Page 10
CHAPTER 10
FOX
“No, no, no,” I chant as the Edmonton player barrels down on me.
He’s the leading goal scorer in the league and the absolute last person I want with the breakaway, but that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I get my glove up, ready and hoping— praying —he misses this shot. I track the puck, trying to predict where he will let it fly off his stick. Then he drags it back and shoots.
It zings right over my glove and into the back of the net.
“Fuck!” I shout as he zooms by, his teammates coming up to crowd around him and congratulate him on tying the game with less than ten minutes to go.
“Sorry, bud,” Hutch says, skating up and tapping me on the pads. “That was my fuckup.”
“Should’ve had my glove in the right place.”
“No, I should have kept it in the zone and pushed harder to beat him to the puck. You’re off the hook, man.”
He gives me another tap before skating away, and I shake off his words. Hutch is wrong. I should have been able to save that. Yes, I was just facing down someone who is lighting up every goalie in the league, but still. That was an easy one. I knew where the puck was the whole time. The shot was simple, lackadaisical even. I still managed to miss it.
It was my fault again, and I know why—I’m distracted. I can’t stop thinking about Lilah and her sweet lips and the way her body felt pressed against mine. I can’t stop thinking about the look she gave me when I told her she could kiss me if she wanted, the want that sparked in her gaze. Considering how much I enjoyed it the first time, it would be monumentally stupid to kiss her again. Yet, I want to.
Bad.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to see her during warmups, but neither she nor Auden were where Hutch expected them to be. It took everything I had not to ask about her. I was relieved when I overheard his conversation with Lawson about how the girls got distracted by nachos, and all was good.
It wasn’t enough, though. I still have her stuck in my head and need to get her out. We have a game to win. I shake off all thoughts of Lilah and the bad goal, reining my focus back in on what I need to do to get us this other point. I breathe in, then out.
In. Out. One, two, three.
In. Out. One, two, three.
My head begins to clear, and the noise of the crowd dims as the ref drops the puck again. We win it back, passing it back and forth until we find an open path and rush into the Edmonton zone. The boys toss the puck in deep, Lawson hurrying after it, taking the hit to make the play. He whips it behind the net to the waiting open man. Thomas dekes the opposing player, then drives the puck to the net, tossing it lightly on goal. Their netminder flashes out his pad, kicking it away and almost right onto the waiting stick of Hayes, who, on one knee, launches it toward the net.
The goalie makes an incredible glove save—the exact one I should have just made to stop them from scoring—and the crowd collectively groans in frustration as we miss the chance to gain the lead again.
We reset, and this time, Edmonton wins the puck and tries to rush into our zone with it, but we don’t let them, even stripping them of it when they get caught sleeping, giving us a two-on-one breakaway. Hayes and Lawson whip the puck back and forth and back again, dragging the goalie out of his crease just enough to bite on Hayes’s fake shot before he zips it right to the tape on Lawson’s stick and tosses it into the yawning cage.
One flick of the wrist later, we have our lead back.
“Yes, baby, yes!” I yell as I skate up to the end of the bench as Lawson, Hayes, Thomas, and our two defensemen skate by, bumping fists with the team.
“You see that, Foxy?” Lawson asks, grinning proudly.
“Oh, I saw. Fucking rights, boys!” I shout to the guys as they skate by and high-five my gloved hand.
I peek at the clock. There’s still a lot of time left to play. If we’re going to come out with this win, we have to play our best hockey of the game right now.
“Come on,” I say to myself as I skate back into my crease. “You can do this.”
The ref drops the puck, and it’s a mad scramble, but Edmonton wins it and immediately gets to work, throwing the puck in deep and slamming our players into the boards with much more force than they’ve used all game. They’re pissed now. They’re going to be throwing everything at the net, trying to tie the game again.
With just five minutes to go, they attempt to go five-hole, and I get my pads down just in time to block it, covering the puck with my glove to get a whistle. We go for another face-off, and once again, they win. They shoot it toward us, and I cover the puck, earning us a whistle. Another reset and they do the same thing again, this time pulling the goalie once they gain possession, then driving toward the net.
“Fuck!” Keller calls, the puck zinging off his leg. He goes down in a heap but keeps in the play, swinging his stick back and forth to block a pass. It’s fucking ballsy, and I love the guy for it, especially when he gets back to his feet and intercepts another shot, launching the puck down the ice for an icing call.
We can’t change, which sucks because we’ve been hemmed in our zone for far too long, but it’s worth it for the break.
