4. Pesto Pasta for One #2
Rivalry barely begins to cover whatever the hell this is. I scream alongside Katie, the rows around us alive with energy that crackles through my veins. They don’t normally make this much of an effort so early in the regular season. Dick wasn’t kidding about pushing the rivalry.
The screens flash red.
“Led by Head Coach Reid Masterson…”
Aces highlights flash overhead, and their players start their skate out through smoke and red lasers to a mixture of exultation and jeers.
“Starting in goal—Mackenzie ‘Mac’ Shaw!”
Mac, the alpha from the hall. He raises his glove, unfazed by the noise.
“Why do they get full intros?” Katie leans forward to get a better look. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s like a catalogue.”
“Does Ethan know you’re scouting for new pack members?”
She laughs. “He nearly died of dehydration during my last heat. He’d love a friend or three to tag in. Fuck, look at that one. He’s pretty.”
“At right wing—Austin Navarro!”
I’ve never met him. I know he’s part of Boone’s pack, and he was voted Player We’d Love To Puck in the tongue-in-cheek NPHL Fan Awards last year, narrowly beating out a furious Jonas.
“On defense—Dimitri Yukov!”
A particularly aggressive chorus meets that one. It matches the behemoth of an alpha who skates out, his head lowered.
“Come to mama.” Katie evolves into a heart-eyed emoji, and I choke down my laughter. “The things I would do to climb that mountain.”
Roll call continues, scarlet jerseys flooding the rink, until—
“Aces, welcome your captain… number thirteen… Boone Mercer!”
The Aces fans lose their minds.
I’ve heard the Aces fans love Boone, and it shows, even as the smaller crowd is drowned out beneath the Titans' derision.
I expected him to play to the crowd, but he surprises me. He only circles center ice once, slow and deliberate, tapping his stick against the surface as if the hostility energizes him.
Of course it does.
The screens split to show footage of Boone on one side and Carter on the other, and the crowd goes freaking feral.
“Oh, this is insane,” Katie says breathlessly.
The lights cut blue, the furnace shaking around us.
“And now…”
The announcer drags out every syllable until nineteen thousand people are vibrating with anticipation.
“YOUR BLACKWATER TITANS!”
I’m on my feet. Players explode onto the ice through smoke and blue fire that jets up on either side.
“Starting in goal—your number thirty-two—Benji Laine!”
Benji skates out to a huge reaction, flashing his glove toward our section. Katie, I notice, is particularly enthusiastic in her whooping. When I bury my elbow in her side, she throws her head back and cackles.
“On defense—number twenty-six—Ryker Lowry!”
Ryker practically launches himself onto the ice like an overexcited Labrador.
“On defense—number four—Liam Kessler!”
Liam skates out with cold precision, his expression unreadable.
“At left wing—your number seventeen—Jonas Hart!”
Jonas gets one of the loudest reactions outside Carter, soaking it up with a grin and a raised stick.
“At center—number twenty-two—Ethan Cross!”
Ethan punches the air and points to our section as Katie screams loud enough to burst my eardrums. “You’ve got this, baby!”
Dylan, Mason, Tyler, Luke. All familiar, my heart swelling with each one until I’m bouncing in place and my throat is hoarse from cheering.
Then the music cuts.
One beat.
Two.
And the entire arena begins to chant.
CAP-TAIN.
CAP-TAIN.
CAP-TAIN.
Mike’s voice booms out, each word hitting my chest.
“THIS IS YOUR NUMBER NINETEEN, BLACKWATER—CARTER REYNOLDS!”
The roof nearly comes off with the force of the roar that erupts.
Carter bursts through the smoke with broad shoulders and lethal focus, skating a hard line across the ice before carving sharply toward the center. The team converges around him as we roar through the anthem and wait for the drop.
“Here we go,” I whisper.
Eighty-two games start now.
Boone skates to face Carter. Neither of them speak, both leaning forward close enough to touch.
“Now kiss,” Katie mutters under her breath.
I slam my hands over my mouth at the honk that erupts. Several heads turn our way, some filled with amusement, others with curiosity. “Stop it.”
The puck drops.
Boone steals it, but Carter is on him immediately.
They spend half the opening twenty trying to score and the other half trying to bury one another into the glass.
