Page 58 of Fated Shot

I head out feeling light enough to fly away.

That was fucking close.

***

I couldn’t see where she was sitting, but just knowing she was there was enough for me to play like I was on fire.

I was making massive hits, used my body to stop a loose puck, and probably played the best game of my life. 2-0, shut-out.

This season as a whole feels so different. The team is really clicking. Sure, we didn't start off dominating, but it’s all coming together nicely.

As soon as the buzzer sounds, we all rally around Evan in net. He’s had a stellar performance tonight. Un-fucking-stoppable. A few of his saves from the game will probably be circulating on ESPN for the next month. Playing well as a team is unbeatable. Celebrations are bigger, and being united on and off the ice makes a massive difference. Win or lose, we’re one, and it’s the best feeling.

By the time I’m showered and leaving the locker room, I spot a familiar blonde waiting at the end of the corridor with a few others. I can’t help but smile seeing her in the family section. She might not be here for me, but I’ll hold onto the hope that she is until it becomes reality.

My whole face lights up the moment I see her. She’s wearing high-top Converse, worn blue jeans, a white crop top, and anoversized Tundra bomber jacket. She looks like a straight ten, as always, with her hair pulled high into her usual messy bun. The urge to run over and pull her into my arms is way stronger than it should be. There’s just the faintest flush in her cheeks when she catches me looking, a timid smile breaking out. God, she’s beautiful.

Behind her, some dude in a spanking new New York jersey and ballcap approaches. I’m surprised I can’t see the tags hanging off. I can smell the trouble from here as it all starts to click into place. The scene moves in slow motion as I watch him grab her waist from behind and plant a kiss on the top of her head.

What in the actual fuck? Her face contorts and my blood starts to boil the moment his familiar face comes into view. So much for level-headed. From his slimy lips, I see him mouth, ‘Surprise,’ as she looks up, clear discomfort on her face. She then rips out of his grasp, looking even more distraught.

I bound over without a single thought more, rage filling my vision. Can he not take the fucking hint? She’s uncomfortable, and I hate it. She’s been through enough with this guy—hot-headed freak. She needs calm, someone to turn to, someone who can actually keep her safe. I’d do anything to protect her.

A quick look of relief crosses her face when I step forward.

“Wrong tarp, Sebastian,” I spit coldly at him as I gently take her hand, pulling her closer to me. She follows my silent direction, allowing me to shield her from him. There’s an empty glaze in her usually lively eyes as she clings to my arm with both hands. She’s not doing well, I can tell. He did this. I’m sick of him having this control over her.

I stare him down, but he looks between us, a mix of anger and amusement in his eyes as he trills, “Oh, Doug is going tolovethis.” A threatening grin paints his face, causing a sting of irritation down my neck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the flash of a camera coming straight from where the press is roped off. The look of horror painted across Mia’s face is like a shot to the stomach. She pales immediately, dropping her arms to her side, and taking three wordless steps back.

Between unsteady breaths, she shoots a quick, panicked look at me. She's either about to cry, hyperventilate, or both. Before I can say anything, she turns in place and practically runs the rest of the way out of the arena exit.

It takes me less than five seconds to identify the photographer, but by the time I look back, Seb’s already slithered away like the snake he is. I’m tempted to run after her, but I have to see the level of damage control that needs to be done first. If I give an unprompted interview, they’ll probably do me a favor and delete the photo. The real journalists are here for the stats, not for gotcha shots of my personal life. As I turn back toward the locker room, I spot Penn in the corridor, his eyes blazing with anger.Shit.

He advances toward me, but when I go to open my mouth, he cuts me off.

“Not here, not now.” No usual lightheartedness in his tone, no sadness, just annoyance. He heads over the press area, marching toward the photographer from earlier. I can’t hear their conversation, but it looks like some heated back and forth before he poses for a few photos and answers some questions from some of the other reporters.

I stand there emotionless, just waiting until he motions for me to follow him out the exit. We walk in silence the rest of the way and don’t even utter goodbyes before we get into our cars.

The trip home felt like the longest drive of my life. I seriously didn’t need that much time to be left with my own thoughts. I tried to call her twice on the twenty-minute ride. One more timefrom the elevator and ten minutes later after getting back to my apartment.

This is the absolute worst. Was I not supposed to take her hand? Of course, I wasn’t. She’s notmine.The words land like a pit in my stomach. I’m such an idiot. I don’t know what to do, so I call her one last time. I don’t care if she doesn’t want to talk to me, I just need to know that she made it home safe.

On the fourth ring, there’s a pause. I wait anxiously, hoping to hear her on the other end. Careful what you wish for. Nausea hits the moment I hear her broken voice through the phone.

“H-hi.”

“Are you okay? I was so worried about you. Listen, Penn handled it; the photo won’t go anywhere. I-I’m sorry about that, okay? I’ll be more careful.” It comes out pleading and desperate. So much for calm and collected. The thought of losing her right now, though, even being away from her, is not something I can stomach. “Can I come see you?”

“I need…” Her sad voice breaks, causing my face to contort in pain. There’s a forced breath before she continues. “I just need some space right now, time to think.” The words send a clear message, but her voice, unsteady, unsure, and filled with anxiety, conveys another.

“Okay,” is all I can manage. I feel helpless, broken. The call disconnects, and I’m left standing in my kitchen feeling more alone than I ever have.

***

As I’m in the middle of changing, there’s a firm triple knock at my door. The thought that it could be Mia flashes through me, and I come racing down. What I see instead makes my chest collapse in on itself. Scott Sheppard and Penn Brody are standingoutside my apartment door looking like they are about to have an intervention.

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