Page 50

CHAPTER 50

EMILY

T onight is my first time in the special box where some of the players’ family and friends stay for the game. It’s definitely something else, with a fully stocked bar and a private seating area that looks out over the arena. Personally, I think I prefer being closer down where the action is, but the free drinks are fun.

As I stand at the edge of the balcony, looking down to where the players are out on the ice for warm-ups, I can’t help but smile when I see number eleven crouched down in front of the net while a few of his teammates shoot puck after puck at him. Some he misses, but most he saves, and he does it with such ease. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it is, not to mention terrifying. Hell, I can’t even skate. Skating while putting yourself between a puck flying at you at a hundred miles an hour is a type of hell I do not want to experience, thank you very much.

“Hey, girl.”

I’m pulled from my thoughts, turning to see Hannah standing right there, a can of White Claw in her hand.

“Oh, hey!” I smile .

She wraps an arm around me in a side hug that I reciprocate, hugging her back.

“Who you watchin’ with a smile like that, huh?” Hannah nudges me playfully.

I try to play dumb, but when I look at her, I can tell she already knows.

My shoulders fall on a resigned sigh, but before I can confess, she dismisses it with a wave of her hand and a conspiratorial wink as Fran returns from the bar with another wine for me and one for herself too.

“Oh, hey, Han.” She nudges Hannah with her hip. “We’re going to go watch the game down by the ice so we can be feral without being frowned upon by some of the snobs up here. You coming?”

“Yeah, but I need proper snacks. I can’t with all this fancy shit,” Hannah murmurs with a derisive glance at a tray of unappetizing looking canapes, turning and nodding for us to follow.

After a lengthy wait in the concessions line, I follow Fran and Hannah down the steps to our designated row. I’m hardly paying attention to anything other than each steep step. The last thing I need is to fall on my ass and drop my giant bucket of popcorn. But when Hannah and Fran stop suddenly, I don’t realize until I collide with Fran and almost take her out, thankfully steadying myself at the last second.

“Need a map?” I yell out over the noise of the crowd, craning my neck to see what the hold up is.

“Um…” Fran turns, her big blue eyes wider than normal when they land on me, and I don’t know what the problem is, but panic swells low in my belly.

“What?”

“Did you know he was going to be here?” she hisses.

Confused, I peer over her shoulder, almost ducking to the ground when I spot Andy seated right there in the very aisle our seats are for tonight. I gape at her, anxiety tightening around my chest. “No!”

She grimaces before looking back at Andy and forcing a smile, pulling me with her as she mutters over shoulder, “Just play along.”

Taking a deep breath, I lift my chin slightly higher, forcing a smile as I follow Fran and Hannah along the aisle.

“Hey, Boss,” Fran says sweetly.

“Oh, hi, ladies,” Andy says, glancing up from his cell, doing a double take when he spots me. “Emily?”

Hannah and Fran take their seats, leaving the one next to Andy for me, of course, and with a waning smile I sit down, meeting his curious gaze. “Hi.”

“What are you—” Andy looks around, for what I don’t know, his brow furrowed when his eyes meet mine once again. “What are you doing here?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, considering my response. And I wish I had the balls to just tell him straight, right now, that I’m here to watch my boyfriend play, and that he just needs to deal with it or fire me. But I’m a chicken shit, and suddenly I’m flailing for words. “I… um… I?—”

“Oh, Em’s my hockey date,” Fran interjects, sitting forward and talking around me. She looks at me with a conspiratorial wink, grinning. “I hate coming to the games alone, and thankfully Emily is just as clueless about hockey as I am, so we just spend most of the time gossiping.”

Andy snorts. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me.”

My shoulders ease because he seems to buy it. But then…

“How was your Christmas?” Andy asks, diverting his attention back down to his phone. “Did you have a nice time with your folks?”

“Uh, yeah…” I lie. “It was… perfect,” I quickly add with slightly more conviction because at least that part’s not a lie. It was perfect. My most perfect Christmas yet .

Andy glances up at me, a penetrating look in his dark brown eyes that almost makes my bravado crumble down around me. But then he smiles. And before he can say anything more, before he can interrogate me any further, the lights in the arena dim as the opening guitar riff of AC/DC’s “Thunder” starts to play throughout, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, the game is exciting enough that we managed to get through the first period without any more small talk forced between me and Andy. There’s been plenty of yelling and screaming from Fran, Hannah, and Andy. I’ve remained quiet, standing where appropriate, clapping when required. But honestly, I’ve been too preoccupied by my literal boss, the very man who imposed the non-fraternization clause that I’m currently in breach of, sitting right next to me, while I watch the man I’m breaching it for, fight in the crease, defending the net from puck after ruthless puck.