“Holy shit,” Keller grumbles, his hands on his knees as he works to catch his breath and stretch out the pain in his leg.
I skate over and tap him with my stick. “Thanks, Kells.”
He gives me a twisted grin. “Any time.”
I think he could mean it. Keller lives for the game’s physicality, happy to play the enforcer role.
Edmonton wins another face-off, and we’re back to battling. We finally catch a break on a bad bounce, the puck going out of the zone but not far enough for icing, and we get a much-needed line change, but it’s risky. Edmonton is fast. Suddenly, they’re barreling into our zone with a speed we don’t have, and we just don’t have the ability to keep up as they fire the puck right at me. Their first attempt pings right off the crossbar, and the crowd’s cheers echo through the building. If we come out of this with two regulation points, I might have to kiss that damn bar later.
They pick up the rebound and try again—I stop it with my blocker. Another free rebound and another rush from their forwards. It’s a mad scramble in front of the net, and I’m barely able to track the puck, so many sticks and skates in my way. I’m down. I have the puck just under the edge of my glove, but it’s not completely covered, and Edmonton knows it too, poking at me, trying to get it past me.
And it fucking works.
The buzzer sounds, indicating a good goal, and I sit on my ass, hanging my head as the opposing team rallies together, cheering because they’ve tied up the game with just under a minute to go. The crowd is stunned silent, and someone pats my head. I don’t know who, and I don’t care. It does nothing to make me feel better about failing my team again. We’re going to overtime. There’s no doubt about it. Another point we’re giving away, and it’s all on me.
The boys win the next draw and drag the puck back into our zone, both teams content with where we’re headed, and when the final buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the regulation, I don’t bolt toward the bench. I rest there, elbows on my pads, trying to reconcile how I once again let my team down.
“Shake it off,” Locke says, skating up to me. “We got this, Foxy.”
I nod, tapping the posts before grabbing my water bottle and pushing off. I peel off my mask and skate to the bench as the guys gather for a quick session with Coach while the ice crew cleans off the snow.
“We’re winning this,” he says sternly. Coach Smith is a controlled man. He commands our attention without being flashy and isn’t one of those coaches who gets riled up easily. But I can tell in his voice that he’s unhappy about our play. I don’t blame him. I’m not happy about it either. “We’re not letting them come into our barn and leave with two points. Lawsy, you’re on the face-off.”
“Got it,” Lawson responds, laser focused, which doesn’t happen often with him. He’s as determined to win this as I am.
“Get the puck and get it up the ice as fast as you can. Fire everything. Don’t wait for the pretty goal. We aren’t looking to make the highlight reels tonight. We just want that point, you got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” the team says as one.
Coach Smith nods. “All right. Let’s go finish this thing.”
His eyes collide with mine as I squirt some water into my mouth, and we have a silent conversation.
It wasn’t your fault , he says. Get back in there and do your job.
I dip my head at him and skate away from the bench, taking my time getting to the net. I don’t know how it happens, maybe intuition or just pure fucking magic, but when I lift my head, I see the prettiest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
Lilah.
She sends me a wave, a soft grin on her just-as-soft lips. I instantly smile back, and I try not to read too much into that as I skate into my crease, never once taking my eyes off her. The fans are going crazy around her, pounding on the glass and gearing up for the thrill of bonus hockey. But they aren’t my focus right now.
She is.
I squeeze my water bottle. Normally, I’d track the streams and droplets that fly into the air, a trick I learned to help me focus, but I don’t bother this time. I’m feeling more dialed in than I have all game. And I think it has to do with the dark-haired beauty who can’t take her eyes off me.
The music swells in the arena, and the in-house announcer comes over the PA system to rile the fans up for overtime. Just as they start their spiel, someone grabs Lilah’s arm, and I notice for the first time that Auden is next to her, Rory on the other side.
Auden leans over and whispers something into Lilah’s ear, dipping her head toward me. She rears back from her friend, her face annoyed, and she rolls her eyes, then slides them back over to me, a smile playing at her lips. I don’t know what’s happening—and I’m not sure I want to—but I do know all the nerves I was feeling earlier are gone, and it definitely has something to do with her.
You got this , she mouths.
I grin, grabbing the top of my mask, ready to pull it down and earn us that extra point. She holds up her finger, then spins around, and that’s when I see it—my name and number right across her back.
Fox
35
I don’t know why I love it so much. I don’t know why it makes my heart race. But I do know one thing, and that is that Lilah is right—I do have this.
I pull my mask over my face and get set for the face-off.
I’m winning this hockey game…and I’m doing it for the girl in the stands.
