Page 41 of Breakaway Hearts

“It’s a nickname. Because your name is Madison, and you always look kind of angry.”

“Only when I’m around you,” she argues, but I have it on good authority that spending time with me often makes her appear less angry. She sometimes even smiles.

“I love having such a strong effect on you.” I smile when she huffs. “We can work on it after we win the game tonight.”

“In your dreams.”

“You know it.” I wink, and though she’s living up to her new nickname, she also looks like she’s fighting a smile, which I take as a win.

“Where’ve you been?” Mike asks when I finally get home and barely have time to drop off my books before driving us to the rink.

“Forgot to reserve Tab’s ticket.”

I’m not sure why I blatantly lie, other than the fact that Colt is also in the living room, and he’ll rib me for upsetting Madison, yet again.

“She coming alone?” Mike asks, even as I’m up in my room, switching from jeans to sweatpants.

“Yep,” I call down. “Which doesn’t mean no one else will be there, just that they haven’t told me.”

“So we’re on Glass Family Watch?” Colt asks when I get down.

“You don’t even look at Amber if she shows up,” I warn, very aware that he didn’t know I was talking to my thirteen-year-old niece when he offered to ‘show her around campus’ two years ago, but everyone else gets a kick out of teasing him for it, and Colt could use being put in his place every once in a while.

“Who’s in your seats?” Mike asks, since he’s been acting like the new Donovan, a new girl almost every night.

“Izzie has my ticket. In perpetuity.”

“Didn’t know you knew that word.”

“Fuck off.”

“We’re teasing,” I assure him.

“It’s one thing to get fucked because I play hockey, but even I won’t get fucked for tickets.”

“Very mature of you,” David ventures.

We pile into my Range Rover and Colt plugs his phone in to set up the playlist that carries us through to the locker room, where Donovan takes over.

Coach Benson gives us his version of a pep talk, finishing it with, “Liv is out there tonight.” His thirteen-year-old granddaughter comes to most of our games. “So try to keep it clean.” He eyes Carl, who might have taught her a few new curse words at the pre-season barbecue.

“Best behavior, Coach,” he promises.

“Anything to add, Captain?”

All eyes turn to me, and while Noah often talked to us before big and important games, it didn’t occur to me tonight was one of them.

“Our preseason was rough,” I start. “We lost some really great players last spring…to NHL teams, which is what we want for them, but like every year, it took us some time to find our groove again. To figure out what we’re capable of. They’re out there thinking we’re the same team we were three weeks ago. Let’s show them what we’ve got.”

The guys cheer, and I wonder if I should have made a bigger deal of welcoming Jason, but I didn’t want Carl to feel bad. And I think I made the right decision, because he doesn’t look upset…he looks relieved.

The only one not clapping is Danny, but I don’t think I could change that even if I spent the next ten minutes kissing his ass.

“You good?” I come over and take the spot next to Jason, which is a gamble, because I don’t know his pregame ritual yet, and he’s either nervous or very intensely in the zone right now.

“I’ll be fine once I’m on the ice,” he assures me.

“A shutout would be nice, but even if you let a few in, we’ll just have an easier time on Sunday when they don’t know what’s coming.”