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I shake it off and skate to the goal. He’d reached out a few times over the last week, presumably about the draft of my sermon I’d sent him, but my schedule was already chaotic before adding the police report. I didn’t have the time or patience to deal with him.

Obviously he’s not happy about that.

“Let’s wrap this up!” I shout. It takes everything in me not to look up in the stands for my girl, but I’ve got to stay focused. Get the ‘W’ and move on. I sure as fuck won’t be losing this game now that the Reverend showed up to the first game in four years.

The period moves fast. Erskine U is desperate to even the score. That desperation leads to aggressiveness and sloppy mistakes and more than one fight breaks out. Jefferson gets tossed in sin bin, leaving us without our best defender giving more opportunities than I’d like for them down on my end of the ice. They slap the puck at the goal anytime they get near, praying something gets past. Nothing does.

I guard the fucking goal like my life depends on it.

The clock ticks by, counting down the final seconds, and down by the other goal there’s a scrum down by the net, Reid and two defenders fighting for possession, Reese shouting that he’s open, when suddenly the puck breaks free, ricocheting off the wall. It slides down the ice and the Erskine forward swoops in behind it, chasing down the breakaway. I crouch, filling as much of the mouth of the goal with my body as possible. My knees are bent, hands and stick ready. I clock his position, the way he holds the stick, the direction of his skates and the angle that he rushes toward me. He takes the shot, and I deflect it, the puck zinging behind the net. I break from the crease, chasing after the puck to gain possession. I should clear the puck off to one of my teammates. I should get back in the goal. But instead, I make eye contact with Reese and give him a nod. Taking a few longer glides away from the net, he and I both wait until the other team descends, then he sprints off, and I snapshot the puck down to the far corner, right into the heel of Reese’s blade. It’s bold and Coach is likely to kick my ass later but fuck yeah, I’m going to showboat. The Reverend came here to create a spectacle. I’m more than willing to up the ante.

Reese doesn’t waste the momentum and takes a quick wrist shot at the goal. The lamplight glares, right as the buzzer signals the end of the game.

“Fuck yes!” I shout, raising the stick over my head. My teammates descend, Jefferson rushing out of the penalty boxand Reid, crashing into me so hard I almost fall. I look over his sweaty head and catch sight of my girl. She’s grinning wide, eyes shining with pride. This is what it’s about.

This is love.

I used to just want to win, to get wasted with my teammates and find a puck bunny to celebrate with, but now all I want is to be with her.

It’s no real surprise that when I finally look back to where my father had been sitting, that he’s no longer there. The only real question is what he wants and when I’ll have to deal with him. HopefullyafterI celebrate.

“Still undefeated!” Jeff roars when we’re back in the locker room, stripped of pads and gear, heading to the shower. “Guess that ‘stache really is magical.”

“That’s what Nadia said,” Ripley jokes. “Bazinga!”

“Don’t.” I give him a hard look and he holds his hands up in surrender. “But yeah,” I grin, “I’m not hearing complaints, on or off, the ice.”

“Is it true,” Murphy asks, “that you got called down to the police station the other day for matching the description of a pervert terrorizing campus?”

It’s a joke, but it hits a little too close, and my gaze flicks to Reese’s, but his jaw just tightens and he gives a curt head shake.

“They mistook me for someone else, but not because of the ‘stache.” I smooth out the fuzz over my lip and then grip my junk. “They thought I resembled a guy named Hugh Cocke.”

“Rakestraw,” Coaches voice carries over the revelry. “A minute.”

I slam my locker door shut and follow him into the hall. “I know I took it too far on that last play, but I saw an opportunity and I went for it.”

“That’s why I have you on the team, because you’re willing to take risks.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I hate to breakup the celebration in there, because you deserve it, but your father is in my office waiting to talk to you.”

“F–” I bite off the word. “Now? In your office?”

“Yep.” The annoyed look on his face tells me he’s not happy about it either. “I’ve got shit to do,” he says, “so make it fast.”

“Yes, sir.”

When I reach the office door, I see him standing, facing Coach Bryant’s shelf of awards and memorabilia. I don’t know if he hears me or smells me first, but he turns, wrinkling his nose. Yeah, I’m still shirtless and probably smell like the inside of a hockey glove, but that’s what the Reverend gets for calling me in before I had a chance to shower.

“Axel.”

“Reverend,” I say, like there’s nothing unusual about the situation. I drop into the seat across from the desk and stretch out my legs. “What’s up?”

“I’ll make this quick,” he says, eyes roving over the ink on my torso and arms. “I’m aware that you’ve been interviewed at the police station involving an incident with a young woman on campus.”

How the fuck? I swallow the question. My father has eyes and ears everywhere. I should know that by now. “No good game? No, well played on being undefeated? No congrats on blocking that last goal and getting an assist?”

“Not when I’m trying to handle a PR crisis.”

“There is no PR crisis. I made a statement and handed over some relevant evidence to help a friend.” Nope, that’s not right. I amend, “To help mygirlfriend.”