Page 21 of The Pucking Fake Marriage (The Ice Kings #4)

TWENTY

THE GAME CHANGER (KEN)

The first round of the playoffs. Biggest game of the season so far, the one that determines whether we drop out or continue on the path of winning the Stanley Cup.

And I’m on the fucking bench.

My teammates come streaming out to momentous applause. My jaw tightens as I watch them take their positions. Carl Strafer, one of the newer players on the team, takes his position as the center.

My position. Just seeing him there makes me want to punch something. Punch him, more like. Not that it’s his fault, anyway. I’m the sole reason for my downfall.

The commentators overhead seem to have reached the same conclusion. “The Philly Titans have decided to bend to the overwhelming criticism and stick with Strafer over Edwards for this game.”

“Yeah, after their devastating brush against failure during their last game, the coaches knew they had to make some changes.”

A loud groan echoes around the stadium. I don’t need to look up to know that the media team is currently replaying the events of our last game a week ago on the screens overhead. I’d somehow managed to whack both the puck and my stick straight at our own goal, securing a win for our opponents.

“Don’t know what’s going on, but Edwards is not in the right mindset this season. Plenty of close shaves for him. Just look at that awful play up there. What the hell was that?”

“Might be time for the Titans to think of retiring him permanently.”

More groans and boos. My fingers fold into fists. Being trash talked by the commentators is a rite of passage for all hockey players, but I could do without the boos. I try to focus on my teammates. Most of them appear to be sympathetic—Blake looks like he’s seriously considering going up to the booth and throttling the men. I can also see Alex across the rink. He’s seated on one of the lower VIP seats directly in front of the ice, looking every bit as pissed as Blake. His wife Britney is next to him. She gives me a weak smile. There’s an empty seat beside her, and for a second, I wonder if she came with their two-year-old. It’s kind of good their boy isn’t here, though, because there’s a limit to how many sympathetic expressions I can see before I start to gag.

All things considered, I don’t even deserve their sympathy. For two weeks, I’ve been hanging out in their houses far longer than I should be and bumming their wives out. They’ve done more than enough for me.

“This is weird, huh? I don’t think you’ve ever sat on this bench before.”

It’s Sam, another new recruit on the team. He looks beyond excited at the prospect of finally being a player that he doesn’t seem to mind sitting on the sidelines. That kind of pisses me off, too.

“No.”

My tone seems to have clued him in to the fact that I’m not interested in talking, because he retreats and doesn’t make another peep.

The Boston Blades skate into the ring to loud applause. I listen as the commentators rattle off their rankings. My jaw feels even tighter. They’ve won every game since the beginning of the season. If we’d met them two games prior, we’d have fallen out of running entirely. It’s obvious that the crowd expects them to be the winners of today’s game.

The commentators seem to agree. Shortly followed by Coach Tanner, who glowers at me as he walks past the bench.

“Thanks a fucking lot, Edwards. Should’ve benched you while I had the chance.”

Yeah, you should have.

The game gets off to a rough start. I keep my eyes trained on Carl as he lines up for the face-off. He manages to win the draw against the Blades’ center as the puck drops. A mix of relief and envy churns inside me as he skates toward the opposing goal, with Blake and Luke flanking him. The Blades’ goalie quickly intercepts the puck and sends it flying down the ice, forcing our players to scramble back on defense.

It takes just two minutes for me to realize that, while Carl is a solid player, he doesn’t mesh well with Blake or Luke. Two or three times, he completely misses Blake’s signals to pass the puck, opting instead to go for Luke. He’s still green, not yet fluent in the unspoken communication I’ve developed with my teammates over years of playing together.

Coach Tanner is pacing by the bench, yelling obscenities. The crowd erupts as the Blades score their first goal of the game, slipping the puck past our goalie, Nelson. Just moments earlier, Carl had passed to Blake, not seeing that Luke was wide open.

“Damn it all to hell,” Tanner spits. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep my gaze fixed on the ice. The last thing I need is another reminder of how this is all supposedly my fault.

The game resets, and thanks to some quick work by Blake and Luke, we manage to score, tying the game. But two minutes later, Carl fumbles an easy chance at a goal, and I can see Tanner turning purple with rage.

“Fine,” he spits, now coming to stand as close to me as he possibly can. “Tell me.”

I look up at him. I’m the farthest thing from an easily prickled guy, but lately, there’s been a fury brimming in me that I can’t control. It’s threatening to break free of my feeble hold.

“Tell you what?”

“What the hell is going on,” he spits. “Why you’re playing so bad.”

I raise a brow. This has got to be a record. Tanner has never asked anyone on the team about their personal lives, even in earlier years when he was more even-tempered.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on,” he growls. “The faster you tell me, the faster I can get you back on the ice. I want you in by the second period. We can fix whatever mental block you’ve got going before then.”

For the first time in weeks, an actual smile forms on my face, breaking through what feels like a sheet of ice. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Tell me what’s up. We’ll have a good talk. And then you’ll be back in fit fighting form.”

