Page 91

The game is physical and brutal, bodies slamming against the glass every other second as we fight for every inch of ice. I can already feel bruises forming on my skin. The Glaciers' forward, Madden, is relentless, clawing for the puck in the corner. Elbows fly, and I match him shove for shove. When the ref’s back is turned, Madden plants a shoulder in my chest, leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “I had Becca first,” he whispers, the words slicing deeper than any check.

For a split second, the rink is soundless—just the thump of my heart in my ears and Madden’s words echoing in my head. Rage flashes so hot through me I almost drop my stick right there. Through gritted teeth, I ask, or demand, “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he cackles.

I rip off my helmet and grab him by the throat. I’m used to trash talking, but not one opposing player has ever said anythingto me about Becca. The betting scandal, sure. And that’s fair game, but not Becca.

I take off my gloves and throw him onto the ice. “Tell me what you mean, asshole.”

“You wouldn’t fight with a Stallion would you. We’re brothers even though we didn’t play together,” he says with a look of self satisfaction on his face.

With my fist reared back, I hesitate and then it dawns on me that this is the guy from Becca’s freshman year. “You no good motherfucker, sexual predator.” I bloody his nose with a few punches to the face before Hawley and Freisz pull me off of him and the referee sends me to the penalty box.

My chest heaves and I’ve never been as close to wanting to kill someone as I am right now. Becca has her hands over her face and it hits me that this is why she wanted to get out of the arena so quickly two nights ago and why she didn’t want to come tonight. I’m trying to figure out how someone makes it to the league almost fifteen years later.

During the last intermission, I ask Coach, “Who is Madden and how did he make it to the professional ranks?”

Coach taps on his tablet. “Says here that he played for Kentucky and then a few years later moved to Sweden and started playing in the league just below the IHL and worked his way up. Two forwards got hurt on the Glaciers so they gave him a limited contract.”

I roll that tidbit around in my mind. What will I do? And do I care if I never play hockey again? It could be time to open a restaurant.

“Don’t you know him from college?” Friesz asks.

“No. He was gone the year I came.”

“So it wasn’t personal on the ice?”

“Oh it’s personal.” I tap my stick against the floor, stand up and tell my teammates, “I’ve had your back all season and tonight I need you to have mine.” I don’t give them specifics because it’s not my story to tell, but they rally around me.

“You’ve got it, Cap!”

“No one messes with our captain.”

I ask Coach if we can get security around Becca, but not close enough that she realizes why they’re there. I grab my phone and a text is waiting on me.

Becca: Are you okay?

Me: I’m fine. Why didn’t you tell me?

Dots bounce up and down for a while, so she must know that I’m referring to Madden.

Becca: Because this is your moment and I didn’t want you to worry.

Me: Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I made you come.

Becca: It’s okay, big guy. I’m where I want to be. I’m not letting that poor excuse of a human being stop me from watching my man.

Me: I like it when you get all possessive.

Becca: I’ll show you tonight that you’re mine and all mine.

I smile at the phone like I can see her face. But the team and I have made a plan.

Win and then put that cock-sucker, Madden in his place.

During the third quarter, the game heats up. My team shoves and checks Madden every chance they get while I stay squeaky clean, not wanting to get ejected and miss the first game of the conference finals. We come out ruthless and our laser-sharp focus enables us to score two goals as we chase the win.

When the final buzzer sounds and we’re still on top, I don’twaste a second—Madden’s about to find out exactly where he stands. I catch him in the hallway leading to the locker rooms.