Thoughts of waking up wrapped around Jamal distract me from the game. Sneaking into his room was beyond risky, but I couldn’t stay away. I waited until an hour after curfew, then texted to confirm he was awake before going to his room. I couldn’t care less if it’s reckless. He makes me stupid enough to throw away my entire future. If anyone finds out, especially his bio-father, we’llbe canceled. John would ruin us out of spite. That thought gets shoved to the back of my brain, hopefully never to surface again.
He’s shown me compassion and a way to break free from John. In hindsight, the solution was obvious. I’m hoping my obsession fizzles out because the idea of anything serious is mental.
Totally ridiculous. We haven’t talked about what we’re doing. Hot hookups in secret or something more. Even as I tell myself I don’t want more, I don’t believe it.
Jamal scores, and I leap from the bench to celebrate. It’s short-lived because their defender tosses his gloves and starts a fight. Jamal holds up his hands but doesn’t fight back.
I’m ready to jump onto the ice, but Drake yells my name. He’s skating toward the bench at full speed. I have enough brain cells to wait for him. But as soon as he’s there, I’m gone, racing to Jamal.
My gloves are off before I get to him. A ref hovers a few feet away, not willing to step in yet.
My snow spray startles their defender, and I lean in so only he can hear. “Touching him is bad for your health.”
Jamal has backed away with the distraction, and the guy smirks at me. He keeps his eyes on me as his fist aims at Jamal. He never connects because I tackle him on the ice. Jamal might worry about how he’ll be perceived if he fights, but I’m all in for hockey fights. No one touches him and gets away with it.
The ref decides to do his job and sends the three of us to the sin bin. I get an extra minute for arguing that King shouldn’t get a penalty.
The defender chirps at us from his box.
Neither of us responds, and Jamal presses his leg against mine. He’s telling me to keep my temper in check. No problem. As long as the fucker isn’t touching him, I’m fine. Probably.
Jamal and Wilson, Minnesota’s defender, are released, but I have another minute. Wilson “accidentally” pokes me with his stick as he skates by and says, “King is such a pussy not to fight.”
It’s far more disrespectful to chirp using a player’s name versus their number. Wilson is trying and succeeding in making an enemy of me. But I can be patient.
The second period ends, and Coach is furious. “Drake, explain why you put O’Keefe on the ice knowing he’d jump into the fight.”
“Should I pretend not to know what you’re talking about, or do you want the truth?” Drake asks with a haughty Swedish glare.
“The truth!”
“O’Keefe had one leg over the wall. If I hadn’t pretended to sub out, he would’ve been ejected from the game for misconduct and faced a ten-game suspension. This team needs him.”
Coach turns to me. “What the fuck was that about?”
“King’s not a fighter, and I stepped in.” I shrug as if I’m unbothered, but Jamal hasn’t looked at me, and I’m afraid I fucked up.
“That’s Drake’s job!” Coach yells.
“He doesn’t need to take on retaliation for the entire team,” I counter.
“No, but he’ll always take out anyone who touches Lucky,” Benz says absentmindedly, but I see my teammates connect the dots and look between me and Jamal. Jamal’s gaze never meets mine.
“I was prepared to praise you for your passes, assist, and team play tonight, O’Keefe. Stop fucking around and play like you’re meant to.” Coach’s face is purple, and spit flings out of his mouth.
I agree because I can do both.
I hear Jamal’s low voice on the other side of the door and can’t bring myself to walk away. He didn’t come to the team’s celebration dinner, and I left early. If I come back later, I’m more likely to get caught.
I knock lightly, convincing myself it’s fine if he’s mad. That if whatever we had is over, it’s for the best. We’re a terrible match even without the pseudo-familial relationship.
Jamal pulls the door open with big eyes and the phone to his ear. He glances around the hall and yanks me into his room.
“Mom, I’m gonna bounce. Theo’s here.” He crowds me against the wall and rests his forehead on my shoulder.
My arms wrap around him, pulling him flush against me.
“Love you. Tell Theo hi, and I’ll talk to you soon.” Kenya ends the call before I can say hi back.
