Page 34 of Pucking Never

The referee is blowing his whistle furiously, trying to restore some semblance of order, but the whole atmosphere in the rink has shifted; it’s raw and wild and I have a sickening feeling in my stomach. It’s not just about the fight. It’s the sight of Jensen, blood dripping from his nose and a cut over his eye, looking furious and feral.

I can’t sit still anymore. I make my way down from the press box towards the rink as quickly as I can, all the while staring at Jensen being dragged away by his teammates. His eyes meet mine briefly before he’s led off the ice.

Under his fury, he looks tired. And hurt.

I try to shake off my worry as I reach the entrance to the players’ tunnel. I’m not allowed there during games, technically, but right now rules don’t seem important as anxiety bubbles up within me. How hurt is he?

He must feel my gaze because he turns back, winces a little, and then offers me a weak smile. That action somehow makes me feel worse.

“All good,” he mouths to me before disappearing into the locker room.

I’m left standing there in shock, amidst all the chaos. The game continues but it sounds muted, distant. All I can think of is that look on Jensen’s face — that grimace masked with a reassuring smile.

I stay rooted to the spot until the second period buzzer sounds. The rest of the Night Hawks rush into their locker room, all looking grim and frustrated. Carson passes by without noticing me; his mind clearly occupied with thoughts about remedying their faltering game. It’s only then that I wonder what he thinks about how I ran after Jensen. Did he notice? Maybe he was too distracted by what was happening on the ice? Still, I completely dropped my guard because I was so worried about Jensen.

Eventually, I gather my composure and head back up to my post in the press box for the third period. The team returns and the game resumes but my heart is not in it. The flurry of movement on the ice is just a blur. I keep glancing at Jensen, who has thankfully returned to the ice. His mood is back up and he’s playing like himself, but I’m still worried about him. The image of him taking hits in that fight keeps playing through my mind.

The final buzzer sounds with the Night Hawks losing by two goals. I chew on my bottom lip nervously as I watch the team make their way back to the tunnel.

Despite the loss, they seem in decent spirits, which is strangely comforting. Still, I make up my mind that I need to check on Jensen to see for myself that he’s okay. I can’t do it now, but later, back at the hotel. Once I see for myself that he’s fine, this anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach will go away.

Chapter Seventeen

GRACE

Later that evening, I find myself nervously pacing my hotel room, my mind racing as I worry about Jensen and whether or not he’s really okay. It’s taken all of my willpower to wait to go find him. I need to be careful and let the rest of the team calm down for the night so I can get to him without being caught by anyone else. There’s a strange bitterness swirling inside me, though, as I watch the time and wait to slip out of my room. A part of me wishes that whatever was going on between us wasn’t a secret. That I could walk right up to his door without caring at all who might see me do so.

It’s my own fault, though. It’s just that when I think of Carson finding out my stomach twists in even worse knots. I shake my head and grit my teeth. I need to focus on one thing at a time. Make sure Jensen is okay now, worry about telling Carson the truth later.

Finally, when it’s about ten o’clock, I crack open my room’s door and listen carefully for any signs that the team is up and about at all. All seems quiet, at last. I don’t hear any of the guys chatting in the hallway or moving from room to room like they were earlier in the evening. It seems like the coast is clear, so I slip out of my room and cautiously make my way down the hallway, with the jersey Jensen gave me clutched tightly in my hands.

Thankfully, I don’t run into anyone as I near his door. Carson sent me a copy of the team’s itinerary and travel information, wanting me to know where he is at all times in case I needed him; I don’t think he even realized it included the entire team’s room assignments, but I’m glad it does, since I now know which one Jensen is staying in. Stopping in front of Jensen’s door, I raise my fist but hesitate before knocking. Taking a deep breath, I gently rap my knuckles against the smooth wood of the door and then wait, my heart in my throat.

A few moments later, the door opens and Jensen is standing in front of me, shirtless and wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that should be illegal for a man like him to own. I stare at him, speechless, my eyes tracing the contours of his chiseled torso.

He looks surprised, his eyes widening as he gazes down at me. When he clears his throat, I realize I’ve been ogling him and I blush as I jerk my gaze back up to his.

“Um, hi,” I stammer.

“Hey,” he replies. “Are you staying in this hotel too?”

I nod. “Yeah, I am. Carson let me know where you all would be. I, uh, wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay. I also wanted to give this back.”

I hold up the jersey and he looks down at it with a frown.

“Why?” he asks. “It was a gift.”

Sighing, I shrug. “I know, and it was really nice of you, but I just can’t…”

It’s too much. Too much of a boyfriend thing. Wearing his jersey during the game felt like I was staking a claim on him, and that thought was far too satisfying, and terrifying. However, I don’t say that aloud. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to give me room to slip past him. “Let’s talk.”

Talk? He wants me to come into his hotel room to talk? I hesitate, but then slowly nod and make my way inside. He closes the door behind me and crosses to the room’s minibar.

“Drink?”

“Sure,” I murmur as I look around. It’s a standard hotel room, like mine, except instead of the queen-sized bed I got, his bed is king-sized—a necessity given his massive frame.

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