Page 20 of Breaking the Ice

“You mean one handsome man. But yes, a woman like you only comes along once in a lifetime. That's why you should fight for her,” Durand gushes.

Yet Emma doesn't engage with him this time either, but continues, “As I said; initially I felt honored...” Fuck, I'm beginning to grasp what's going on here. “...Until four days ago when I brought Durand his phone in the locker room, which he had forgotten after the massage with me.”

“My phone... four days ago?” The confusion in the Canadian's voice is audible even up here.

“Yes, Durand, four days ago. When you two were chatting in detail about your little bet in the shower.” She knows! I bite my lip as an indescribable feeling of joy spreads in my chest.

“No idea what you're talking about,” Parker responds, agitated.

“Oh really? Well, you two bet on who could bed me first. If Durand loses, he gets his flow and eyebrows shaved off before the final. If you lose, Durand gets to fire three pucks at you. Tough luck for both of you because you've both lost. Neither of you will get me.” How damn amazing is this woman? I cheer in my mind. Now I understand why she went out with both of them. She wanted to give them the feeling of being close to their goal. Probably to ensure this trap here worked and they both showed up. Durand, the wannabe, was still strutting around in the locker room today. He boasted in front of the guys about how close he was to the goal and how Emma was already eating out of his hand. So much for that, I think, grinning devilishly. She gave that asshole a lesson he won't forget anytime soon. Good on her!

“Alright, listen, you know what...” Parker raises both hands in surrender. “...Let's just call it quits, alright? You caught us and won.”

“Parker's right, you clever thing, you've seen through us. Let's leave it at that. It doesn't help anyone if we spill the beans to the others.” Well, look at that, suddenly Mr. Bigshot Durand isn't so cool and laid-back anymore, is he?

“Well, I wouldn't put it like that. There's definitely one person it helps. And that's me. You've played me, treated me like a toy.” I see Emma plant her hands on her hips. “I think your punishments are absolutely fitting. It's only fair that you receive them. Lost is lost.”

“Too bad for you, you have no evidence whatsoever, do you? Parker and I will deny that you found out. We'll just say Toby told you about the bet. That makes it null and void.” Durand looms threateningly over Emma, trying to intimidate her. He’s a pig! “Come on, Parker, let's get out of here.” He's about to turn away when this brave little woman on the ice grabs him by his Devils jacket and holds him back.

“Just a moment,” she says with a firm voice. “I figured you'd react like this. So, I took precautions. Byers!” As soon as she calls the name of the defender, a metallic click echoes in the arena, and a second spotlight switches on. It's directed at the VIP area and thus at us players. The guys around me erupt into deafening cheers and applause for Emma. Blinded by the spotlight, I can barely make out the expressions of the three on the ice. But from what I can see, Durand and Parker lose all color from their faces, while Emma grins broadly. The phone in my pocket vibrates. I pull it out and see that Toby has shared the incriminating video in our WhatsApp group. Now even those who missed the show can see how our sweet masseuse put two men in their place.

“Just when I thought I was mad at you for not telling Emma about the bet,” I say to Toby, who gives Emma a thumbs up.

“I wrestled with it for a while,” he confesses, turning to me. “After all, these bets are a matter of honor. But when I finally wanted to clue her in, she already knew.”

“Wasn't she angry with you? After all, you're kind of like her best friend here.”

“Oh, she was! If Mandy hadn't explained to her the value of the bets for us men and that I was forced to keep quiet, she probably wouldn't have forgiven me until today.” I smile as I watch Durand and Parker slink off the ice. “But she did. She's a fantastic woman.”

She certainly is, I confirm in my thoughts. And more than that.

