I slam the door shut behind me and drop onto the bench. Why do these boxes always smell like shit? I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and look up at the stands.
Madeline is on her feet, hands cupped around her mouth, shouting something I can’t hear over the arena’s noise. But I can see her face. She’s not mad; she’s got a giant smile while pumping her fist in the air, pointing at me, and then makes a gesture like she’s wrapping something around her knuckles.
She’s proud of me. For punching that guy.
I laugh, shaking my head. She’s fucking crazy. And she’s mine.
The five minutes drag ass. I watch both the game and Madeline, enjoying seeing her full reactions to plays. Georgia pulls her back into her seat a few times, but Madeline keeps popping up.
The buzzer sounds for the end of the period, and I skate back to the bench and head to the locker room for intermission, my knuckles throbbing. Coach gives me a look—not angry, just tired. “Worth it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It was.”
I grab my phone from my bag. One text from Madeline.
Buttercup:That was hot. Especially since I know what that body of yours looks like under that gear.
I smile, typing back.
Me:I want to see how hot it made you tonight… in my hotel room.
I have plans of getting her back to my room tonight. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to sleep without her beside me.
The second period starts, and we hit the ice again. We’re still up, and I don’t see that changing. These asshats run their mouths far too much for how they play. That might be the only thing they’re good at, but it’s not playing well for them. Number14 never came back from the locker room. Good, now the rest of the team knows better.
During one of the whistles, the other team’s Ice Crew comes out in matching sparkly outfits, waving flags and doing some strange-ass routine. I watch them from the bench, waiting to get back in and finish this game and be done. I want to get back to my girl.
The opposing team’s Ice Crew is boring as hell. No energy, no personality, just going through the motions. I think about Madeline on our Ice Crew and how she stands out. You can’t pull your eyes off her. These girls look like mannequins compared to her.
I get back on the ice and look for her, expecting to see her shirt and her smile. But now she’s sitting with her arms crossed.
I make a play that allows me to skate closer to her, sliding past the boards. She doesn’t meet my eyes like she always does. She just stares straight ahead, her jaw tight.
What the hell happened in fifteen minutes?
I force my focus back to the game, but now I’m distracted. With every whistle, I glance up. She’s still sitting, not cheering. Did someone do or say something to her? I’ll kill them. Cut them up and toss them into the lake. I’ll make Murphy’s death look like child’s play.
Something’s wrong. And I have no fucking idea what, but I’m sure as fuck going to find out.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
MADELINE
I’m pouting, and I know it. Still, I can’t stop it. I’m also really fucking pissed. My emotions are all over the place.
I cross my arms and stare straight ahead, not at the ice, not at Luke, not at anything. My jaw is starting to hurt from clenching it.
Georgia leans in, I’m sure having caught my mood shift. I was slightly mortifying her with my screaming before now.
“What happened? You were just screaming at the ref like a lunatic.”
“Nothing.” The word comes out sharp with a huff.
“Maddie.” She laughs, grabbing my arm. “You made a shirt. With his name on it. You’re not a ‘nothing’ girl.” I’m really not. Why can’t I play it cool? Act unbothered. Boys don’t affect me, but I swear Luke is more man than boy.
“He was staring at them,” I tell her because I tell her everything at the end of the day.
“Who?”
