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A few players have gathered in the locker room with their AirPods in their ears or the beats over them. Hawley comes up and says, “Basilio?”

“Yeah.”

“I watched the game against the Gamblers and if anyone threw the game, it was Johansen. You played your heart out.”

A half-smile cracks my stoic façade. “I did. And Hawley… thanks. It means a lot to me that you wouldn’t judge based on an article.”

A half hour later, the whole team is gathered around the sleek wooden benches and chairs, and Coach comes in, tossing me my phone. “There’s something that needs to be said, and I need to say it. John Basilio bet against our team. It wasn’t his money, and he played that game like he does every game with integrity and veracity. With skill and speed. And of course, it wouldn’t be a Rattlers game without John defending his teammates and spending some time in the penalty box. I have verified this with the commissioner, so if any of you have something to say about it, let’s get it out in the open now.”

Friesz starts a slow clap, then it gets faster and faster. Palici yells, “Let’s rally around John and show the hockey verse that the Rattlers stick together, and we’ll fucking spit venom for throwing shade on our captain.”

Our team pats my head and arms, standing with me and their support means everything to me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Becca

True to his word, John has called, texted, and video called every single day. But tonight, I get to see him in person, and he’ll be here for four days. His team plays the Notes tonight, then they have an off day, then a night game, followed by a Saturday afternoon game. He’s stretching his time here through Sunday since he doesn’t have to be back at practice until nine on Monday morning.

My spirits are high when my head isn’t in the toilet. I treat my nausea as a blessing, now that I’m having a baby with the man I’ve always depended on, with the man I love more than anything.

A notification from my phone breaks the silence.

Madison: I’m coming into town tomorrow. Can we have dinner at Gertie’s? You know how much I love that place.

Me: Sure. I have to work, but I’ll meet you there. What time?

Madison: Is five okay? I’m meeting one of Dane’s teammates for drinks. Lettie’s been playing matchmaker.

Me: Who? I know them all. Oh wait, John will be in town. Do you mind if he tags along?

Madison: I’d love to see him. Oh and my date just graduated from Kentucky and was drafted by the Fireflies.

Me: A younger man? Are you going to be his teacher?

Madison: Hell yeah. Get them young and mold them into what you want.

Me: Happy for you. Can’t wait to hear all about it.

I walk to the arena since it isn’t far from work, and Oakley is waiting. She’s acting all shifty and asking a million questions about why I don’t want a beer or a seltzer while at the game.

“Because I don’t want to. No peer pressuring me.”

“Aww, that reminds of the bar on the island, Pier Pressure. We had so much fun. We should all go again next year.”

Next year, I’ll be the size of a boat or maybe even have a newborn.

“It was the best vacation ever,” I say, and a tow truck couldn’t tow my smile away.

John spots me in the crowd and pounds his hand against his heart, making me one big pile of goo. Yes, my hormones make me cry all the time. John sent me one of his game-worn jerseys, and I keep bringing the collar to my nose. I love the fresh woodsy scent of his cologne. He sees me and comes up to tap the glass, pointing to his chest. I wave him away, not wanting to distract him. His teammates have come around and now are fully supporting him. I just hope that his reputation can hang on.

The fans are on their feet, waiting in silence as the referee steps between Corbin and the Rattler’s center with the puck in hand. Sticks tap in anticipation. Adrenaline capturing the drumbeat of my heart as the puck drops. Echoes of sticks slapping against the ice and blades spraying slivers of shavings, ramp up the excitement. Big, beautiful bodies own the ice on both teams. Their skates grip the slick ground as John crashes Adam into the boards as both teams scramble for the first loose puck.

Oakley bounces on her toes; she’s unable to sit still, already yelling at the refs and then turning to me. “John better not hurt Corbin.” Oakley jabs me in the ribs.

“Ouch.”

He would never, but being best friends off the ice doesn’t affect how they play against each other on the ice. Would John ever do anything excessive against Corbin? No. But will he body check him or push him into the boards to save a play? Absolutely.