Now I’m half-grinning. It’s amazing that Coach Tanner actually believes that he can fix me in less than five minutes—a fucking problem that has been recurring all my life. Automatically, I glance across the ice, trying to catch Alex’s gaze.

There’s no need because he’s already watching Tanner and me talk. In fact, he looks like he’s been trying to catch my gaze. I raise my brows, signaling at Tanner’s insanity. But Alex doesn’t seem to care. Instead, with an almost apprehensive look in his eyes, he nods toward the seat beside his wife.

Which is not empty anymore.

Because Charlie Chapman is now in it.

My blood turns to ice, and then stone. As much as I want to deny it, I can’t. She’s locking her eyes with mine. Her face is bloodless, almost terrified. Still, it couldn’t be clearer that this isn’t a chance meeting. For one, she’s wearing her clingy green dress, the one she wore when she first told me about our marriage. Her hair is done in the same messy knot.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

The memories come back instantly, fondling her through that slippery piece of material, rubbing my dick up against her, wanting her and wanting to unlock her hatred for me all at once…

A ball forms in my throat. It’s one thing to trample over my heart again and again. It’s another thing to hold a fucking party over its remains. What is she trying to do, make me lose my mind until I get cut from the team for good?

It takes a while to realize that Tanner is still talking. “…lost his focus for one of those games, but he’s back in form now, isn’t he? ”

I tear my gaze from her. “What?”

“White!” Tanner spits, glancing over at Blake. “Your teammate. Lost his focus for a while over his woman, but he’s fine now, isn’t he? Is that what this is, a girl screwing with your head?”

“That’s one way to put it.” I want to look anywhere else, but I can’t fucking help myself. Like a magnet, my gaze seeks her out. She’s staring at me, open and unabashed. Reminds me of the day before we split for Christmas, how honest she was about wanting me, even admitting that she was jealous of another woman talking to me.

The night before everything turned into dogshit.

Tanner follows my gaze. I feel a sense of foreboding as he notices Charlie across the ice. “Who’s that girl?”

“No one.” Complete lie. Charlie Chapman has never been no one to me.

The buzzer goes off for the first period, and my team members start to skate back toward our side of the arena. Tanner still keeps his eyes locked on me.

“Is she the one messing with your head, Edwards?”

Alex and Britney are standing up. Charlie is too. I’ve got the nasty feeling that they are heading over. Blake is inches from us, obviously curious about our conversation, but he needs to focus on the game.

“She’s no one,” I growl.

I feel my blood boil beneath all this gear. I glance over at Coach—he’s turned his focus on the ice. Good. I shift forward, planting my skates on the rubber mat in front of the bench. I push myself up, my legs heavy with pads and frustration. The guys don’t even glance my way as I step past them. I hop over the boards, the plexiglass rattling slightly as I lean into it .

The sound of the crowd fades as I move toward the tunnel. I can feel the cold air on my face, but it’s not enough. I need more. I clomp down the concrete hallway, the noise of my skates echoing off the walls. I reach the door to the outside, push it open with my glove, and step out into the night. The frigid air hits me hard, but I welcome it, sucking in a deep breath.

Finally, some damn peace. I lean against the wall, letting the cold sink in, trying to tame the fire that’s burning inside me.

I take a moment to relish that Alex will be wasting time looking for me in the pack before having to inform Charlie I managed to slip past them.

Good , I think. Really, screw him for bringing her here.

The next ten minutes pass by in a blur. Finally, when I’m sure it’s almost time for the second period, I make my way back to the arena.

Tanner seizes me the moment I reappear in the vicinity of the bench.

“Where the fuck did you get off to?” he cries. “You’re going on the ice in five.”

I raise my brows. “What?”

“Yeah,” Luke, who’s right at his shoulder, confirms. “We’re not going to win this shit if you’re not out there. Strafer can’t read cues.” He mutters the last sentence in a monotone.

Blake merely grimaces his approval.

“I…” The word can’t is right on my lips before I pull it back. I’ve never been benched before, and now I’m about to turn down the offer to get back on the ice because of Charlie. I still don’t know why the fuck she’s here, but I’m not going to keep ruining my future because I’m too damn stupid to focus on my life .

“Fine,” I spit. Blake gives me a grin, while Tanner appears to be torn between relief and uncertainty.

I try to ignore the overhead commentators—“Looks like the Titans are making a daring move again, going for past glory over future potential.”—Blake claps me on the shoulder before skating away, Luke and Nelson right behind him. I’m left adjusting my gloves with Tanner at my right.

“A little advice, Edwards.” His voice comes out in a grudging whisper as he hands me my stick. He glances over at Charlie. “She’s not worth it.”

My throat tightens. Even after everything she’s done to me, my first instinct is to smash his face in for talking shit about Charlie.

“Maybe.” I look away from Tanner and pull on my helmet. “Maybe not.”

Then I skate onto the ice to a resounding din of boos.