Page 37

I’ve been on edge all day, preparing for tonight’s game. Even though I acted normal with Hawke, making sure he was comfortable, that he was doing better after his practice and made him dinner and stuck it in the fridge, he was eyeing me skeptically as I was leaving.

“You sure you aren’t mad I can’t make it to your game?” he asks again, propping his shoulder against the wall by the entryway while I slip on my shoes.

“No. I knew you wouldn’t be able to. You guys have video to watch tonight for your big home game. You’ll make it to one of mine at some point, QB, I’m not worried.” I smile at him, trying to reassure him.

“I’ll be done around the same time as your game. I’ll meet you outside the arena,” he offers and I shake my head.

“Absolutely not. It's supposed to snow tonight, just a dusting but that means the temps are dropping. You can’t get sick, Hawke. You need to play next week.”

He sighs and runs his hands over his face. “You’re coming home right after though, right?”

I nod and stand to my feet, bouncing over to him and wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ll be here, and I’ll tell you all about how we beat their asses.”

“I like the confidence, sugar.” Hawke smirks and wraps his arms around my waist giving me a hug.

“I learn from the best,” I remind him before leaning in and kissing his lips. Hawke groans and pulls my body tighter against him. “Not enough time, Hawke!”

I giggle when he frowns and reluctantly lets me go before stepping back and readjusting his dick in his pants, looking thoroughly disappointed. And that's how I leave him, stepping out of the apartment with my one priority for the night. Revenge.

The locker room is humming with excitement and the prospect of violence.

Riley and Sam know what Isla found as well and their quiet support for me proves how strong our friendships run.

I barely pay attention to the amped up music or the conversation around me.

I tune out the majority of our coaches’ pregame speech because all I can think about is my plan to destroy number fifty-four and get away with it.

Checking is prohibited in the women's hockey league, why I do not know. We wear the same protective equipment as men do, so it's never made any sense to me. I googled it once but even that answer wasn’t enough to justify the rule of the game. In order to get to fifty-four, I’m going to need to be sneaky; it's going to have to look unintentional. My team is prepared for me to draw the penalty, knowing once we do I’ll be in the box for a few minutes, which leaves us short on the ice.

I have their blessing and I don’t intend to squander it.

“Lawson,” my coach snaps and my head jerks up. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Jerseys,” I repeat, the last word I heard come out of her mouth. Her lips form in a thin line, but she takes her eyes off of me. They land on Riley before moving down to the box at her feet.

“As I was saying, an anonymous donor gave a chunk of money to the women’s hockey program for us to purchase new jerseys.

Apparently, our number selections were outdated.

I’ll hand out new jerseys now. Please raise your hand for the number you want.

If two people want the same number, settle it quickly. ”

I tilt my head back and look at Riley whose face is flaming red. This has Reign’s name all over it. He’s very protective over which number his girlfriend has.

“Eighteen.” Coach picks it up and hands it right to Riley. No one else raises their hands anyway. It's the number she’s had since she was a freshman.

A few other numbers are called but none of them catch my attention. Until I hear…

“Two.”

My hand flies up. My lips pull into a smirk.

Two. Second month of the year, February.

Hawke’s birthday month. No one else fights me on it, and I wonder if it’s the gleam in my eyes probably making me look slightly unhinged.

Coach hands me the jersey and I slide on the new purple material.

These have to be brand name material because I can safely say these fit and feel better than our old ones.

They’re not boxy looking either. I look like a woman out there playing hockey.

“Tell Reign thanks.” I wink at Riley who groans.

“Shut up. He’s so over the top. I make one comment, one, and this is what happens.”

“Yeah, must suck,” Sam cackles, and we finish getting ready.

Once on the ice, I do my warm ups while also checking out the other team.

Their deep green and gray jerseys flash across the ice and I search for her.

Maybe I should feel bad that it was her boyfriend who did it and not her, but I don’t care.

This feels like retribution. I’ll never forget the fear I felt, the way my heart stopped, my stomach sinking when I saw Hawke lying on the ground not moving.

“Just so you know, the calvary is here today too. Since Hawke can’t be,” Riley murmurs to me and her eyes lift to the stands.

Amongst the student section is the majority of the guys’ hockey team.

I instantly pick out Carter, Leif and Reign, all of whom send me some sign of encouragement.

A wink from Leif, a devilish smirk from Carter, and the stone, cold, head nod from their captain Reign.

Riley waves and I give them a salute. Then I meet the confused gaze of none other than Jax.

He’s sitting on the end and glancing between me and the guys.

I hope he isn’t in on the plan and it's just a coincidence he's here.

“Jax?” I mumble to Riley, who shakes her head and slaps my shoulder pad with her glove.

“He has no clue. It's only our crew that knows.”

Her words are reassuring and I feel emboldened knowing my friends are here for this.

Skating to the left side of the ice I take my place, as left wing player for the faceoff.

I bend low at my waist, my knees sinking deep with my stick ready.

I keep my eyes on Riley, our center forward, ready for the puck drop.

The first period passes by uneventfully as I wait for fifty-four to take the ice.

She’s barely played, and when she did, it wasn’t when my line was out.

The second period is flying by and I’m starting to feel my window of opportunity slip past me.

