Page 109 of Broken Promises

“I know you’re nervous, Dec, but we need you in this game with us,” he says.

I swallow thickly. “Got it.”

“What the hell’s going on?” he asks and because he’s being so loud with his concern, everyone is now looking at me.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I look around to see that not a single one of my teammates or coaches believes me.

Fuck it.

“The guy that killed my wife’s tour manager the night Gideon was there is still free and could very much be after Willa and her friends,” I explain plainly. “I think Sinclair can help us keep her safe, but we were hoping to win the cup to butter him up.”

“Jesus fuck, Dec,” Gideon says, running his hands through his hair while his eyes bug out of his head.

“Alright,” Coach says, clapping his hands once. “We’re going to skate tonight like Willa’s life depends on it. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” everyone says immediately.

I tear up as I look around at the team that accepted me when they didn’t have to. “Thank you,” I say, but it comes out as barely a whisper.

“No one touches one of ours,” Martinez says, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“We will help you if Sinclair will not,” Slava adds. I nod at him because that’s all I can manage around the lump in my throat. “He is not the only one with connections.” His Russian accent is suddenly thicker than usual. I don’t have time to question it because Coach announces we need to get back on the ice.

I take a deep breath before following Gideon. The weight on my shoulders lifts slightly, but that’s enough for me to be able to see the light at the end of this bullshit tunnel.

The first two periods have been brutal. Both teams are taking their share of time in the penalty box. No one has scored on either goalie. Finn has anticipated every shot made on his net while Bouchard has had some amazing saves.

My knees are throbbing. My shoulder took a hard hit against the boards within the first minute of the first period and has been stiff since then. Gideon has a bloody lip that keeps splitting open, and Slava’s right pinky is broken and taped to hell so he can still play. Ivanov is back with the doctor after a hard hit that had him keeping weight off his left leg.

My team is broken and bleeding, and they have every intention of spilling more blood on the ice, if it means protecting my wife. I want to cry with gratitude and scream in anger simultaneously. Instead, I take a deep breath, ignoring the painful tug on my ribs from a hit last period that I’ve been pretending didn’t hurt.

Both first lines from each team head out onto the ice to start the last period. The tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I glance at Finn as I take my spot. His eyes meet mine. The usual intensity that’s there for every game turns into a concerned frown with whatever he sees in my face. I don’t have the time or desire to reassure him with a smile.

I turn my attention to the ref just in time for him to drop the puck. Every slap of my stick and pass of the puck makes me angrier. This game should be for me and my team. We should play to win because we deserve it. Not because I need the owner to do something probably shady to keep my family safe.

Is it wrong of me to think Sinclair should help no matter what? I’m a player on his team. A player who might be able to get him whatever it is Ezra knows if he helps us.

I respect Harrison, but this plan is absolute bullshit, and I’m mad at myself for waiting to speak with Sinclair. I don’t even know if he’ll speak with me. We could win, and he could still deny me.

Coach calls my line back, and I throw myself over the boards to take my seat next to Gideon.

“Something has to give. We can’t do this for another period if it goes into OT,” he says.

“Dec.”

I turn to see Ben coming up behind me on Coach’s bench. Coach, to his credit, just lifts his eyebrows and then turns back to the game.

“Sinclair is going to meet us after the game. He said if you’re needed for press to meet him in his office immediately after.”

“You’re my best friend,” I tell Ben, needing him to know how much he means to me. He nods and quickly gets out of the way of the players and coaches.

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Martinez says, leaning around Gideon to glare at me. I roll my eyes and focus back on the game.

Some of my anger has dissipated, knowing Sinclair agreed to the meeting without the outcome of the game having a part. I’m sure winning will still help the odds of him helping, but now I want to win more for my team. For me. For Willa and all the unwavering support she’s always given me.

“Finn is a Hall of Fame level goalie. He’s well on his way to being the best of all time,” I say.

“Great,” Gideon mutters next to me. “Maybe don’t give any pep talks.”

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