Maxim
Watching Ida Jane fight and win her battle against that jackoff caused a fierce burn in my chest. I replayed the video again, needing to see her bright smile and Blade’s lolling tongue as he leaned against my woman.
“You okay?” Paloma asked from across the room.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She left the space, no doubt returning to Trix and the game.
I replayed the video again, and I hissed through my teeth as I realized she wasn’t wearing my ring. No, Iwasn’tokay. I wasn’t going to be fine with this huge rift between us, but I was thankful that Ida Jane was safe. Finally.
Dillon wouldfinallybe charged with a crime, and I needed to know what she was thinking. But first I needed to focus on what Icouldcontrol…and that would never, ever be Ida Jane.
Before I called Lance to let him know Dillon had been arrested on a slew of charges, I had a hockey game to finish. If Coach let me. The moment I came out of the tunnel and settled on our bench, Coach’s gaze speared me.
“Can you focus?” Coach Whittaker asked, his eyes burning into mine, searching.
“Yeah, I can. I will.”
“Right, well, next line change is your rotation. I expect to see you in front of their offense.”
I nodded again, hating the censure I heard in his voice. He slapped me on the back, and I felt the blow through my pads. I’d let my team down. I hadn’t been able to concentrate enough tonight to keep in the correct position.
I gnashed my teeth behind my mouth guard. From the moment I’d met her, Ida Jane carried my heart. I’d refused to admit that because I wasn’t used to worrying over another person. Not since Nadia.
With the signal, I flew over the boards and into position. Head up, torso low, thighs engaged. As soon as the puck scuttled in my direction, I skated toward it, stick outstretched. I beat my opponent to it and slapped a nice shot to Cormac, who skated around another player and flicked it to Naese. My teammate glided forward and…missed the net.
Fuck.
I sucked in a breath and grunted out a curse as Naese shot me an apologetic glance. I lifted my chin to him, not wanting the mistake to get into his head. I knew how easy that was to do.
Determination coursed through me. We’d get that goal next time.
I continued to beat the Anaheim player for the puck, and he started mouthing off. I ignored him. The fifth time I won the puck, he dropped his gloves and punched my face while my head was turned. He caught me right below the eye and the helmet, a painful shot that lifted me off my feet and flat on my back.
I breathed hard, my cheekbone aching. The boos from the crowd intensified, making me aware that we must have scored.
Cormac skated into view, lips compressed and worry in his eyes. “You okay, man?”
“Of course. Just need a second.”
“That was a cheap shot.” Cormac’s nostrils flared. Angry resolve settled over his face. “We scored on the play, but we need another to put these fuckers in their place.”
Cruz dropped to his knees next to me, bare hand on my chest. “That was a sucker punch, the rude fuck. I’ll get him. This season, next, doesn’t matter.”
“Thanks, man,” I said. “Help me up.”
“Wait for med—”
I scoffed even as I reached for his beefy forearm and used it as leverage to sit up. The world spun a little, and I wiggled my jaw. “Don’t need the trainer. Help me up. I’m fine.”
Cruz rose and helped me to my feet, and I got even with the player by scoring a goal with forty-seven seconds left in regulation, putting us over the top with a win.
Now, I had seven more games to prove myself—to my teammates and to my wife.
* * *
Ida Jane
