“Okay.”
He leads me back to our room and we quickly get into bed.
He turns out the lights and then rolls over, pulling me against his chest, my back to his front.
This is how we fall asleep every night.
So I’m really grateful he made the first move.
I’m already fighting so many disparate emotions I don’t have any fight left for him. And I don’t want to fight with him either.
“I love you,” he whispers in the darkness. “You know that, right?”
“I love you too.”
“Let’s just table all these discussions until after this trip.”
“How about we wait until after this round is over? Win or lose, you’ll have at least a few days off before the finals start.”
“Deal.” He presses a soft kiss on my shoulder, and I lean into his touch.
Even when I’m upset, there’s no one I love or trust more.
I just have to find a way to make him understand.
Except I’m not even sure I understand. I don’t know what’s going on in my head, and until I figure it out, I can’t talk to him about it.
Chapter Ten
Zaan
* * *
Being away from Lexi after our argument is killing me.
I’m trying to focus on hockey, winning this series, and all the things that are usually important to me. I just can’t.
And it shows because we’re losing 3-1.
We’re not doing anything wrong, per se, we’re just not showing the same fire we showed earlier in the season. Hell, we’re not showing the same energy we had earlier in the series. I’m distracted by personal things, so I know my head isn’t completely in the game, but why is everyone else dropping the ball? It’s a team effort, and they should be picking up the slack for me. Instead, we seem to be coming apart at the seams, no matter how much Coach yells or switches up the lines.
We’re all on edge, but I’m filled with pent-up frustration. The longer we play, the more I want to hit people, and that’s not like me. However, taking out my frustrations on the guys from the other team feels like the right thing to do tonight, and a great way to add a little grit, so I don’t hesitate to drop the gloves in the second period. My opponent, a self-proclaimed tough guy who’s only been with Seattle one season, seems taken aback. And that slight hesitation is all I need to take him down to the ice.
A couple of quick jabs and his helmet comes off.
Then the ref is pulling me off him, and I smirk as I skate to the penalty box.
My teammates tap their sticks on the ice as I skate past them, and I hope my sacrifice gives them a much-needed boost.
Personally, I don’t think it did much for me.
My hand hurts from hitting the side of the other guy’s helmet, we’re still losing, and now we’re down a man for two minutes.
I groan when Seattle scores, ending the period with a score of 4-1.
I figure I’m going to hear about it in the locker room.
“Dude, what was that?” Anton murmurs as we’re heading down the tunnel.
