Walking out of the hotel to catch the bus to the rink, a heavy wet snow is falling. At least two inches coats the sidewalk.
Not good.
We’re supposed to leave Denver tonight after our game and head back to Nashville. With Quinn’s trial tomorrow, getting stuck here is the very last thing I need.
Not that I should even be thinking that, but it’s a sticky snow and I’m worried.
“Think it’ll clear up by tonight?” I ask Noah, dropping down into the seat across from him.
He taps on his phone and holds it up for me to see. “They’re predicting at least eight inches.”
“Fuck.”
“If we can’t leave tonight, we’ll head home tomorrow.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I say, passing his phone back.
“What’s the issue?”
I drop my voice, turning my head from side to side to make sure no one is listening. “Quinn’s trial starts tomorrow.”
“Oh, shit,” he mutters. “And you were going to be there?”
I nod. “I was planning on it.”
I realize it’s pointless to keep my voice down because showing up in court tomorrow is going to announce to the world that the two of us are together. I mean, why else would a hockey star be at her trial?
“Denver is used to this kind of weather. I don’t think it’ll be an issue.”
“Knock on wood.” I rap my knuckles against the back of the seat in front of me.
“Not actually wood,” Bode points out, turning around.
“Not the point,” I hiss.
“Just worry about the game and then you can worry about the weather,” Bode reiterates. “Nothing else you can do now.”
“Easy for you to say.”
The drive to the arena is a slow crawl. Between the weather and the traffic downtown, it does nothing to soothe my nerves.
I would give anything to be back home with Quinn right now. Hockey schedules are not forgiving when you would rather be anywhere else.
It feels like I’m letting her down by not being there with her. I’ve done my best to keep a positive attitude with her, but I still worry about what might happen if that fucker gets off scot-free.
It would devastate Quinn.
But I can’t think about that.
Not as the bus finally pulls into the arena.
I push myself harder during practice and warm-ups than necessary. The burn in my legs helps quiet the thoughts racing through my head.
What I’m doing here? Not as important as Quinn.
All I’ve ever wanted in my life is to have something to show for it. That I’ve accomplished something.
Playing for a winless team for so long and not having anyone to come home to? Being one of the least liked players on the team? Never a fun feeling.
