Page 117 of Born of Ice

Well, I don’t have to ask what that means when Exton nearly jumps out of his skin screaming, “Fuck!”

He plops back into the plastic seat that crunches under his heavy weight, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “What the fuck is going on? This is not the team I left. This is a disaster!” I don’t get a chance to say anything before he points the screen of his phone at my face. “Did you see this? What the fuck is this?”

“Um, what am I looking at, baby?” The pet name soothes his anger just a touch and his shoulders relax slightly as he explains that the Outlaws are losing their spot in playoffs and even though I don’t know what that means, it’s clear it is somethingimportant because I haven’t seen Exton this distressed since he ran into my bathroom in panic.

He takes the phone away and starts looking though everything he missed out on while shutting himself off from hockey. Based on his expression, the bouncing knee and how hard he’s chewing out his lip what he sees is not what he expected.

Five more minutes into the game and Chicago Thunders have what he calls a power play. Exton explains—after screaming at someone named Goram—that now the Thunders have the upper hand playing with all five players while the Outlaws are down to four because Goram tripped someone and got sent to the box.

Exton is no longer sitting; he’s walking the small area next to our seats and I’m pretty sure he can’t do that, but it is also obvious that people noticed who exactly he is and no one dares to say a word to him.

In fact, everyone around us is watching Exton more than they are the game. Their eyes full of awe, their mouths propped open at the sight, and I’m hit with how famous my boyfriend really is. I mean, I knew his name, heard it around Boston but hearing about it and seeing it first-hand are two vastly different things.

Suddenly, the whole arena is holding their breath as a player from the Thunders flies toward Sava’s net. From the corner of my eye, I see Exton biting his fist, vibrating with nerves and I’m not much better because I find myself getting worried, watching the action unfold and nearly sag with relief when Severin blocks the shot, then blocks it again from another player and captures it with his glove, stopping the assault on his net.

“That’s my boy! That’s my fucking boy, Sava!” Exton shouts, fist pumping the air with joy. “Fooley, he can’t do all the damn work for you! You gotta move, mate! Block! No, no to the other side! Jesus what are you doing?” He throws his hands out, groaning, and I giggle which gets Exton’s attention and he looks down at me, frowning.

“What’s so funny, little star?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head with a smile. “I’ve just never seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“So alive,” I tell him, and his breath hitches, his eyes casting a longing look at the ice before he shuts it down and gets back to screaming out commands from a place where no one can hear him. A place he has no business being at because it’s as clear as day that Exton Quinn was born to play the game. Born to be on that ice. He belongs there. “You miss it. The game.” It’s not a question, I can feel his blood humming at the sound of ice slashing underneath their blades, at the piercing sound of that flying puck, but he answers me anyway.

“I do.” The pain and the truth ringing loud in that simple sentence.

We’ve moved on to acceptance…

All too soon he’s shouting profanities again because there is another buzz. Another goal. And once again, not in favor of Outlaws.

“COACH! Are you fucking blind? Where the hell are you looking! Take the fucker out! He’s sinking the defense!” he screams at the Plexiglass, which is completely useless because there’s no way anyone can hear him in the chaos that surrounds us but to my—and clearly Exton’s—surprise, Coach Hill Turns around, looking straight at us with huge wide eyes.

It takes a second for him to get over the shock of seeing us before his expression twists and he screams so hard, his whole face turns beet red, but we only hear a muffled, “What theFUCKare you doing over there when you’re supposed to be out here?” He throws his arms around wildly and very, very expressively, motioning between Exton and the game behind him.

My eyes are wide, my lips rolled to hide the stupid smile on my face at Exton’s slack jaw and “what the fuck is going on” kind of look. My ferocious, tough, angry man is at a loss for words.

But Coach Hill is being pulled back in the game and before turning away he motions to his watch, to the scoreboard with the time on it and mouths “my office.”

Exton slumps back into the seat, his eyes wide as he murmurs, “Did he just…”

“Tell you they need you?” I finish for him. “Yes, baby, he did,” I add with a proud, beaming smile.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because suddenly there was no more mistaking this hulk for anyone else, and his seat gets flooded with fans holding a pen and something of theirs to sign.

32

Piece by piece

Exton

“How’s that retirement going?”Coach asks, his tone nonchalant while his jaw is taut and I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, feeling like that sixteen-year-old boy who ran away and got caught sleeping under the bench in our ice rink.

“Um, retirement?”

“Yeah, you know that’s what they call it when you stop working, or in your case, playing hockey.”

“I didn’t retire.”

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