My jersey. Even in a sold-out crowd, she stands out in the sea of navy and gold, but it’s the number on her sleeve that gets me.
43.
Mine.
Fuck.
“You knew,” I say, not looking away from her.
“Might’ve had some intel.” Fox’s grin is audible.
“Asshole,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
The ref’s whistle blows, calling us back onto the ice. I push off, but I’m still watching the stands.
Summer looks at me, smile still wide on her face. I’ve lost count of how many she’s given me since I started collecting them. Still, I want more.
She waves.
My chest tightens, and the corner of my mouth tugs up. I raise my stick in acknowledgment before skating to the face-off circle.
“C’mon, King,” Fox says as he takes his position in front of me. “You’ve got to put on a show for your girl.”
She’s not my girl, is on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I flip him off.
He’s not wrong. I’ve never been more motivated to win a game in my life.
I steal one more look at her before the puck drops. Logan wins the draw and flicks it to me.
By the time the final buzzer sounds, the scoreboard reads six–two. I’ve put up two of those goals, which isn’t exactly a regular occurrence for a defenseman. Might be the first time I’ve managed it in the last five seasons.
The guys are loud in the locker room, the energy riding high off twelve straight wins. Helm’s already talking about making it a baker’s dozen, and Logan’s recapping his assist on my second goal.
I’m pulling off my skates when Coach taps my shoulder. “You’re on post-game media.”
Even though I’m eager to get out of here, doing press after a win is always easier.
I nod and finish changing into my suit, forcing my mind to stay in game mode even though all I want to do is find Summer.
The media room is packed. More reporters than usual, which makes sense, given the streak. I stand behind the podium, and the questions come fast.
“Miles, two goals tonight. What was working for you out there?”
“Team played well. They gave me opportunities, and I capitalized.” Standard answer. Never take all the credit.
“After your injury last season, how does it feel to be playing at this level again?”
And there it is. The injury question.
My jaw tightens. “Feeling good,” I say, then repeat, “The whole team’s playing well.” Give them the same answer enough times, and they usually move on.
A woman in the third row raises her hand. I nod at her.
“Sarah Chen,Sports Illustrated. You’re tied for third in your division, holding a playoff spot by tiebreaker. One loss could drop you out. As captain, how do you handle that pressure?”
I press my tongue to the back of my teeth. The C comes with extra weight. I know that, but still, the reminder grinds on me.
“We take it one game at a time. We know what’s at stake,” I answer.
