Page 14 of Breaking the Pucking Rules (LA Vipers #1)

KODIE

I stand in the tunnel, listening to the starting line up being announced with hope in my veins.

First exhibition game of the season.

Of course, a lot of things can change.

But I can’t help but feel like this very first game sets the tone for everything to follow.

My name is announced as I lower my skate to the ice, and the fans go crazy.

Keeping my gaze down, I skate to the middle of the rink, trying to focus on what’s to come.

More players are announced, and with each one, the crowd gets wilder.

They’ve been waiting months for this.

Hell, we all have.

I love the off-season. I get to spend my time focusing on Sutton and being a father. But something is always missing. Hockey runs through my veins. It always has and always will.

It’s a part of my DNA. It’s a part of Sutton’s, too.

I smile to myself as I do a lap, thinking about her game the other night.

They won six to nothing. And my girl scored four of those goals.

Fuck. I was—I am—so fucking proud of her.

She was on top of the world, and the smile on her face only grew with each goal she scored.

I’m sure many of the other parents think that her skill is because of me. Because I push her to be the best, spend hours training with her. But the truth of it is, it’s her.

I didn’t push her into hockey. Quite the opposite, in fact. I would have been more than happy if she wanted to paint, dance, box, anything. All I want for her is to find something she loves and to enjoy spending time doing it.

Her skill, the hours she put in perfecting it, it’s her drive to succeed, not mine.

Of course, my knowledge and years of experience help her, I won’t deny that, but she knows what she wants, and she’s going for it. I’m pretty sure she would even if she didn’t have my full support. She’s fucking fierce, and I hope she never loses that fire and determination to win.

As I skate around to the board where the rest of the team is waiting for the game to start, I glance at the spot she’d sit in.

But she’s not there.

I hate having evening games when she can’t come.

She does, too.

She used to beg me until I almost cracked. The sight of her tear-filled eyes and wobbling bottom lip used to wreck me.

But it’s Monday night. She has school tomorrow.

I need to be a responsible father. Her education has to come before hockey. Even if she hates it.

That doesn’t mean she won’t be watching, though.

She’ll be sitting at home with Mom right now, wearing her jersey with her eyes glued to the screen.

I come to a stop and look directly at one of the cameras aimed at us. I have no idea if it’s the one that’ll stream directly into our living room, but if it is, Sutton will know it’s for her.

Coach gives us a few final words before we line up, ready for the face-off.

Squeezing my eyes closed for a second, I picture the trophy that we all crave.

Preseason game one.

The first step toward lifting it.

The first of eighty-two season games.

Each of those games will help determine our fate.

Sucking in a deep breath, I open my eyes—and it’s not the official or even the puck that steals my attention.

It’s her.

Sitting right behind our opponent’s net is Casey Watson.

Her attention is already on me.

My teeth grind so hard, I’m sure I’m about to crack one.

It might have been three days since I discovered the identity of the woman who rocked my world last weekend, but I haven’t figured out what to do about it.

I was hoping that maybe I could just ignore it. Ignore her.

I mean, really, how often do I see her?

But standing here right now, I realize that locking her in a neat little box and stuffing her to the back of my mind is going to be easier said than done.

I haven’t been able to forget a second of our time together. It’s only worse now that I can put a face to the body, to the desperate moans and sexy pleas for more.

“Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth as I force my eyes from hers.

But they don’t move very far, and the second they lock on what she’s wearing, I really fucking regret it.

She’s wearing…she’s wearing my fucking jersey.

Shock renders me useless, and without me knowing, the puck drops, and the game starts around me.

“Fucking focus,” I bark at myself, taking off after our opponent’s forward, who won the drop. “FUUUUCK,” I roar when he sinks it into the net not twenty seconds later.

With my heart in my throat, I line back up to go again after watching the other team celebrate their first goal of the new season.

First game…it sets the tone for what’s to come.

I refuse to be so up in my head over a woman I can’t have that we lose this fucking game.

T here are only thirty seconds on the clock, and we’re tied.

It looks better than it did at the end of the second period when we were down by two.

We’ve fought hard. Harder than I’d like for our first game.

But it is what it is, and all we can do is push harder.

I fly down the left side of the ice and watch as Fletch passes to Linc.

Both of our opponent’s defensemen turn on him, leaving me wide open.

Linc’s eyes lift and find mine instantly.

He keeps going and fakes a shot at the net, instead sending the puck my way.

I catch it, and without looking up, I shoot.

The arena erupts, the goal horn sounds, the lights flash, and the front row fans pound on the glass.

Pride shoots through my veins, but it’s not as powerful as it usually is. Much like everything recently, the happiness is grayed out.

I lift my eyes from the net a beat before Fletch and Linc jump on me, and the only person in the crowd I see is her.

