Henrik laughed in disbelief. “You playing clean? Oh, this should be good.”
Itookaspotin the penalty box. There was blood on my tongue and sweat in my eyes. We were still in the second period, with ten minutes left on the clock.
Henrik was right. Playing clean and I didn’t quite fit. I’d shoved Greate against the boards as soon as I could because, in my book, it was better to strike first. Well before his skates touched the ice, I understood he was determined to be my personal nightmare. So, I was determined to show him two could play that game.
I felt his gaze on me from where he stood across the ice. He was waiting for my clock to run out, so he’d get another chance to swing. Since I took the first shot, it didn’t sit well with him.
Sam blazed past the box with the puck at the edge of his stick. I could tell by the slight tilt of his shoulder he was waiting for Henrik—who wasn’t as fast but was far more tactical in getting close to the net.
Henrik was on the opposite end of the rink, doing his best to bulldoze his way through defenders. I knew he’d score before his stick touched the puck.
The point put us in the lead. As soon as the penalty timer was up, I rejoined them.
“Clean, huh?” Henrik grinned, slowing as he moved by.
“He was asking for it,” I said.
“What should I make for your funeral?”
“Crepes,” I suggested. “My sisters love that shit.”
That got a laugh out of him and before moving on, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Sam stopped for a moment to say, “Nice work. Target on your back’s doubled in size.”
“Gonna help me out?” I raised a brow at his smile.
He slapped my shoulder pad before starting off. “No worries. I got it under control.”
Sam kept his word. His success shocked me to no end. Greate and I didn’t have any other run-ins. At least, not in the rink.
Post-game victory celebrations started in the parking lot. I weaved through the crowd, politely declining requests for signatures and photos from kids with dreams of playing hockey in college. Sam protested when he saw a familiar look on my face.
“Come on!” he called after me. “Party starts at nine on Chester Street.”
The anxious guy he’d been pre-game seemed like a mirage. Currently, he had a beautiful girl in one hand and a beer in the other.
“Busy,” I called back with a shake of my head.
“The photos?” he asked in a moment of seriousness.
I flashed him a thumbs up. “I got you.”
“My man!” He raised his beer in my direction before pulling his girl close for a deep kiss. I snorted at the sight.
“Hey.” Lincoln caught up to me and walked backward. He had a level of energy one shouldn’t be able to maintain after playing an intense game. I don’t think the guy ever ran out of steam. “You sure you don’t want to join us tonight? Think it could be good seeing as the new guys on the team think you’re a rage demon we’ve summoned from the ashes.”
“Imagination running wild, huh? Drafting stories again?”
“Actually, I do have this new idea I want to run by you—”
I held up my hand. “That wasn’t an invitation, Link. I have somewhere important to be tonight. I can’t be late.”
His eyes lit up, and I regretted the feeling I’d put into my words.
“Do you need company? A bodyguard? You know those Crows love a good fight out of the rink, too.”
“I’ll be fine…” When he gave me a disbelieving look, I added, “Promise. If my important meeting goes well, you’ll be the first to know.”
