Piper dumping me was a crushing blow I didn’t see coming. Maybe I should have because she avoided me when we got back from Nashville. I thought we could talk about the two of us continuing our relationship for real.
I guess it never meant anything to her.
I shake the thoughts of her away and finish getting ready for the game.
“You going to be okay tonight?” Strawberry asks.
“How many times are you guys going to ask me that?”
“You’ve been in a funk ever since?—”
“Don’t say it,” I snap. “I know what happened. I was there.”
“Look, don’t bite my head off, but we need your head in the game tonight, okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I bite out.
I don’t even look at him. Because when I see him, I’ll see Piper. And then I’ll get angry all over again.
Thankfully, years of practice have burned the pregame warm-ups into my brain like they’re second nature. I shoot pucks at the goal, watching half slide on by the pipes.
God. Tonight is going to be harder than I first thought.
I stand on the ice, watching the flag as the national anthems ring out, and try to quell my thoughts.
Hockey.
It’s the one thing that will never let me down.
Well, that and Puck. Except every time he looks at me now, I sense his judgment. Like I did something to scare off the woman we both love.
The puck drops and I lock down my emotions. Troy gains easy control of the puck but Vancouver is there. Noah tries to block the defenseman, but they’re able to steal the puck and move it down the ice toward our zone.
Fuck.
Our defense sets up, trying to stop the play from unfolding but it doesn’t work. Vancouver catches us off guard and sinks one in the net.
The home crowd goes wild.
“Look alive out there, Willy,” Duncan chirps.
“Fuck you!” I shout back.
I don’t have it in me to control my temper tonight. Not when I’m so low right now.
The first period is more of the same. And the second.
By the time the third period rolls around, we’re down 3-1.
Duncan swipes the puck from Vancouver and a defenseman is on him within seconds.
“Pass the puck!”
My pleas go unheard. Duncan ignores the fact that I’m open and fires the puck at Vancouver’s goal. It bounces off the goalie’s shin pads, and a winger for the Lightning scoops up the puck and returns to our end of the ice.
He’s on a breakaway. No matter how hard I push myself, I can’t catch up to him. The puck flies toward the net and sails past Nick.
Fuck.
