Only hockey.
That’s what goes through my head the rest of the day as we practice at the Evergreen Falls Arena.
Since Remy will be moving on when this ends, and I’ll have to as well. Don’t want to move on from her. Don’t know how to convince her to move onwithme. Hockey though? That’s what I’ll never move on from.
I remind myself of that as we shoot press photos with the Sea Dogs for The Sports Network before the game. Our first line heads to the ice as if we’re facing off against theirs. Wesley Bryant, their hotshot right winger, Asher Callahan, their veteran left winger, and Miles Falcon, their center. Since it’s a promo shot, our goalies are here too at center ice, looming ominously.
Miller’s next to me, mask on, game face tight for thecameras. But once the cameras are off, he grins like an excited kid. “This is going to be so fun.”
“’Cause you like losing,” Wesley tosses out.
Miller shakes his head. “Nah. It’s going to be so fun to beat you here just like we did on your home turf earlier this year.”
Wesley snarls. Miles deals us an ominous stare.
But Asher just gives a shoulder shrug. “Miracles do happen, boys,” he muses like nothing can bother him.
I know that feeling too when I’m on the ice. The ice is the place where nothing can hurt me. Where emotions don’t touch me. Where I’m one with the puck.
“It’s not going to take a miracle,” I drawl as I skate away. “It’s just going to take me.”
Maybe I’ve put a target on my back, but I don’t care. I want to beat our crosstown rivals as much as I want to beat any team, but I especially want to tonight.
We might not be a real thing, but I promised Remy I’d show her how a good man would treat her, and I’ll do that till the planned end. I’ll do it as well as I play the game I’m obsessed with. There’s something about winning in front of the woman you want to impress. It’s hot, plain and simple.
Once we’re in the locker room, taping up before the game, I turn to the guys, starting with Miller. “A thousand dollars for every goal saved.”
He scoffs, “You don’t have to bribe me. I’m going to fucking save them anyway.”
“Consider it an extra incentive.” I switch my attention to Riggs and Corbin. “And a thousand for every point you fuckers score.”
“Love it when you pay us extra to do what we were already going to do,” Riggs says, then points his stick at me. “But don’t forget we still have a grand on you falling in love.”
I wince at the reminder of the bet. At the way it makes mychest squirm. Love is for other people. Love is for other times. Someday when she’s ready, Remy will find a man who gives her the world—someone who knows how the hell to make love work.
When we hit the ice, both teams join some local kids all suited up in skates and gear. It’s part of an effort to drive awareness of mental health for young players. As I stretch out the hammies with some teenagers, I briefly wish my father would take his mental health as seriously as these young athletes do, but I’ve suggested that in the past to him to no avail.
You can’t make someone you love get help. All I can do is still love him. And I show him that at game time when I tap my left shoulder for him. Then I look to the press box where Remy is and I give a chin nod. Mouthing the wordpresume. So she knows that gesture is for her.
Even if this is all going to end after the wedding, she deserves the full boyfriend treatment now. Like I promised.
At the face-off I jostle for the puck, snagging it from Bryant, then flying down the ice with it. I spot an opening, line up at just the right angle for a sharp, precise wrist shot, and bam! It sails past their goalie and lands in the twine with a satisfyingthwap. Victorious, I give a fist pump, then shoot Bryant a look liketold you so. After the scoreboard boasts of our early lead, I dig in, and focus on each second, and keep playing at the top of my game the whole night.
And as promised I enjoy destroying the Sea Dogs very much. When the scoreboard flashes with a W, I turn my attention to the press box once more, and I feel like the king of the ice when I spot Remy cheering.
* **
When we’re back at the hotel, I’m so amped up from the win that my hands are aching to touch her. I want to peel off our clothes in the hallway as we walk back to the room—no need for a suite tonight, after all, so I kept this room. By the time we reach the door I’m kissing the back of her neck, roaming my hands up her sweater, whispering filthy things in her ear.
She shudders and says, “I can’t even concentrate and open the door.”
“Let me,” I say, taking the key card, sliding it over the pad, and pushing the door open. Once we’re inside, I strip off her sweater in no time, but then stop since she’s staring at something behind me, pointing. “You got us champagne?”
I just spin around, spotting a bucket of champagne and two flutes on the table in the corner. “Actually, no,” I say, feeling a little sheepish that I didn’t. Maybe I should have.
She walks over to the bucket and picks up the card next to it. “Thank you so much for staying at the Chestnut Inn. Come back anytime. Best wishes, Cedric. He must have felt really bad for the one room thing.”
“And clearly wanted to make up for it.”
