Hazel and Bea return, the second period starts, and we turn our attention to the game.
Halfway through the period, Keir Fraser hits the ice, and I glance to Tate at the bench. He’ll be watching to see if Fraser fits in better with the new team. Something to give him peace of mind.
The Storm win a face-off and my attention snags on Fraser. He’s playing differently tonight. With more aggression. More force.
He’s angry. I can see it in the sloppy, furious way he skates and passes the puck, checks guys and defends his net. He wears a bitter sneer as he plays, and my stomach tightens.
Since Alexei left the team, we no longer have an enforcer to deal with situations like this. Someone to lay down the law and protect the guys.
It’s one of the gaps in the team that we weren’t able to fill before the trade deadline.
The puck comes to Rory and Keir checks him from behind.
Rory’s knee slips out from under him at an unnatural angle. Theenergy in the arena changes as the fans leap to their feet, everyone watching or yelling for a penalty. Me included.
“Shit,” Georgia whispers as the whistle blows and Hayden, Luca, and Carey skate over to Rory to check on him, still down on the ice, wincing in pain.
“What the hell was that?” I mouth through the glass as Keir skates by, protective fury beating through my veins.
Rory tries to stand on the injured knee and collapses back to the ice. A murmur of desperate concern ripples around the stadium.
Hazel’s hands are on her mouth and tears fill her eyes as Hayden and Luca help Rory off the ice. The energy in the arena is thick like a fog, tense and terrified.
He’s our captain. He’s our star player. He’s the heart of the Vancouver Storm.
“Bea, can you stay with Darcy and Pippa?” I ask. “I’ll come get you before the end of the game, okay?”
Her eyes are wide. “Promise?”
“Promise.” I gesture to Hazel and Georgia. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 69
JORDAN
“I can play through it,”Rory says the next afternoon.
“No,” Tate says quietly.
“Coach.” Rory leans forward in his chair across from Tate’s desk. “Please. Let me play. My guys need me.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I gesture at the crutches leaned against the back of his chair.
His knee is sprained, a minor injury that’ll take six to eight weeks to heal, as long as Rory rests. If he plays through it, it could get worse.
We’re lucky it wasn’t worse. He could have torn his ACL.
He’s probably out for the rest of the season, though, playoffs included.
Rory’s jaw tightens, determination in his eyes. “I canplay.”
“No one’s doubting that, Miller.”
I hate the worry in Tate’s eyes. I hate it so much.
Our eyes meet, and my stomach knots with conflict. It’s been almost twenty-four hours of hell.
We need Rory to win. We’re pretty certain of that. Tate had this injury and played through it when he shouldn’t have, though. It’s what contributed to the ACL tear that ended his career.