We’re winning, but it’s close. My head is in the game and we’re playing our hardest, yet my heart is sinking.

Two minutes left in the second and it happens.

Fifty-four steps onto the ice. My shift is supposed to be over.

I can’t go to the bench yet. The girl gets the puck, circling her net before starting to charge up the ice.

I backcheck, ignoring my coach’s call to get back on the bench.

The rest of my line follows to help me. The doors slam shut and my coach’s face is red with anger.

I tune her out, my heart racing with adrenaline.

It’s just me and fifty-four; Isla pulls back and so does Sam, pretending to slide into their defensive positions.

Right as fifty-four pulls her stick back to shoot, my body slams into her at full force.

Our face masks connect and I hear her feminine grunt as we fall to the ground.

Her helmet hits the ice and I manage to keep my head back, taking my shoulder to the ice instead.

Fifty-four cries out, her body hunching in, her arm wrapping protectively against her chest. A small part of me hopes she’s injured.

Whistles blow and ice flies in different directions from various teammates who slam on their edges, trying to intervene so the other team doesn’t touch me. This is between her and me. Pushing up off the ice, I give her another shove to stay down.

“Watch your back, Oberstein. Tell your boyfriend this is for him too.”

She watches me with wide eyes, her mouth set in a scowl, but there is a look of understanding that passes between us as well. I’m hauled up and off the ice by one of my teammates but I keep staring at fifty-four, hoping she can read how deadly serious I am.

“Five minutes, fighting and charging!” the referee yells and blows his whistle.

When I skate off the ice toward the penalty box, the crowd is on their feet and cheering loudly.

It's deafening and the only thing drowning out the roaring blood in my ears. I’m breathing hard, watching my team reassemble.

The period is over in forty seconds but now we’ll start the third period shorthanded.

My gaze lifts and is caught by Jax’s in the student section.

There is no mistaking the pain and understanding that cross his features.

He lost me. But as Hawke pointed out, I was never truly Jax’s to begin with.

The girls manage to protect the puck and no goals are scored by the other team.

Our intermission is quiet while the coach goes off on us, me especially, and I take her wrath.

It's on me, no matter who else helped me.

On our way back to the ice, everyone slaps my helmet before I retake my place in the penalty box.

As I wait in the box, I watch the minutes tick down, my heart in my throat, hoping we can keep this two goal lead.

There’s a short buzzer and then I’m out of the box rushing back to the ice.

For the rest of the game I redeem myself to my coach, playing hard and helping maintain the lead we have.

I make it up to my team, hustling when needed, and keeping focused instead of being distracted when fifty-four is back on the ice for the last few minutes.

She’s slow on her skates now, yet I feel zero remorse.

When the third period finally comes to an end, we secure the victory, winning the game 3-1.

The energy in the locker room is vastly different than before the game.

I feel lighter than I have in days. I’m proud of myself for standing up for my man and avenging him in any way I can.

Hopefully everyone, Hawke included, can see how much he means to me, and that I’ll protect him just as fiercely.

“Carter got the hit on video. He sent it to you,” Riley lets me know on our way out of the arena. I laugh with her and Sam while we walk toward the guys.

“Need a lift?” Leif asks, knowing exactly where I need to go.

Sam and I pile in his SUV and he drives me toward Hawke’s apartment.

The apartment I’m starting to love more and more, and I’m starting not to care as much about losing the bet.

I can handle a tattoo. Maybe I’ll get something meaningful on my back, my foot or behind my ear.

Something small and cute. It won’t be the worst thing in the world.

Leif drops me off at home and suddenly my heart is pounding in my chest. My feet feel heavy, my knees shaking still from the adrenaline of the game, as I take the elevator up to our floor.

The hallway is quiet since it's after nine. I don’t see any lights on under our door either and part of me wonders if I’m worrying over nothing.

Hawke probably went to bed after their meeting.

He’s still healing and he has an early practice.

My keycard hits the lock and the door clicks open.

I push inside, dragging my bag and sticks behind me, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Turning to head to the kitchen, I’m stopped by a large male body blocking my path.

“Hawke! You scared me.” My hand lands on my chest. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

His arms hang at his sides; his hands clenched into fists. He’s watching me, silently, his green eyes blazing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I stand straighter, my shoulders roll back, and I meet his glare with my own cool gaze. “You might have stopped me. And because it wasn’t about you, Hawke.”

“You knew who she was before you checked her didn’t you, Emmarys.” His voice softens.

“I did. I planned it. But not just because of her boyfriend.” I step closer to him, my hands resting on his sides, needing to feel him. “I protect you too. You were hurt Hawke and it made me scared, but it also made me angry. No one gets to hurt you either.”

His hand reaches out, grabbing my chin and bringing his body closer to mine. “Why, Emmarys. Tell me why.”

“Because you’re mine.”

His eyes flash and his lips take mine fiercely, his tongue slipping between my lips and stroking along them.

My hands grip his sides, holding on while he kisses me thoroughly.

I feel his heartbeat against mine, feel like we’re tangled together, and I know for sure deep down inside that the last piece of my heart is stitched back together.

Hawke put it back together with his words and actions and this time he tattooed his name all over it.