Finley
Four months later
“You ready for this?”Kennedy asks, as if I’m the one taking the ice for game seven in the second round of the playoffs instead of a doting girlfriend in the crowd.
My heart doesn’t get the message I’m not the one about to compete and pounds with an intensity that should alarm me. Since I met Zach Briggs, my heart’s gone haywire, acting in unexplainable ways.
It’s not only my heart. I’m dressed in a Palmer City Wolves hockey jersey emblazoned withBRIGGSacross the back. I let Kennedy, temporarily, color forest green streaks in my blond hair and draw black stripes of warpaint across my cheeks.
I traveled between Palmer City and New York during round one, then to Florida and back for round two, to watch every Wolves game as they charge toward the Cup. It’s given Kennedyand me time to focus on our finals, spending hours in a quiet train car for multiple trips. It’s also an unprecedented move for me. I’ve never placed anyone above my own needs before.
“I don’t know how you do this,” I say.
“What?” Kennedy asks.
“Deal with this… anxiety.” I gesture toward the ice, where the Wolves warm up—stretching, slapping the puck into an empty net, playing catch with each other.
I worry for Zach every time someone checks him into the boards or jockeys with him for position in front of the net, something he says I’ll get used to. I won’t though. Falling in love with him has come with this unexpectedprotectiveness. I want to fight his battles, do whatever’s needed to bring out that playful smile of his, make him happy.
Kennedy throws her head back and laughs. “Says the woman who performs acrobatics that couldactuallykill her.”
“At least I control the outcome,” I grumble. I also train relentlessly with safeguards in place to protect me. And when I step into the UPC gym next season, it’ll be me against each apparatus without someone trying to take me down midair.
Her hand lands on mine, squeezing once. “They’ll be all right, Fi. Florida knows not to mess with us or Alexei will beat their heads into the ice.”
Kennedy says this so casually, like she’s commenting on the weather, I almost laugh. Instead, I thank my lucky stars Alexei Volkov has Zach’s back out there.
My brother, Charlie, leans forward and rests his arm on top of our seats. He refuses to don Wolves gear out of loyalty to his team, but I’d bet money underneath his sweatshirt, he’s wearing Matt’s jersey. “You know we can afford a box, ladies.”
“With all the food and booze we want,” my other brother, Ryan, chimes in. He’s got a Palmer City Wolves hat over hisbuzzed hair, which he claims he only wears to keep his head warm.
I didn’t get my stoicism from nowhere, people.
Kennedy smirks. “Well, whenyourteams make the playoffs, we will consider your opinions.”
I stifle a snort. People often label strong opinionated women as bitches, but Kennedy doesn’t let it stop her from speaking her mind. I’m so glad to have someone like her in our corner.
Ryan opens his mouth, but Charlie raises an arm, halting him. His two hands remain in the air like two white flags before he slides back into his seat. It’s better for him; Alexei Volkov takes offense when anyone hits on or insults his fiancée, and these two face him on the ice multiple times a season.
“About time you put those two jabronis in their place.” Bertram—the ring leader of the geriatric gambling group at the Courtside Café—leans forward to speak but does nothing to hide his words from my brothers beside him. Bertram’s friends and fellow gamblers, Lenny and Oscar, sit on the other side, hooting at the joke their friend made.
“All right, you,” Kennedy says. “We’re going to be gracious hosts, all right? We’re all rooting for the Wolves tonight.”
Bertram leans back in his seat, then turns to my brothers. “I grant you a temporary pass. Next season, I’m back to hating you.”
Charlie gives a salute while Ryan diverts his attention to the ice.
“These are the seats I shared with my mom,” Kennedy whispers to me. I barely hear her over the noise echoing around the arena as the sizzle reel that they play before each game starts on the screen at center ice.
She nudges me forward to reveal a sign I missed on my seat earlier.In honor of Elizabeth Cole, loving wife, perfect mom,Wolves fanatic. Kennedy’s fingers trace the words as a shadow of a smile sketches over her lips. “She’d like you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’d beobsessedwith Briggsy.”
“What else is new?” I quip without a millimeter of bitterness. I like being the girlfriend of Zach Briggs, star winger of the Palmer City Wolves, the guy most liked by opposing fans. Hechoosesme, this solid, kindhearted, funny, fantastic guy. For a while, I woke up each day waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
Now I know the guy grinning at me as he lines up on the ice has no plans to go anywhere. Neither do I.
