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WATCH THE GAME

RORY

A idan and I barely catch our flight to Toronto after the hours-long ride back to Logan Airport. Irish soldiers met us before we entered the city, handing off Aidan’s hockey equipment to him before escorting our SUV to the airport.

Flying with a professional hockey team certainly has its perks. We practically bypass security with a quick private check before exiting right onto the tarmac. Aidan keeps hold of my hand the entire way, keeping me right next to him.

On the plane, no one seems surprised to see me, and if they are, no one asks any questions. Aidan must have worked something out with his coach prior to our arrival. Coach McIntyre gives me a little salute before nodding to my husband in approval.

We reach our row, and Aidan motions for me to slide in. I’m pleasantly surprised to find Liam grinning like a fool in the window seat.

I plop down next to him.

“Mrs. O’Rourke,” He grins, and I punch him in the shoulder hard enough that he winces.

After storing our carry-on bags, Aidan swoops into the seat next to us. “C’mon man, you couldn’t at least give her the window seat?”

Liam stretches out. The Breakers’ private plane offers far better seating options than any commercial flight I’ve ever flown. Plush, roomy seats that recline with leg space for days. It’s like the entire cabin is first class. “I thought the only thing you’d want her looking at is you.”

I snort, and Aidan scowls.

“I’m fine right here,” I assure them, as I settle into my seat.

“Before I forget,” Aidan reaches into his backpack, pulling out a shiny new cell phone. He slides it to me across the tray of my seat. “I know you had to leave your old one behind.”

I eye the device with both wonder and suspicion, feeling Aidan’s eyes on me, reading my expression. “It’s got GPS tracking in it, but that’s it. No one’s monitoring your communications. You’re free to talk to whoever you want.”

I nod slowly, picking up the phone, “Thank you.”

He just shrugs, “It’s a long flight.” He places a brand new pair of headphones on the tray, too. “I preloaded some of your favorites, or well,” he tilts his head thoughtfully, “what I think are your favorites, based on what you listen to at the rink…”

My heart swells as I pick up the bluetooth headphones, black with little skulls on them. I scroll through the music selection Aidan added, finding both the heavy metal rock I love and the bubbly pop music I secretly love. I turn to look at him, but he’s busy talking to one of his teammates across the aisle.

Choosing a song, I reach over and link my fingers with Aidan’s. He tenses, with the contact, but continues his conversation.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, content for once in my life.

Since the Breakers are away, the friends and family section for the team is much smaller than it would be if we were back in Boston. And it’s within the actual stands, with no extra security for protection.

I stick with the team right up until their final pre-game walk through the tunnel. I wait outside the locker room until the Breakers emerge, led by their starting goalie West Cavanaugh. West holds up his glove to fist bump me as he passes. Caught off guard, I scramble to raise my fist in time. And then, one by one, the rest of the team does the same until I spot Aidan, bringing up the rear, trailed only by the coaching and athletic staff.

Unlike the rest of the team, Aidan stops when he reaches me, an uneasy expression on his face, his attention all over the chaotic underbelly of the arena. He’s distracted.

Reaching up, I grab hold of his helmet and tug his face down to mine.

“Go,” I urge, staring into those deep emerald pools, “I’ll be fine. Focus on the game and go kick some Canadian ass.”

“Stay in your seat. Don’t leave for any reason. I’ll send someone to escort you back to the locker room after the game.”

I smile, “Code word: Offsides.”

His eyes flash and the way his jaw works sends a little thrill through me.“Save that word for after the game.”There is still a little uncertainty in his eyes as he backs reluctantly away, keeping his eyes on me until the very last second, as he turns to head up the tunnel.

Letting out a deep breath, I pull off the thick sweatshirt I have on, hiding the #19 O’Rourke jersey I wear proudly—the one that caused a fight between Aidan and me on the plane. He thought it was too risky for me to wear his number here. Not only are we in Toronto territory, but it makes me stand out like a sore thumb to any Russians or Italians looking.

Not going to lie, part of me wants to wear the jersey to support Aidan and the Breakers, but the other half only wants to wear it because he told me not to.

All the bravado in the world still doesn’t hide the fact I’m nervous. I take the stairs two at a time to reach the general concourse, eager to get to my seat, knowing Aidan will be distracted for a fair bit of the game trying to keep an eye on me.With everything going on back in Boston, Koen couldn’t spare another guy to fly up with Liam and Aidan. With both of them gone, he was already down his two best men.

For the Breakers, it’s all hands on deck tonight since Colt King won’t be on the ice. He’s been out of practice all week, following a nasty knee injury in the last game.

The Toronto fans are already eager for a fight when both teams take the ice. I have to push through the thick, boisterous crowd on my way to my seat, ignoring a few whistles and catcalls, trolling me for my jersey. The white and green away colors stick out amongst a sea of crimson red.

It’s a relief when I finally find my section and collapse into my seat. Aside from an older couple a few rows up, I’m alone. My eyes scan the busy rink full of players to find my player.

He finds me first. It’s easy to spot the only hockey player staring right at me. I wave, grinning when our eyes meet, making a circle motion with my fingers trying to redirect him to focus on his warmups.