“Hell of a win, boys!” Lawson claps me on the back, his usual happy-go-lucky grin back in place as he lifts his glass into the air. “To Foxy!”
“To Foxy!” my teammates say, a mix of beers and water being thrust into the air.
We don’t celebrate every win at Top Shelf, our favorite local haunt, but when it’s our first home game of the new year and we take home the W, we’re definitely going out afterward.
“Another round, fellas?” asks Chaz, the guy who has spent far too much time slinging drinks our way.
A few of the guys say yes, and a few say no. I’m in the no category, even though I’m drinking water. My stomach still revolts at the idea of anything involving alcohol.
“I’ll take another,” a smooth voice says from beside me.
I grin, turning my head to find Lilah next to me. Lilah, who is still wearing my jersey. It did something for me during the game, and it’s doing something to me now, that’s for damn sure. I try to ignore it and the warm feeling coursing through me, but it’s hard to overlook.
“Hi.” She grins up at me.
“Hi yourself, fiancée ,” I say back.
Her nostrils flare, eyes widening as they dart around to ensure nobody heard that.
They didn’t. They’re too lost in their own worlds to pay us attention. Auden and Hutch are cozied up together. Rory’s staring at Lawson with stars in her eyes as he regales her with some—I’m sure absurd—story. Hayes and Quinn are wrapped up in a conversation, and the rest of the guys are sitting around shooting the shit. Nobody cares what we’re doing.
Still, Lilah grabs my arm, tugging me closer, and I go willingly because I can’t resist.
“So, did you have fun tonight?” I ask her.
She nods. “I did. I always have fun at games. The food is the best.”
“Yeah, I heard that’s why you missed warmups.”
I don’t realize the implication behind my words until a catlike smile stretches across her lips. “Why, Arthur, were you looking for me?”
I drag a hand over the scruff on my face that needs shaving. “I, uh, wasn’t not looking for you.”
Somehow, her wide grin grows even more, her cerulean eyes sparkling as Chaz slides a fresh drink her way.
“Thank you,” she says to him, bringing the straw to her lips instantly. I do my absolute best not to pay attention to the way her tongue peeks out, sliding around the plastic. Yeah, definitely not noticing that at all.
I clear my throat, looking away and ignoring the tightening in my jeans.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a Shirley Temple. No booze. I think I need to lay off it for a while.”
I look back over at her. “I wasn’t worried. You’re an adult, Lilah. You get to decide when you’ve had enough.”
That earns me another smile, and I don’t know what I’m saying to get so many of them, but I’m not mad about it, especially since every time she flashes me one, that cobweb of loneliness that’s built up inside my chest loosens.
“So, were the nachos worth missing my goalie stretches that had you falling in love with me?”
She slides her eyes my way at my reference to our conversation on New Year’s Eve. “Honestly? Yes. You look good and all doing your stretches out there, but those overpriced nachos are my favorite thing in the world.”
“Bet I could make you much better ones. In fact, I’m thinking that’s what we do for our date.”
Her eyes spark. “You want to cook for me?”
“I’m not sure making nachos really counts as cooking, but yeah, I want to cook for you.”
She looks surprised by this. “I’ve never had a date cook for me before.”
I’m not sure if that makes me happy or sad, but it’s definitely telling about the kind of men she usually dates.
“Then it’s settled. You come over, I’ll make nachos, and we can tell each other all our dirty secrets.”
She quirks a brow, rolling her straw between her fingers. “How dirty are we talking?”
“And you said my mind was in the gutter.” I shake my head with a grin. “Whatever we need to know to convince your mother of our undying love.”
Her shoulders deflate, and I know instantly it’s because I brought up her mother.
“Shit. She hasn’t been bothering you more, has she?”
She waves a hand. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Just a barrage of texts today, playing twenty questions about our relationship—which reminds me, our second date was to the soup kitchen. You’re a very charitable man, Arthur Fox.”
“I am a charitable man. I volunteer there at least once a month.”
“Stop it. You do not.”
Her eyes widen when she realizes I’m not joking.
“Seriously?” she asks, her surprise evident.
I shrug, feeling a bit shy suddenly. “Yeah. I feel like it’s the least I can do to give back.”
“Are you a Disney prince?”
I laugh. “What?”
“No, seriously,” she says, still staring up at me like I’m some sort of god. “Are you a Disney prince? Because that’s total fictional man material right there.”
“I can assure you I’m not a prince.”
“Well, if I ever meet your parents, remind me to praise them for raising such an incredible human because you are unlike any man I’ve ever met, Fox. If only my other boyfriends were half as good as you, I wouldn’t need a fake fiancé. I’d be married already.”