I mentally bet how long it’ll be before one of them gets sent to the box. Definitely before first intermission.
Midway through the first, Boone picks off a pass in the neutral zone and breaks away clean to shoot for the net. But Benji’s save is outrageous, and the crowd explodes.
“Holy shit,” Katie shrieks. “Work those hips, Benji baby!”
Down at the nets, Ethan turns as if he can hear her, his eyebrows raising. Katie flushes as she blows him a kiss and he shakes his head, grinning. “Still my number one, Cross!”
By the time the first period ends, neither side has scored. Carter’s shoulders are high with frustration as he heads into the locker rooms, and I wince at the lashing waiting for the team as Katie and I risk the horde at the snack stand for popcorn.
A brutal open-ice hit on Austin Navarro by Liam as the second period sparks the first real scrum of the night. Gloves don’t drop, but only because officials manage to get between them first. Leaning forward, I groan with everyone else as Liam’s attempted hit goes wide.
“You’re so bloodthirsty.” Katie’s cheeks are full of popcorn.
“And you’re just thirsty,” I retort. She laughs as Liam and Austin are yanked apart, Liam smacking his stick into the ground before he skates off.
Late in the second, Ethan wins a battle behind the net and feeds Jonas in the left circle.
“Come on,” I mutter. Everyone else is yelling, and my nails dig into my palms.
Jonas snaps the shot high blocker side, directly into the net past Mackenzie’s head.
Goal.
I’m screaming so hard my throat burns.
The Aces answer five minutes later when Boone wins a faceoff, sliding it to Katie’s next mountain adventure that plays opposite Liam. Dimitri Yukov blasts from the point, and the puck deflects past Benji a split second too late.
One–one. Shit.
Boone doesn’t celebrate. He turns and lifts his visor as he heads for the bench, finding Carter and smirking. Carter looks away, but his jaw could cut through glass.
Katie whistles. “Boy’s playing with his life. Does he know that?”
“Believe me, he knows.”
Third period feels endless. Everyone’s temper is running thin and the score’s still even.
Katie fumes when Ethan gets two minutes for tripping Yukov, Ethan slamming into the penalty box and tearing off his helmet.
“Are you kidding me?” I yell at the ref with my hands cupped over my mouth. “He tripped over his own fucking ego!”
There’s no way he can hear me, but I’d swear the mountain glances my way.
Dylan joins him less than a minute later, along with Austin Navarro from the Aces who skates for their own box. Boone yells something I don’t catch as he skates past, and Navarro shrugs.
My knee starts to shake as I watch the clock. Even Katie is quiet, both sides too focused on the countdown to waste oxygen yelling.
With less than a minute to go, Ryker forces a turnover in the neutral zone and shovels the puck forward. Carter gets there first, but Boone closes from one side, Yukov from the other.
Fuck—fuck.
Carter drives between them. Boone slams into him hard enough that I wince, but he doesn’t lose the puck.
He cuts inside instead, pulls the puck and shoots—
The puck rockets past Mackenzie’s glove and slams into the back of the net.
Thousands of people jerk to watch as the clock hits zero and the final buzzer sounds.
Two-one, Titans.
My arms jolt into the air, torn between shock and worry as Carter skates back with his hand gripping his shoulder. “Hell yes! Titans!”
The Furnace explodes, blue towels whipping the air in circles as Mike yells out the replay over the crowd and music. Jonas, Ethan, Ryker and Liam rip off their helmets, the team converging on Carter in a scrum of celebration as Katie and I jump up and down, the floor beneath us shaking.
Boone glides toward center ice, shaking his head. He skates to the other side and tosses his stick over the safety glass to an ecstatic-looking kid. Other members of his team follow his lead before they all meet, clapping shoulders.
I wait for Carter to emerge from the heap. His helmet is off, and his face is tense as he skates for the locker room without waiting for the handshake. “Shit.”
Liam follows with Jonas, the rest of the team staying behind.
Underneath the celebration, the cold sensation returns to my chest. Katie tugs at my arm. “He’s being careful, that’s all. C’mon. Family room. I need wine. And an orgasm from a sexy hockey player, but Ethan won’t be done for an hour. Coming?”
I stare at the doorway to the locker room for another minute. “Yeah.”
Just a precaution.