She’s on her feet, her arms above her head and her lips parted as she screams in delight.

Our eyes collide again, and suddenly, everything comes back to me in full, sparkling color.

I don’t get a chance to enjoy it because my teammates surround me, congratulating me on winning our game.

The celebrations continue as we shake hands with the other team and do a victory lap.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to look at her as I pass her, and I almost succeed, but my head takes on a life of its own and turns to her.

Her smile is wide, and her cheeks are flushed.

Fuck. She looks hot. And it’s even better because she’s wearing my jersey.

It doesn’t mean anything , I try to tell myself.

I bet she has everyone’s jerseys, and she’d smile at Linc exactly the same if he’d just won the game.

My heart skips a beat at the thought of her being with some of the other guys.

The thought makes my teeth grind, and the image of one of my teammates in my place that night has bile rushing up my throat.

I glance back at her unintentionally as more thoughts and questions race through my mind.

Has she been with the others?

Are they all keeping the same secret that I am?

I shake my head.

Surely not.

She’s not like that…is she?

Casey might be a regular at the rink, but I’ve never seen her flirt with any of the guys. From what I can tell, she's always professional, and in turn, they treat her with the respect that she deserves—and Coach demands.

Sure, Linc flirts his ass off, but that’s just who he is. But almost everyone else is too terrified to piss off Coach. Looking at Casey the wrong way is probably the fastest way to get ourselves benched and then traded. Something none of us want.

The LA Vipers are a family.

I’ve been tight with my team before, but the Vipers are different. Every staff member here is a part of the family, whether you’re a cleaner, the Zamboni driver, or work in the ticket office.

It’s a family that I would like to remain a part of, which means it’s even more critical now than ever to put Casey Watson behind me.

My career, my daughter, and my mom are too important to fuck this up.

“Nice work, Rivers,” Coach says, slapping my shoulder as I step off the ice. “You're on post-game press after that.”

“Wonderful,” I mutter under my breath as I walk away from him.

F reshly showered and in my suit, I make my way out of the arena and straight to my car.

Coach likes us all to head up to the friends and family suite after the game to celebrate together, but when Sutton is at home, I avoid it in favor of seeing her.

I know he gets it. He’s been a single dad for years.

Another potent shot of guilt hits me.

Dragging my hand down my face, I continue forward, putting much-needed space between me and the woman who will no doubt be wearing my jersey.

Is she waiting for me up there?

Locking down those kinds of thoughts, I climb into my car and head for home ready to focus on tucking my daughter into bed.

She’s usually asleep by the time I get back, but knowing that I won’t get to talk to her about the game until the morning never stops me from leaving at the first possible opportunity.

The house is quiet when I walk through the front door.

“Great game tonight,” Mom says from her spot on the sofa. The highlights play on the screen in front of her, and I watch the playback of my goal.

I can’t deny that it was a good play. I might have scored the goal, but it was very much a team effort.

“You didn’t even look up,” Mom laughs.

“You say that like I don’t know what I’m doing,” I tease. “Sutton okay?”

“Of course. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her screaming for you when you scored.”

A wide smile spreads across my face.

“I recorded some of it.”

Mom passes me her cell, and I hit play on the video.

“YES, YES, YES,” Sutton screams. “THAT’S MY DADDY RIGHT THERE.” And then she dives right into her celly dance as if she just scored the winning goal.

My chest tightens as I play it again.

Fuck, I love that kid.

“I’m going to go see her and then go to bed,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.

“You got it. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

As silently as I can, I climb the stairs and slip into Sutton’s room.

Her star nightlight illuminates the ceiling, allowing me to get to her without tripping over the million stuffies that have already been kicked from the bed.

Coming to a stop beside her, I spend a moment taking her in. Her lips are parted, her eyelashes resting on her rosy cheeks, and her hair is a mess across the pillow. She’s still wearing her jersey—standard for a game night—and she’s hugging her matching LA Vipers bear.

The store manager had it specially made for her when I was traded. It hasn’t left her side since.

“Sweet dreams, Peanut,” I whisper before kissing her forehead.

“Daddy,” she rasps, her arm reaching for me. “You won.”

“We did.”

“Proud of you,” she whispers, her voice getting quieter with each word as she slips back to sleep.

I stand there for a few more moments, focusing on what’s really important in my life.

As she begins snoring softly, I back out of her room and walk into mine.

I strip down to my boxers and climb under the covers.

But despite needing to, I’m not ready to sleep. My body is still too amped up from the game.

Back in the day, I’d have gone out with the team to decompress. Win or lose, we’d always go out to let off some steam.

But those days are behind me now. Even when we’re away, I don’t join them.

I’m not that guy anymore.

I’m a father, and I have to put that before anything else.

Hockey might be my calling in life, my career, but Sutton is my entire world.