Page 65 of Fated Shot

We’ve been absolutely dominating lately.

Max and I have become such a powerhouse; it’s like we can read each other’s minds on the ice, and it’s been fan-fucking-tastic. I swear, the moment I found something outside of hockey, everything clicked in me. I’m not playing to make it to retirement, I’m playing to win.

Every time I know she’s at the game, I feel it. Like I want to play my best—be something—someone she’s proud of. Even at our away games, the good luck texts I get before I step on the ice and the Facetime calls that come, whether we win or lose, sustain me.

With Scott, Penn, and Theo’s line also turning heads, the Tundra this year are a force to be reckoned with. I actually feel like we have a shot of making it all the way.

It’s another shut-out for Evan, 3-0, and the locker room is rowdier than usual. We can still hear some fans screaming even as we all get dressed after mini celebrations and quick showers. The energy is always electric, but lately, we’ve really got all the fan support behind us. I’ve been stopped in the street a lot more recently, something I’m still not used to, even in a hockey city like Toronto. It’s draining and energizing at the same time, an oxymoron for sure, but the city’s pride in us continues to drive us forward.

I’m showered and ready to head out before the other guys. Standing up, I grab my bag and salute the group of them as I walk out of the locker room. I’m secretly hoping that a certain blonde is waiting for me outside, and if she is, Idon’t want to keep her waiting. It’s wishful thinking for sure; we haven’t been hiding anything, but it’s not as if we’re flailing around showing everyone that we’ve been hanging out. We’ve been keeping things mostly between us, laying low at her place or mine, and really just enjoying spending time together.

I shouldn’t expect her to be there, but I can’t help it. I want her to be.

***

Mia

The game was incredible, and for the first time in a while, I was actually happy to be in the family section. Cheering on the team with Mom, Cami, and Kaia was way more fun than I expected. I might just have to make it a regular thing.

As the game ends, I make my way down the tunnel with my mom, waiting for the players and coaches to pass by. Even in my flats, I’m towering over her as we walk. The hallway is lined with roped-off pockets of people—kids holding signs, older fans, and a group of girls about my age.

We spot my dad emerging from the end of the hallway fairly quickly. He waves to some of the fans before making his way over and pulling us both into a bear hug.

“Good game, Coach,” I call as he beams widely.

“Love seeing both my ladies here.” He eyes my jersey suspiciously, I can see the exact moment he notices the number. He stills for just a moment, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly before clearing his throat, and diverting his eyes without a word. Instead, he takes my mom’s hand and starts to head toward the exit.

“You coming home with us, Amelia-girl?” My dad asks over his shoulder, clearly trying not to dwell on the awkwardness.

“No, I took the Jeep. I’m probably going to hang around for a bit, you know, let the crowds thin out.”Smooth, Mia.

Thankfully my mom reads my cue as she gives a little tug, egging my dad forward.

“Come on, Doug, I bet if we hurry we can grab some frozen yogurt before they close up shop for the night.”

My dad smiles, patting her hand lovingly.

“Yes, dear,” he replies as he guides them both away, leaving me alone, standing albeit a little awkwardly at the end of the hallway.

A few more staff members make their way out, all to the group of girl’s dismay. I keep watching them frantically fix their hair as soon as they see the door open, only for their faces to drop each time they don’t recognize the person emerging. They are all beautiful; perfect bodies, shiny bleached blonde hair, and stunningly applied makeup. I can’t get over the stilettos, though, and I don’t know how they didn’t freeze to death with the skin they’re showing.

I look down at my oversized jersey and worn black leggings. Even my unruly hair is in a messy topknot. At least I had the sense to throw on some makeup. I know it’s not a competition, but if it were, I wouldn’t even compare. With every passing minute, I feel more self-conscious about how underdressed I am.

Suddenly, the door opens to reveal someone whohaspiqued their interest, bright white smiles flashing in the direction of the commotion.

That’s when I spot him, too—long, muscular legs wrapped in perfectly tailored navy pants, a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing just a hint of a tattooed chest, and a matching suit jacket.

He doesn’t see me, his attention pulled by some cute kiddos reaching up and jumping for joy. I watch as he takes the time to interact with as many people as possible, but when he makes his way over to the group of girls, there’s a pang of envy in my stomach.

His smile is polite, but they eat it up, leaning over the ropes, and pulling out their cellphones. They don’t have his full attention; he’s barely leaning into the endless selfies they’re asking for, but I can’t help but feel like I’m intruding. One of the taller girls leans in so her face is right next to his as she snaps a pic. They look cute together like she’s a better match for him than I could ever be.

I tug nervously at the jersey, considering making a run for it. What am I doing here? I’m wearing his jersey, even though he’s not my boyfriend, and now I’m waiting to ambush him? Could I be any more desperate?

I glance around in a panic, taking a quick step back before sneaking around the corner and down a shorter hallway.

“Mia!” A deep and lively voice calls right before I can fully clear the corner. It’s one I recognize immediately. Fuckity-fuck. I turn on the spot to see the sex god himself walking over, trying to catch up. The girl in the background is looking me up and down, watching every move of our interaction.

“H-hi,” I say, blushing instantly.Great start, I’m hopeless.

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