13

Emma

“Oh, I think it's about to start!” Mandy shouts beside me, struggling to contain her excitement in her seat. I look down at the ice, where the Devils' mascot is doing its rounds. Loud music reverberates through the arena, while a projector displays the best goals and plays of the home team onto the ice. Today is the big day, the guys are facing off against the Salem Flyers. If they win this game, they're guaranteed a spot in the playoffs. I watch the colorful spotlights sweep over the rows of spectators. It's unbelievable how many people are here. If I understood Dad correctly, the game is completely sold out. The commentator's voice rings out, announcing the home team, as the music continues to swell, sending the fans' blood boiling. They're already pounding their giant drum and starting a chant. I love the last few minutes before the game starts. They're always so charged with emotion. And then, it's time. The players of the Portland Devils shoot out of their bench one after the other like arrows, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

“Yeahhh, go Devils!” my friend shouts, jumping up and applauding the guys. I follow suit, seeing the players' glances sweep up to us - checking if their lucky charm is present. Only the two wingers - Parker with number 8 and Durand with number 10 - ignore me. They skate their warm-up laps in the upper half of the field with their heads down. Although it's been four days since I embarrassed them in front of their teammates, they're still angry with me, which; admittedly, I couldn't care less about. Let's be honest, the two of them deserve it. Making bets at the expense of others is just shitty. You just don't do that. They brought this on themselves, so now they have to deal with it.

“And here he is, the man from Two Rivers. Our top scorer with the magic stick. Sixty-seven goals in this season alone! Welcome our man for all occasions, the forward star of all forwards, CALEB...” echoes the announcer's voice through the arena, and all Devils fans, including us, respond with full-throated, “WHYLER!” And then Caleb, number 19 with the captain's badge on his chest, shoots out of the bench and the arena erupts. The Devils' fans drum is pounding in my ears. It plays a drum roll until Caleb has completed a show lap and knocks down the puck pyramid in front of Toby's goal with a prepared puck. Then everyone cheers again, and Toby with player number 1 takes his place. I see him looking up at us and blowing Mandy an air kiss. Then he turns to his second love, Samantha, his goal. He tenderly strokes her frame, and if I'm not mistaken, he's moving his lips. He's probably talking to her again.

“Toby's relationship with that goal is pretty crazy,” Mandy says beside me, shaking her head. “He's so superstitious and thinks that if he doesn't honor Samantha, or treats her badly, they'll lose.”

“He's not the only one in the team who's superstitious, believe me,” I say, looking at Caleb, who's doing his laps. I love watching him on the ice. His movements are so smooth and powerful at the same time. The announcer's voice rings out again, welcoming the guests, the Salem Flyers. At the same time, the JumboTron, hanging high above the center of the ice, displays the Flyers' logo on its four screens. It's a blue wing that ends in an S for Salem. I compare the blue and white jerseys of the opponents with our red and black ones and believe that our guys look much better.

At last, it begins. The teams take their positions, the referee drops the puck, and the players surge forward. It's an insane game. The Devils are in their prime, making the Flyers look outclassed within minutes. The first line, composed of the wingers, or forwards as they're known, Parker and Durand, along with the center, the crowd's favorite, Caleb, is the strongest. They're outrageously good, scoring an incredible four goals in the first period and entertaining their spectators royally. Mandy beside me is even more invested than I am. She keeps jumping up from her seat, shouting: Foul! High stick! or Hooking! The referee hands out a few penalty minutes to both teams because the guys are overdoing it with their body checks. By the end of the second period, it's clear that the Flyers have lost. They're trailing with zero to six goals and are helpless against the determination of the Devils.

When the final whistle finally blares through the arena, both the fans and the players are ecstatic. The guys skip their massages because they just want to celebrate their victory. Works for me, I'll be done early today, I think as I head home. Dad stays back at the ice rink. He's planning to catch a ride with Bill later. The two of them have been spending quite a lot of time together lately, which I find unusual. My father is usually a typical couch potato and prefers to spend his free time at home in front of the TV. On one hand, I'm glad he and Thornton get along so well. On the other hand, I find his sudden urge to go out strange. Still, I don't bring it up with him. He must know what he's doing.

Arriving at the apartment, I receive a WhatsApp message. It's from the Devils group. A new, unfamiliar number writes:

*Tonight, big playoff entry celebration at Caleb's Loft! You're all invited!

*Toby: Hell yeah, we're definitely coming! Start chilling the Jägermeister!

*Byers: Count me in!

*Durand: I'm bringing a date.

---