She started to stand, and Troy grabbed onto her jacket. “Make sure you don’t let him make excuses. And if he ever starts to pull away, pin him against the wall and force him to talk to you.”
Emma nodded. “I don’t know if I can force Tyler to do anything, but I’ll try.”
“He needs it. We all do. Someone who won’t let us get away with just doing what we know.”
Emma swallowed hard. “He’s a good man, Troy. He loves you.”
Troy blinked and dropped his hand. He nodded once, and Emma stepped over the bench and walked back to her seat.
* * *
On the bench at the start of the third, Tyler wiped sweat from his brow and guzzled electrolytes. They were still up one nothing, but the Sticks’ attacks were relentless. They were cornered now, clawing for a goal.
“Have to shut down that pass through the centre.” Brett pounded his fist against the boards.
Tyler nodded in agreement. Boyd was covering their asses in the goal, but if they didn’t tighten up their D, their lead wouldn’t last long. Tyler looked up into the stands and found Emma staring straight at him. Her face lit up. She lifted her hands in the air and waved like a crazy person.
He chuckled and waved. Yeah, I see you. Emma shook her head and waved both her hands in unison. Was she pointing at something? Tyler followed the direction of her hands and almost choked on his drink.
There, at the back of the stands, sat Troy bundled in blankets with Gina by his side.
“Is that your dad?” Brett asked. Tyler nodded and lifted his mitt so Emma knew he’d gotten the message. She clapped her hands together and sat back on the bench, beaming at him.
Fly slapped him on the back. “Focus, Bowen.”
Tyler cleared his throat, then pulled his helmet back on. A few minutes later, he pushed back out onto the ice.
"Go, go, go!" Curtis shouted, sending the puck hurtling around the net.
With swift, powerful strokes, Tyler intercepted the puck and charged down the rink. He weaved through the opposing players with ease, his eyes never leaving the goalie guarding the net.
A check came out of nowhere, and he slammed into the boards. He growled and righted himself, searching for the puck.
"Three minutes left!" the announcer boomed over the loudspeaker. "Can the Sticks tie it up or will the Snowballs be facing Pucks Deep in the finals?"
Tyler saw it happening in slow motion. Everything seemed to blur except for the puck, which was clearly in the possession of a Stiff Sticks’ forward.
Boyd sank low, eyes locked onto the puck, his gloves up, anticipating a shot. But the forward executed a no-look pass to his teammate far side. Tyler cursed under his breath and tried to close the gap, his skates scraping the ice as he pushed up the ice.
The Stiff Stick player wound up and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the puck sailing. The biscuit rotated end over end. Boyd lunged desperately across the crease with his glove flicking out, but he was a fraction of a second too late. The puck found its mark, nestling into the top corner of the net.
The sharp sound of the goal horn echoed. Sean slammed his stick on the ice.
The Snowballs circled up, knocked helmets, then got in position. As the puck dropped, Sean quickly wrestled it free, tapping it to Tyler, who accelerated down the left wing.
Spotting Brett in the centre, Tyler sent a crisp pass his way. As Brett received it, gearing up for a potential game-tying shot, a Stiff Sticks player came in from his blindside. The opposing player jutted out his elbow, clearly targeting Brett's head in an illegal check.
The impact was immediate. Brett's helmet took the brunt of the blow, but the force sent him sprawling onto the ice, the puck skittering away. Tyler started toward Brett as the arena erupted in outrage. Fans jumped to their feet, yelling for a penalty, but nothing came.
Seizing the unexpected advantage, the Stiff Sticks transitioned to offence. Brett waved Tyler off, scrambling to his feet, and Tyler bolted toward their end of the ice. He was going to hammer that player—was it number thirty-six? That headhunter deserved to be crushed against the boards.
Curtis challenged the oncoming players, and André swooped in to help, but it was three on two. Sean and Tyler rushed in. The shot went off. Boyd tried to keep pace with the sudden shifts and got a piece of the puck with his glove, but it wasn't enough. The puck ricocheted into the net.
“Bullshit!” Sean skated up to the refs, but Tyler’s attention was drawn behind them. Brett was still sitting on the ice.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Tyler slumpedon the bench in the locker room with his towel around his waist. The mood was sombre as the rest of the guys dressed and filtered out into the hall. Brett was on his way to the ER, but based on what he’d described as Tyler helped him from the ice, he had an inkling as to what they’d find.
