Page 15 of On Thin Ice (Calgary Mounties #1)

Chapter Fourteen

SEEMED LIKE IT WAS PERSONAL

Lincoln

After winning three games in a row, we have our first loss for our second home game of the season.

It’s always disappointing losing in front of our fans, but today was particularly brutal because we’ve made thirty shots on goal and not a single one has gone past Fitzgerald, one of the best goalies in the league.

Toronto only had fifteen shots, but three of them have gone in.

Dean is in a foul mood when we come off the ice, taking it as a personal affront to his skills as a goalie, even though at least one of them should have been denied for goaltender interference.

“Where the hell were you guys?” He turns on Pieter and Michael the second we’re in the tunnel, glaring at the two defencemen who just skated their hardest for the last period.

Pieter glares at him. The monosyllabic Russian isn’t one to suffer fools lightly, and the look on his face right now tells me that he is strongly considering punching Dean in the face.

“Ease up, bud. These guys were all over them. It happens sometimes,” I say, attempting to play peacemaker.

Dean turns his wrath my way. “You didn’t get a single goal in; you don’t get a say.”

“Dude, chill,” Anders says, coming off the ice behind me .

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Seth steps in, guiding him off towards the dressing room while listening to him rant.

“What crawled up his ass?” Anders asks, looking at me. “I’ve never seen him react like that before.”

“No clue. Seth can deal with him, though. I need a freaking ice bath and a lie down.” I took a particularly hard hit against the boards halfway through the second period and had to get assessed by the medical team before they’d let me back on the ice.

Nothing was broken, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be black and blue within the next few hours.

“Don’t forget, you’re on media detail,” Anders says, and I groan.

I had forgotten. I was quite happy to have gotten out of it for the last few games, but sadly, it’s my turn now.

After I hit the showers, and once I’m back in my suit, I head out to the media room and wait with Sarah until they signal myself and Karl to join Coach Stevens at the table.

From the look on Coach’s face, he’s just been slammed with questions about why we bit it so hard.

“Are you happy with how you played, O’Malley?” Colin asks, singling me out the second my ass hits the chair.

I level him with a cool look. “We had a rough night, but everyone on that ice played their hardest, and that’s all we can do.”

Coach nods beside me, but Colin is just getting warmed up.

“In a contract year, it must be difficult having games like this one where you couldn’t get anything past their goalie. You personally had fifteen shots on goal and not one of them went in. Aren’t you worried that they’ll trade you?”

Jesus Christ.

I clear my throat. “Given that I am only one player on the team, I very much doubt that management has singled me out as being the reason we lost tonight.”

“But still, your exploits off the ice surely must be affecting the game.”

What the fuck? I look to my right, stunned, and meet Sarah’s gaze.

It’s pretty obvious what he’s alluding to, although I have no idea how he found out about the video.

“O’Malley is one of the most valuable players on the team. I think it’s time for questions from someone else,” Sarah calls out, glaring at Colin.

A few of the other reporters start lobbing questions at us all, and it’s another ten minutes before I’m able to escape.

“Fuck me, that was brutal. What the hell was up with that one reporter?” Karl asks, his Swedish accent making the swearing sound less harsh.

“He’s just an asshole,” I say, avoiding looking at him as we walk back to the dressing room.

“What was all that about your exploits off the ice? Seemed like it was personal,” he continues.

I shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

Thankfully, he drops the subject as we reenter the dressing room.

“Alright guys let’s shake it off. We can debrief tomorrow at practice. But for now, let’s just go spend some time with our families and try not to let it get to you,” Coach says, coming in behind us.

Everyone slowly gets ready to leave, and Seth comes to my side.

“You alright?” he asks, watching while I throw things in my backpack with more force than necessary.

“Nope. ”

“What happened?” He raises an eyebrow when I turn to look at him, yanking the strap of my bag over my shoulder.

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I think I’m just going to go home. I don’t feel like socializing tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, heading out the door.

Normally, we’re expected to head for dinner after the game, but if anyone says anything, I plan on telling them I have a migraine.

No one says anything though, and it’s not until I get to the car that I wonder if it’s because what Colin said was right.

Maybe they just don’t care if I’m there because they are getting ready to trade me.

Fuck. I let him get in my head and now I’m miserable and feeling sorry for myself.

I rarely let the noise in and am usually the one pumping everyone else up when we lose.

But something about what Colin said rattled me in a way I’ve never felt before.

Maybe it’s the very real chance that I could be traded at any moment.

So far, no one has said anything to me directly about the tape, and I’d begun to relax, thinking the storm had blown over.

Mikayla hasn’t called to say she’s heard anything more, which I thought was a good thing.

