Page 47 of Break the Ice
“Rafe, don’t take it as an affront?—”
“What third parties do you take the word of, big brother?” I ask, rising from the bench.
The two of us are evenly matched—the same height and the same build. Though Colt’s torn MCL killed his NHL career only two seasons in, he keeps himself in excellent shape. He still performs many of the workouts active players do.
It means neither of us has an advantage over the other in terms of stats. The main difference happens to be Colt’s green eyes and my golden-brown.
Most of our standoffs play out with the two of us at a stalemate. Colt has Dad’s resources in his favor. I have myself as mine. I’m unpredictable and chaotic, two things Dad and Colt equally dread.
With a sigh, Colt says, “Hawk was an evil SOB. His hands weren’t clean. If anybody deserved a dose of poison, it was him. He ruined a lot of careers. Including Dad’s. Including mine. Most people won’t miss him.”
I flash my gritted teeth. “Then what the hell’s your point?”
“Somebody’s got to take the fall for what’s happened. Don’t get caught up in Dad’s feud with Hawk and let it be you.”
He thumps me on the back and walks away, leaving me on that ambiguous note. I’d spend more time pondering Colt’s words if a game wasn’t about to start.
The stadium pulses with the excited energy in the air. I make it onto the ice to cheers from half of the audience. The other half outright boos. Many NHL fans out there hate my guts. They consider me a piece of shit because of the controversies I’ve been involved in on and off the ice. I’m nothing but trouble in their eyes.
I hardly give a fuck as I grin through my mouthguard and put my helmet on.
The game begins with us playing defense.
I ride the Stars’s center hard. I’m on his ass as he maneuvers through our blue liners and demonstrates excellent stick work protecting the puck.
Patience has never been my thing. I’m an act in the moment, improvise kind of guy, and always have been. But as I help our defense box him out, I’m really waiting for an opening. It comes as he bats the puck across the crease line. I swoop in with a block, the blade end of my stick catching the puck before it can go another inch further.
The crowd loses it as I flip the moment on its head. A split second ago, it was the Stars about to score. Now it’s me dribbling the puck down the ice, out skating the opposition, forcing my way to the other end for a shot. I score to a chorus of cheers.
The rest of the first period is a mixed bag. Trent Schmidt lands another goal, but then the Stars catch up with back-to-back straight shots into the net. We battle it out for the other two periods. Coach takes me out during the second, then once the Stars take the lead, he puts me back onto the ice.
I push myself like I always do, the villain of the NHL, but so damn good, nobody can really hate. People wind up cheering me on. I’m everywhere the puck is, stealing, blocking, dribbling ’til I’m swinging my stick and the puck bounces off the inside of the net.
In the end, we win by one point. Good enough for us. A win is a fucking win.
The mood’s celebratory as we head to the locker room and showers.
I should be replaying the highlights of the game in my mind like I always do. Win or lose, I’ve always been obsessed with combing over every moment.
But, for once, the game’s not on my mind.
Marisse and Marisse only is.
She didn’t attend like the rest of management did. Hawk likes his PR consultants to be seated up in the sky box along with him. He might be gone, but the expectation still fucking remains—so where the hell was she tonight?
A pulse of jealousy thrums in my veins as I rinse off under the hot spray of water. I’m in no better of a mood by the time I get out.
Kai’s nearby and slants his head to the side. “No Axis tonight?”
I towel off my wet hair and then toss the damp towel on the ground. “I’ve found other things to occupy my time.”
“Felicia Harding was in tears because you won’t fuck her. She’s still upset about you kicking her out of your VIP.”
“She’ll have to trap another player for the night.”
Kai’s unconvinced. “What’s the new scheme?”
I slide into my jeans and drive up the zipper. “There is no new scheme. Except find out who beat the shit out of me in the bathroom.”
