“I wanna know everything!” she exclaims.
Chapter 24
Phoenixes
Lenzin
The ice feels different now, and I know it isn’t, not really. It’s the same rink, same boards, same blue lines I’ve crossed a thousand times. But when I step onto it and glance up toward the Fairfax Media box, I don’t see the fanfare of it, or my teammates women. I see Lucy’s hands pressed to the glass. I see Hildy standing, her hand unconsciously resting over her stomach.
I see Anna, my oldest friend, supporting them and me.
That changes everything about this game for me. Before, the ice was mine. A place I controlled. Measured. Dominated. Now it feels like it’s theirs too, and I love that I can share it with them.
“You good?” Kilovac asks.
“Never been better,” I answer, and I mean it too.
“Good.”
Our first shift is brutal, and as we come in, Deacon looks at Kilovac. “How are you feeling?”
“Like we need to win.” He states.
“Reznik has been circling all night. You good?” he asks.
Daniil Reznik, right wingman. #27. Excellent player. Huge fanbase. He’s fast, smart, not reckless, and he’s been talking shit. Not to me, to Aleks. Reznik’s Ukrainian. Shouldn’t matter on the ice, but apparently, it’s spilling over.
“I’ve heard worse from my own father,” Kilovac says before taking a swig from his water bottle. “It’s fine.”
I look up to the box as I take a drink and see Lucy jumping up and down, and give her a little wave.
“She thinks you can hear her,” Kilovac states.
“Fucking adorable.” I nod.
We’re 1-1, midway through the second, and Reznik has not let up, and neither has Kilovac. Aleks finishes a clean check along the boards. Shoulder to chest, perfect angle, nothing dirty at all.
Reznik pops up and immediately shoves him. Aleks has had enough and shoves back.
Reznik says something again, and Aleks’ jaw tightens.
That’s his tell when he has had enough.
Gloves drop, the arena detonates, and Reznik swings first. It’s a quick right, and I know Aleks could have stopped him, but he didn’t.
“Fuck,” I snarl as I head that way at first contact.
Aleks swings back, and they lock up, spinning, blades carving deep crescents into the ice.
I slide in only when Reznik yanks Aleks off balance too hard, driving him backward toward the boards.
I grab Reznik’s shoulder to break it up.
He turns and throws without looking, and his knuckles catch my jaw. The taste of iron hits instantly.
Fuck it, I think as I drop my gloves. If I’m in it, I’m in it.
I hook his jersey, pull him clean off Aleks. Now he squares to me, and he doesn’t hesitate. He’s not dirty, he’s emotional, which is sometimes worse.
