is too small, too confining. Everything feels like it’s closing in.
“Romeo—”
“I should’ve been faster.” I’m wearing a path on the floor. “Should’ve gotten to him sooner. Before it escalated.”
“You couldn’t have known—”
“I was right there. Right fucking there.” My phone is in my hand. I check it again. Nothing. “And now Zach’s not responding to any of my texts.”
Juliette sits up, watching me pace. “How many times have you texted him?”
“I don’t know. Five? Six?” I type out another message.
Almardon. Talk to me. Are you okay?
“Fuck.” I run my hand through my hair. “He’s my best friend and he won’t even answer me.”
“He’s probably processing—”
“He’s blaming himself.” I know him. Know how his brain works. “He’s sitting in his apartment right now torturing himself over those two goals. Convincing himself he cost us the game.”
“Did you tell him that’s not true?”
“Of course I did. But he won’t believe it. Not from me. Not from anyone.” I check my phone again. Still nothing. “He’s going to spiral and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then says, “Go see him.”
I stop pacing. “What?”
“Go see him. Right now. Don’t text. Just go knock on his door. He only lives four floors down.”
“He won’t answer.”
“Then knock until he does.” She gets out of bed and crosses to me. “He’s your best friend. He needs you. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
“I should stay with you—”
“I’m fine. I’m going to sleep.” She cups my face gently, careful of the bruising. “But Zach needs you more than I do right now.”
I look at her. At the understanding in her eyes. At how she always knows exactly what I need even when I don’t.
“You sure you’ll be okay alone for a bit?”
“I’m sure. Go.” She pushes me gently toward the door. “And don’t come back until you’ve talked to him. Actually talked. Not just texted.”
I grab my keys and hoodie. At the door, I turn back.
She’s standing there in one of my t-shirts, arms crossed, looking at me with so much faith it hurts.
I cross back to her and press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now go be a good friend.”
She’s right. He needs me.
And I’m not letting him spiral alone.
But as I walk down the hallway, I think about what I’m leaving behind in that room.
Juliette. Waiting for me even when everything else is falling apart.
Six months ago, I was just a guy chasing a championship. Hockey was everything. The only thing that mattered.
Now I have something more.
Someone who sees past the goals and the stats and the highlights. Who knows me and chooses me anyway.
Someone who pushes me to be a better friend when I’d rather hide from the hard stuff.
We might lose everything we’ve worked for. Luca might be done for the season. Zach might get pulled. We might not make it past the first round.
But tonight, I have her.
And no matter what happens with game six, no matter how this season ends, I know one thing for certain:
I’m going to marry that woman.
Not someday. Not eventually.
Soon.
Because life’s too short and hockey’s too uncertain and I’m done waiting for perfect timing.