But maybe it’s just because they’ve made up their minds already.

Climbing into my car, I scroll through my contact list on my phone, wondering who I can call to help me feel better.

My finger hovers over my mother’s phone number for a moment, before I continue scrolling up, stopping when I reach the top of the list.

I stare at Adele’s name for a moment before clicking on it. The phone connects to my car sound system as it starts to ring, and I sit back in my seat, leaning my head against the headrest.

“Hey,” she says, answering after only two rings .

“Hey,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

“Rough game tonight.”

I close my eyes and swallow hard, letting her voice soothe me. “Yeah, it was.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I made a mistake calling her. We still haven’t been able to go on the pretend date, as she ended up having to cover a tour for her dad and then I was out of town again, so it’s been a few days since we’ve seen each other.

“Are you okay?” she asks finally.

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I try to put how I’m feeling into words. To find a way to tell her without sounding like a man getting bummed out over a silly game. But I’m coming up with nothing.

“I don’t know… Just feeling down, I guess.”

She lets out a breath. “Is it because of the game? Cause you played your ass off tonight and should be proud of every effort you put in. Fitzgerald is damn near impossible to score against, you know that. The guy is a brick wall with lightning reflexes.”

Despite myself, a smile forms at her very accurate description of the Texan who was the number one draft pick three years ago. “Yeah, he is.”

“I saw the press conference, too. Fuck Colin.”

The team reporter isn’t well liked by fans, and I’ve heard Adele complain about him a number of times.

The smile disappears from my face, and I scowl at the steering wheel.

“You didn’t let him get in your head, did you?”

I shrug, even though she can’t see me. “Maybe.”

“Linc, no. Absolutely nothing that comes out of his hateful little mouth is remotely true. You’re one of the best players in the league, and you know it.

No team wins every game, it’s just not possible.

But you’ve been leading on goals for the last week, and even with tonight, you’re still going to be in the top five in the league.

With how many players there are out there, that is amazing. ”

Letting out a breath, I move my head left and right to relieve the tension in my neck. “You just called me Linc,” I say after a moment.

She scoffs. “Everything I just said, and that’s all you took notice of?”

“I liked it.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“Well, I like it when you call me Addie,” she says quietly, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah?” I don’t know why but hearing her say that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Yeah.”

I grin, feeling some of the nervous energy in my gut dissipate. “Enough about me and my sad sack self. How are you? How was the tour?”

Listening while she tells me about the trip, I let her voice wash over me while she describes the antics of the over-sixties tour group she was in charge of.

After a few more minutes, she pauses in the middle of her story.

“Hold on, you’ve just been letting me ramble on about myself so you didn’t have to tell me how you’re really feeling. I’m onto you.”

I laugh and am surprised to realize it’s a genuine laugh. “There wasn’t much more for me to say, Addie. You nailed it straight away. I let him get in my head. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have. It was just a crappy night. Talking to you made me feel a little better. ”

“Aw, only a little?” she teases, and I laugh again.

“Maybe a bit more than a little,” I concede.

“Well, I’m glad I could help. Are we still on for tomorrow evening?”

I shouldn’t be feeling this excited to see her, but the butterflies in my stomach at the reminder seemed to have missed the memo.

“Of course. I booked us a session at that axe-throwing place downtown and then figured we could go to Buck’s for dinner. Unless you need somewhere fancy?”

“No, that sounds great. Like a perfect date. If it was real, I mean,” she adds, her voice a little higher than normal.

“I mean, we’re two real people going out to do real things… Seems like the opposite of fake to me,” I say.

“Right. Just two real people doing real things together. It’s not like we haven’t done things together before… We just usually have other people with us.”

Except for that one time we were left unsupervised while drunk and ended up fucking each other’s brains out.

I shake off the thought and smile, enjoying hearing her ramble. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was nervous.

“Yep. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

“I didn’t say it was going to be weird. Who said anything about weird?” she asks quickly.

I laugh. “Relax, Addie. We’ll have fun.”

A whooshing sound comes through the phone, and I picture her letting out a long breath, her cheeks puffed up while she runs her fingers through her hair. And it surprises me when I realize I know her mannerisms well enough to detect them through the phone.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night at the axe-throwing place,” she says, pulling me back into the conversation and out of my head .

“No, you won’t.”

“What? You just said we were going out tomorrow night.”

I shake my head and grin. “I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, I’m picking you up. I might not date, but I know that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I continue to smile, imagining her shoulders dropping as her defences go down. “Goodnight, Addie.”

“Goodnight, Linc.”

We hang up, and I finally back out of my car space, feeling much lighter than I did before we started talking.

It’s not lost on me that it was talking to Adele that made me feel better. But right now, I can’t seem to care.