I didn’t look back or slow down. “My dog’s sick. I have to check on him.”
I breezed into the hallway, thankful that Coach hadn’t been around to thwart my escape. And as I speed-walked my ass out of there, Mason’s voice bounced off the walls: “Since when do you have a dog?”
*
“Bouchard,” Reese called, threading through the milling players like she had radar in her boots. “It’s one thing to play hookie on your baseline, but to skip out on me for the pre-game check too? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”
I forced a laugh that I wanted to be laid back and totally normal, but it sounded like a load of bullshit, even to my ears. “Avoiding you? Never.”
She gave me that easy smile that made the guys fold like lawn chairs around her. Sometimes, when the occasion called for it, the hair would come into play. She’d rake her fingers through it, letting her blonde waves fall back into place and frame her face. Nothing special. Just the motion of it. The way she’d do it. Today though, it was all pulled up into a practical ponytail. But that smile though… A premeditated move. Had to be. Because we were seconds from the starting buzzer, and she clearly wanted to lock me in to an exam before that happened.
“Come see me after the game, so I don’t get fired for not submitting the full team’s report.”
I got lucky, and the line of Surge players started moving, removing all obligation to answer her. Once my skates hit the ice, that was it.
I drifted past the boards where the Sabres’ starters were already gathered. KeyBank Center was louder than I remembered, the home fans chanting and cheering as a backdrop to our warm-up talk. Still, I felt good. I’d taken a cold shower and iced my shoulder after practice, so there wasn’t more than a dull ache to deal with. And this was the Sabres. If everything went according to plan, we didn’t need to work too hard for our win.
The referee’s whistle cut through the roar, and the puck slid across the surface with a metallic hiss. I juked past an attacker on a quick pass from Shawn, feeling the edge of my blade bite into the ice. My shoulder held. I kept my movements measured, letting my instincts take over. Skimming the line between aggressive and cautious, and hoping nobody noticed.
A solid feed from Tucker had me pivoting to intercept, and I slid the puck down the wing to Mason before the Sabres could close in. The play was clean and easy, just enough to loosen up without pushing my limits, and I let myself exhale as the first period ticked on, counting down to when we’d really need to bring the heat.
“Mind if I take a quick nap?” We were deep in the third, and Hunter was bored.
The Sabres hadn’t given him much to do, which I was happy about but would never tell him. The less they attacked, the less I had to work. The easier it was to give a convincing performance.
“I’ve got you covered,” I said, gliding behind his posts and then back to hold the line. “As long as you don’t snore.”
The buzzer sounded, and we both looked over to see the guys high-fiving each other. Another goal. Surge led 4–0.
By this point, the crowd had died down enough that Coach’s voice cut clear across the ice. “Cross, you’re up.”
I jumped a little at the sudden eruption from Surge fans as Landon came on. The rookie may have been an arrogant ass, but only half a season in and the fans already shared Coach’s approval of him. He took center ice with the swagger of a ball player going up to bat. He even twirled his stick a few times before touching it to the ice. I rolled my eyes, but there were at least fifty young women in the stands who ate that shit up.
The puck dropped, and we were back on. Passing lanes opened, Sabres leaned in, and I moved in the familiar rhythm, dodging, blocking, checking. Relief ticked through me with every shift that didn’t demand any kind of overextension. Thank God it was Buffalo. I could play smart, avoid unnecessary strain, and still make it look like I was on my game.
A slapshot came in from the point, Mason darted to tip it, and Landon swatted a rebound just hard enough to keep our momentum without flinching. He zipped past, grin widening, and I felt the smallest flicker of camaraderie behind the annoyance. Rookie or not, he had timing.
After that, the Sabres’ defense collapsed, and we slotted two more. 7–0 to us. We controlled the tempo effortlessly, passes crisp, skating tight. My shoulder hummed under my shoddy tape job, constant but tolerable.
The game rolled on, clean plays, easy passes, Landon’s rookie antics drawing cheers without derailing rhythm. The final horn blew before I realized we’d barely broken a sweat compared to other matchups. An easy win. I exhaled, low and satisfied,slipping toward the bench with a confidence I didn’t fully feel but could sell. Shoulder intact. Nobody any wiser.
*
The ice pack pressed cold against the curve of my shoulder as I lay on my stomach, boxers doing nothing to keep the room warm. The win today was one thing, but having a hotel room all to myself turned out to be the highlight. Phone in hand, I scrolled through a news feed lit up with rookie hype and our unrelenting, well, surge to playoffs.
Surge on an Unstoppable Hot Streak.Blistering Win Over Buffalo Sabres.82 Points and Counting—League Leaders.My thumb hovered over the screen, trying to ride the glow of a 7-0 win.
I should have been celebrating. Seven-nothing. Clean passes, fast shifts, my shoulder only nagging faintly under the cold. But it wasn’t that simple. Calgary Flames was next. Home ice. Known for making defenders feel every inch of the boards. My shoulder wasn’t supposed to do that kind of work yet, not without drawing attention, not without showing the cracks I was working so hard to plaster over on my own.
The knock at my door made me shift the ice pack slightly, grunting under the sting. I shoved the phone aside, and padded across the semi-luxurious carpet. For a second after I’d opened it, the urge to slam it shut again nearly took over.
“Hey,” Reese said, hands stuffed into the pockets of her Surge bomber. Her gaze traveled down my bare torso and back up again. Not like every other time she’d seen me this way, which was almost every day for the past few months.
I could’ve sworn there was something else going on in those baby blues. Then again, maybe it was my rising panic. Did she ever give up?
Then she blinked and that look was gone. On the job again. Just like that. “Congratulations on the win.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you look like you’re about to tell me to drop and give you fifty?”
