Page 91 of Line Change

“That wasn’t tripping. The guy fell over,” Becca yells at the television as Hunter is sent to the box for two minutes for a trip that was clearly not a trip.

We’re on the edge of our seats during the two-minute power play the Pirates get, but thankfully, the Storm manage to kill the penalty.

The first period ends with no goals, and Becca mutes the TV as the intermission report begins. The moms get up to take care of the littles, and I’m left on the couch with Hadley.

“So,” she says, turning to me.

“Yes?” I pop a baby carrot into my mouth.

“Have you picked out names yet?”

I shake my head. “No, not yet.”

“I’m so excited for you and Bash. You two are going to make such great parents, I just know it. The cutest family ever.” She leans closer to me, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Don’t tell the others I said that.”

I chuckle. “Right, because you say that to all of them.”

“Hey, now.” She swats at my shoulder.

“What’d we miss?” Becca asks, walking over carrying Hazel.

“Nothing, we were just talking about names,” Hadley says.

“Oh, names. Have you picked any out?” Madison asks as she sets Tate back in the playpen.

“Not yet,” I tell them.

Madison launches into the story of how they picked Tate’s name, and we spend the rest of intermission talking about baby names before the game starts again.

The Storm score in the first two minutes of the period, but the Pirates coach challenges the goal for goalie interference.

“What the fudge?” Madison says as we’re shown the slow-motion replay while the referees confer. I bite back a laugh at her use of the word fudge instead of fuck. “There was no goalie interference.”

I nod, because while Elias was in front of the Pirates goalie and did indeed bump into him right before he tipped the puck in, from what I can tell, the Pirates defenseman pushed Elias into their goalie. That should not be goaltender interference, but then again, I swear what constitutes goalie interference changes every game.

“After review, we can confirm that there was goalie interference; therefore, we have no goal,” the ref says.

“What?” Hadley yelps, shaking her hands at the TV.

“The hell?” Becca grumbles, throwing her hands in the air.

Play resumes, and the Pirates manage to score a goal to end the second period.

“Is this game rigged?” Hadley asks, looking around at us. “Like, this seems off, right?”

“I bet Dad is so mad,” Madison says.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Becca agrees.

We spend the rest of intermission complaining about the terrible calls. Eventually, the third period gets underway, and halfway into it, Bash is checked into the boards. Hard.

“Frick,” I yell, staring at the screen and praying to anything and anyone that will listen to me that he’s okay. Fuck. My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the man I love, clearly hurt.

“Sure seemed like a dirty hit. Bet they don’t call it,” Hadley says as we watch the head trainer hurry onto the ice and kneel down and talk to Bash. Bash shakes his head, and I breathe out a sigh of relief when he eventually gets to his feet, helped by the trainer and Wes, and makes his way off the ice and down the tunnel.

“I’m sure he’s going to be fine.” Madison glances over at me.

I rub a hand over my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s taken up residence there. Becca puts her arm around me, and I lean into her.