During the first break, I was able to disappear to the bathroom, and thankfully the line was long enough to take up the entire fifteen minutes. But now, seven minutes into the second period, the tension is high, and my attention is so fully captivated by what’s going on out on the ice, I almost forget Andy is sitting right there.

When the Lion’s right wing shoots from the blue line, the puck hits the cross bar with a loud clang, rebounding back into the play and turned over with Alex Henry snapping it to Logan, then Logan to Rusty, who takes it all the way down. Neither team has scored, but apparently that’s normal for a game like this. Rusty shoots, and the Lions’ goalie saves it, catching the puck in his glove.

Robbie climbs over the boards and onto the ice as the Thunder’s line changes, Happy tearing off directly for the offensive zone in time for the face off.

“Go get ‘em, babe!” Fran screams, jumping up and down .

St. Paul takes the puck, the center, Ben Harris, controlling it and striding back up the ice. My gaze flits to Dallas to see him get lower into position, his head moving in time with the puck.

Robbie comes out of nowhere like a freight train, slamming Ben into the boards with such force the entire Plexiglass wall sways violently. The puck is loose and that same right winger, Benson, apparently, secures it, taking it to the circles, but instead of shooting, he skates around the back of the goal, lining up a shot and slapping it with such force toward the bottom right corner that Dallas has to use his whole body to dive, smothering the puck before it goes in. The immediate roar of the crowd is bone-rattling, drowning out the sound of the referee’s whistle.

As the teams prepare for the face off, Dallas turns and lifts his helmet, squirting water into his mouth, when suddenly, he’s checked from behind by the Lions’ center, knocking him off his feet. He falls forward and smashes his head into the crossbar with such force, his whole body goes limp and he tumbles to the ice like a sack of bricks.

I jump up along with everyone else, but instead of anger and rage like those around me, my heart is in the back of my throat, darkness clouding my vision as I stare at Dallas’s body just lying there as all hell breaks loose around him, every single player on the ice colliding into a flurry of pushing and shoving and flying fists.

“Shit, Robbie, stop !” Fran screams.

It’s only then that I tear my eyes away from Dallas long enough to see Robbie with the Lions’ center pinned up against the boards, laying into him with punch after relentless punch, each hit harder than the last as he pummels into him, while the referees try to pull him off, the linesmen dealing with at least three other brawls. And yes, it’s shocking and scary, but my mind is still focused on Dallas because… he’s still lying there.

As if the officials are also now just noticing that Dallas is still down, a few men run out onto the ice, pushing their way through the fights, skidding to a stop and crowding around Dallas, and I watch on, not even breathing. The fights come to abrupt stops one by one as does the screaming in the crowd, until it’s suddenly so silent that the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Ben Harris sags to the ice and Robbie shakes off the referee, shoving his way through the throng of players standing around to get closer to check on Dallas.

A game official waves a hand in the air, and seconds later, men are running out onto the ice carrying a stretcher, securing the area and ordering everyone away as they carefully move Dallas’s body.

“Shit,” Andy mutters beside me, and from the corner of my eye I see him start to text frantically on his cell.

As Dallas is carried off, the sound of stick blades hitting the ice accompanied by the growing applause of the crowd is almost overwhelming.

“Babe?”

Feeling a hand on my arm, I turn to see Fran’s face fraught with panic, her eyes wide and red-rimmed as she stares at me. “Go,” she whispers. “You need to be down there with him.”

She’s right. Of course, she is. I do need to be down there. Dallas is hurt. Maybe even worse. He needs me. I… I glance around at everyone, everything, fully aware of Andy still standing there texting on his phone. But this is big. Bigger than me. Bigger than Andy. Bigger than my job and that stupid employee contract I signed. Dallas needs me .

Grabbing my coat from the back of my chair, I turn and step around Andy.

“You okay?” He stops me.

Breathless, I stare up at him. Hesitating, I’m at a loss for words. So I say nothing, pushing past him and running up the stairs with everything that I have.

Please, please let him be okay.