An odd surge of jealousy hits me out of nowhere at the thought of her married to someone else. It’s not like I have any claim over her, but something about hearing her say that makes me want to have a claim, and that’s just never happened to me before.
I brush it away, grinning down at her.
“My mother would be pleased to hear that, I’m sure. She always loves being praised for her parenting skills.”
“What’s it like to have normal parents?”
It’s sad that Lilah even has to ask a question like that. It’s sad for anyone to ask a question like that. I know I’m lucky to have the kind of parents I do—people who love me unconditionally—but I forget sometimes just how fortunate I truly am.
She shakes her head. “Anyway, enough of the sad stuff. I’m going to use the restroom, then get out of here. I’ve had too many nights past my bedtime lately, and it’s catching up to me.” As if on cue, she yawns and points at the action. “See? I need sleep.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“It’s fine. I’ll order an Uber.”
“That wasn’t really a question, Lilah.”
Once again, her eyes spark with something I can’t quite place, and she nods. “Okay.”
“Good.”
She points toward the bathrooms. “Be right back.”
I watch her walk away, which means I see when she dares a peek at me over her shoulder. I grin, loving how she quickly looks away, walking faster. I’m not sure if it’s in an effort to rush away from me or due to the desire to get back quickly. Either way, it makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Locke asks, his heavy hand landing on my shoulder.
I look back over to where Lilah disappeared, then shake my head. “It’s nothing. Nice pass to Ritchie out there earlier.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but we both know that goal wouldn’t have happened without Locke’s perfectly placed pass up the ice that gave us the breakaway. His passing skills are the biggest reason the Serpents brought the veteran player to Seattle.
“Wasn’t as cool as that kick save you made.”
“Oh, you mean that lucky-as-fuck one? I had no clue where the puck was.”
“Did anyone?”
No, probably not, but as the goalie, I shouldn’t have lost sight of it like that. We all know that was a desperation move, and we got lucky with it.
“Stop beating yourself up,” he tells me like he can read my mind. “We got the points. That’s all that matters, yeah?”
“Yeah, but look how hard you guys had to work for it because of me. Have you seen my save percentage this year? The only reason we’re where we are is because we’re outscoring the opponent. It’s definitely not because of me.”
“It’s a team effort, and you know it. So stop it.” He points a severe finger at me. “I’m being so fucking for real right now. Lighten up, Foxy. Get loose. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”
He’s right. I know he is. But it’s hard sometimes, especially when I know I could be doing better. The best I played all night was during overtime, and?—
Holy shit.
It hits me: the best I played all night was during overtime after I saw Lilah in the stands. Is she the reason I played so well? I don’t know. All I know is that maybe that’s why I was on the balcony the night she needed help. Maybe I was out there for a reason, to help her so she could help distract me from my game a bit, get me out of my head.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I think I know a good place to start too.” He flicks his chin, and I look over my shoulder to where he’s gestured.
There’s Lilah, coming out of the dim hallway, tossing her long, dark hair behind her shoulder and looking like she’s walking a runway instead of through a dingy sports bar. Fuck, she looks good tonight, and I don’t just mean because she’s wearing my number on her back. While that’s been extremely hard to ignore, it’s more than that. She’s just gorgeous, effortlessly so.
But as badly as I want to, I can’t go there. We’re already playing a dangerous game, pretending to be engaged. We shouldn’t push this further than we already have.
“Nah,” I say, turning back to Locke. “There’s nothing there, man.”
“Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Foxy,” he says disbelievingly as Lilah approaches.
“Ready to go?” she asks, pulling her jacket off the back of her chair and shrugging it over her shoulders. “Hey, Locke.” She smiles at my teammate, and I hate that I hate it so much.
I pretend it doesn’t bother me, placing my hand on her lower back and waving her forward. “After you, ma’am.”
She lets out a loud laugh, shaking her head. “Always the gentleman, Fox.”
She rushes off to hug Auden goodbye, and Locke leans in close.
“Always the gentleman, even when you don’t want to be,” he says, low enough so only I can hear him.
I shoot him a warning glare over my shoulder, which causes him to laugh, and then I meet Lilah by the door.
“You looked a little upset back there. Everything okay with Locke?” she asks as we step out into the cold January night.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. We’re fine,” I say, brushing off her worry. “He was just being an ass.”
He was being an ass, but he was also right. I am being a gentleman, but for the first time in my life, I don’t want to be, especially when it comes to Lilah.