“Good. It just means you can focus, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll see ya.”
After heading out and back to my place, I ensure my security system is on to prevent any unwelcome guests. I would move states just to live in peace.
Heading straight to my sofa, I flop onto the cushions and turn on the television which instantly has hockey highlights on the sports channel.
Scott is right, I should be able to focus.
But I can’t, I really can’t.
I need to play harder to prove that I still have skill. Everyone is predicting this will be my last season—hell, even in my head I’m predicting it too. I just don’t say it out loud, as that makes it too real.
I’ve thought about what’s ahead. Back at Connor’s wedding, his uncle mentioned a possibility for a spot somewhere within the Spinners organization. I’m sure a lot of teams will be vying for my attention to be involved next season in a non-athletic sense. However, Declan runs a tight ship, a team that has a large group of fans and that gives back to the community. Their social media presence draws a lot of eyes to the Spinners…
Social media is marketing, marketing is… Isla.
My eyes dart up to the screen that shows the hockey league’s schedule for the coming two weeks.
I scoff a half-smile to myself when I read what I am already well aware of. We have a game against the Spinners coming up on the schedule, the last game before Christmas. It’s at their home arena.
Which means that the probability of seeing Isla is disproportionately high.
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I debate unlocking it to type a message. It isn’t a good idea to check in with Isla, it will probably make my focus on the game diminish. She could be a distraction. I’m confident that we agreed on the right plan of action; nothing.
But I’m bound to see her, even a glimpse of her. Surely, she’ll either be working or sitting behind the boards to watch her brother. I’ll try to give her a nod or something when I’m skating by—wait, no, if her brother saw that, he would go mental. I promised Isla I wouldn’t rile him for the sake of goals.
Maybe I should send a text. I mean, we will be in the same zip code again. It’s just stating the obvious. Connor and I text, and even though we have to play against one another, off the ice we’re friends. Which is why he sent me a “looking forward to seeing you in Lake Spark” text.
Isla and I can be friends. That we can do.
Growling, I toss my phone to the side. My life is one of confusion right now, no point in dragging another factor into that.
* * *
Skatingonto the ice at the Spinners arena after a last-minute team huddle, I find myself facing off with Briggs.
“Vaughn,” he says my name rather curtly.
“Briggs. Hope you woke up on the right side of the bed to keep your head in the game.” I bend down to get in position.
He mirrors the move. “Oh, I did, with a beautiful woman right beside me. So, I’m fully ready to swipe that Florida vitamin D right off your pretty-boy face.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort with something about Isla. But I can’t, I have too much respect for her. It would be so easy, though.
“Only makes us stronger,” I dryly reply.
The referee drops the puck, and it’s on.
For the next few minutes, it’s a constant back and forth on the ice with Briggs.
Then it happens.
I push Briggs into the boards, and a few seconds later, Connor is behind me. I have to keep friendship aside for the moment, and I aim low to pin Connor against the boards, gripping his shirt in the process. Helmets fall off as one arm elbows into Briggs, and Connor begins to scuffle with me. It’s always a moment of high adrenaline when these incidents happen. Your body just reacts the way it needs to, even if it’s a bit more aggressive than you would ever be. Which is why I give it my all.
Briggs ends up on the ice and his stick out of reach. Connor, now pissed, aims a little too high with his stick, landing on me. The ref blows the whistle, and Connor is sent to the penalty box for two minutes, which gives us a power play.
“Asshole,” Briggs seethes as he skates off from me.
