Reese was relieved it was time for puck drop.
Lachlan won the first face-off from Chance, with a resounding “Ha!” that echoed through the arena.
Ten seconds later, David avenged his friend’s honor by slamming Lachlan into the boards.
Reese winced. “Holy shit, that had to hurt.” He felt genuinely sorry for Lachlan. Reese knew exactly how densely packed David was, and how much he weighed because of it.
Michaela patted his hand. “Didn’t David tell you this league allows checking?”
“No, he failed to mention that,” Mati said. “Don’t these guys know they’re too old to be playing hockey like this?”
“I dare you to be the one to tell them,” Michaela said.
Reese laughed, but his eyes never left the game. David had knocked Lachlan off the puck with that hit and was moving it up the ice.
His skating style wasn’t graceful, but it was powerful, his big body deflecting the opponent’s defense and protecting the puck with his wide shoulders. His hands were quicker than most defensemen’s, let alone in a beer league.
Reese shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. He could picture the corded muscles in David’s arms flexing as he maneuvered the puck, the bunch of his shoulders as he dodged and turned.
As soon as David crossed the blue line, he pulled up and passed to Kieran, who was streaking down the far wall. Michaela winced when the puck landed on Kieran’s stick and was gone again within a second.
Fortunately, the Squares’ goalie had been paying more attention to Kieran than the rest of the defense had and he was in position to make the stop.
Reese, Mati, and Michaela cheered. The puck went the other way, and David fell back, skating backward and ruining the Squares’ forward’s play with his stick.
Reese fell into the rhythm of the game, the cut of skate blades on the ice, the quick but graceful movement of the play from one end of the ice to the other soothing and familiar. He’d watched a lot of hockey in his lifetime, but he’d never been so focused on one particular player. He held Mati’s hand and kept his eyes pinned to David.
David stomped down the tunnel to the locker room, jostling the guys around him and making a racket. They’d won the game, thanks to an amazing shot by Kieran in the last three minutes. David had gotten the secondary assist on that goal, and he was still glowing with satisfaction.
Good hockey always made him feel better. Lighter. Sometimes it even let him sleep for a few more hours than he would be able to otherwise. His ribs and hips hurt from a couple hits—both received and given—that were probably ill-advised for a man his age. Oranyman, for that matter. But he was never going to admit to that. His legs were tired, his arms sore, his head quiet and happy.
Most nights after a game, he’d go to a bar with the guys, have a beer or two, and eat something deep-fried and disgusting. Tonight, he was racing toward the showers for entirely different reasons.
Nothing in the world sounded better than getting home and climbing into bed with Mati and Reese. Maybe they’d fool around. Maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, he’d pull them close andsleep.
He was charging back out of the shower room, one hand holding his shampoo, the other clenching the towel around his waist, when Kieran hip-checked him into the wall.
Ouch.
“What’s your big hurry?” Kieran asked with a sly grin.
“I have people to look after,” David said loftily.
Kieran wasn’t buying it. “Oh, yeah? I heard you took a vacation.”
“I did. I’m really enjoying this leisure time. You were right, I needed a break.”
“You’re full of shit. Don’t give me that. Tell me what’s really going on.”
David looked at the rest of the team—most of whom were doing a poor job of pretending disinterest—and pulled Kieran down a couple rows of lockers. Not that it would make a big difference in an echoing room full of nosey motherfuckers.
“I didn’t want to be paid for this one,” he said quietly. “It didn’t feel right.”
“And what exactlyhaveyou been feeling this week?” Kieran asked with a ridiculous leer.
David rolled his eyes. “It’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me, David Zapetti.”