Aidan lifts his stick to me and then turns around, soaring around the arena to pick up one of the practice pucks, and sinking it with brutal force into the empty net.

The horn sounds and the teams circle off. The Zamboni comes out to clear the ice one last time before puck drop.

I don’t notice the guy until he crashes into the seat next to mine, spilling a bit of his beer on me.

“Hey!” I jump up and instantly cringe at the telltale rosy cheeks and glazed-over eyes on the frat boy who’s slid his ass into the seat directly to the right of mine. He takes a long swig of his beer, draining it nearly half way—though he’s likely already quite a few beers deep.

“My apologies, gorgeous,” Blondie tries.

I stare hard at the ice, sinking back into my seat. Aidan’s focus is still on the game, in the middle of a crucial Breakers power play after Toronto came out swinging. Rolling my eyes, I sit back in my seat, hoping if I ignore him—maybe he’ll take a hint.

But Blondie persists, leaning in closer, the scent of stale beer and cigarettes filling my nose, “You here all alone?” His words slur slightly as he scans the empty row beside me.

I could tell him no, but it’ll be obvious in a few minutes when no one else shows up. My eyes flicker between the drunk frat boy and the ice—the last thing I need is for Aidan to notice this exchange.

The Breakers vs Thunderhawks is set to be a great game and it’s sold out. Deciding to take my chances seat hopping, I move to get out of my seat. I’m barely out of it when sweaty fingers grip my wrist, yanking me back down.

“Don’t go,” Blondie whines, close enough so I can smell the alcohol on his breath, “we only just met.”

I open my mouth, half-prepared to claw this goof’s eyes out when a heavy arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me away from frat-boy. My attention snaps to the left, finding the seat to my left is also no longer empty.

“Back off, asshole.” The deep voice beside me is both familiar and not, with a dangerous edge to it that means business.

Blondie, with my wrist still trapped in his grip, blinks a few times before finally releasing it. I rip it back from him with a glare, sending myself further into the chest of the guy whose arm is still draped around me.

I turn my head, needing to tilt my chin to make out the face of the newcomer.

“Oh my God, aren’t you Colt King?” Blondie slurs out behind me.

He might be drunk, but Blondie isn’t wrong. Colt King himself does indeed sit next to me, a baseball cap pulled low over his face, which is doing little to hide the murderous expression in his icy blue eyes. His gaze is locked on the frat boy, as if daring him to make one more wrong move.

“Who I am is none-of-your-fucking-business and if you don’t get the fuck out of this section right now, kicked-out of this game is your best-case scenario,” Colt flashes his teeth, reminding me of a wolf, before I turn away to check Blondie’s reaction.

Frat boy’s eyes go wide and his hands go up in defense, spilling the rest of his beer all over himself as he scrambles to his feet. “Hey man, no need to get all worked up. I was just saying hi, is all.” He stumbles away.

Colt’s glare follows him all the way back to the section he came from and then, and only then, does he remove the arm he had wrapped protectively around me.

Meanwhile, the Breakers huddle up for a time-out at their bench, and I catch sight of Aidan’s eyes on us from ice-level.

“Thank you,” I breathe out, Colt and I have known each other a long time, but I’m still nervous, since I know he and Aidan hate each other’s guts.

I watch my defenseman warily, half expecting him to shoot off the ice and come up here skates and all to kill Colt for daring to breathe the same air as me.I really hope he didn’t see Colt with his arm around me.

“Anytime,” Colt grunts out. Folding his arms across his chest and sinking into his seat, eyes on the ice.

When he doesn’t leave, I anxiously glance sideways at him as the Breakers line up again for the face-off. “Don’t take this the wrong way..” Colt lets out a grunt of amusement, but lets me continue. “I’m grateful for the save and all, but if Aidan sees you sitting next to me…”

Colt’s eyes never leave the ice, following the forward’s play on the first line. “Who do you think sent me?”He nods slightly toward the ice.

My eyes widen and I look between the Breakers’ injured center and my defenseman husband. Aidan returns Colt’s nod before dialing back into the game, checking Toronto’s right wing off his feet. “He—what? I thought—you guys hated each other?”

“We do. Your husband’s a right ass at the best of times,” Colt shrugs, his lips curving up into a heartbreakingly beautiful smile that I can’t help but return. “But he told me someone’s out to get you… hurt you.” His dark eyes, blue like midnight, flicker my way for half a second before going back to the ice.

“So, you’re going to watch the game with me?”

He pats his knee, “Not like I got anything better to do.” His expression sours.

I cringe, “How bad?”

“Bad,” He grunts and my heart constricts. As athletes, we are always one wrong pivot away from a potential career-ending injury.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Nothing you did,” his face softens slightly before a mischievous spark lights up his eyes,“now, let’s see how much of a mess Aidan’s game is without his number one center on the ice, making it easy for him.”

I laugh, unable to help it. “Let’s do it.”

I offer him some of my popcorn. He growls at it before reaching in for a handful only a few seconds later.

I smile victoriously.

“Watch the game,” he grumbles before reaching in for another handful.