Page 111 of Broken Promises

I’m surprisingly fine with the idea of Declan confiding in Ben. He’s done nothing but be a good friend, and I’m glad Declan has had him to lean on. Especially with how he has been so strong for the rest of us.

Right. I can do that.

I’m nervous too.

We’ve got this.

We’ve got this.

“Who is that?”

I look up from my phone to see Maverick trying to read my messages upside down.

“Ben,” I say, glaring at him.

“The photographer that has a kind of hot mountain man starving artist thing going on?”

“He’s Dec’s best friend,” I say, ignoring the kind of accurate description of Ben.

“You’re lucky Cal isn’t here to hear you say that,” Mav says.

I roll my eyes and focus back on the game. Breathing a little easier between the goal and the reassurances from Ben that Declan won’t be alone when he talks to Sinclair.

Is it too early to feel like things are finally going our way?

FIFTY-TWO

declan

If I thoughtthe first two periods were violent, they have nothing on this one. My old captain, Hank, has been going for my knees. He was out for most of the season with a shoulder injury, but he made it back in time to try to cripple me.

“What the fuck, man?” I shout at him when the whistle blows after my pathetic shot on the net that Finn easily stopped. It’s hard to shoot against a guy who knows all your tricks while defending your knees from a former teammate.

“I want the fucking cup,” Hank growls, skating by me, hitting my shoulder in the process.

“So do I! You don’t see me going for your shoulder like a cheap asshole.”

The whistle blows again, the refs way of telling us to get our asses into position.

“There’s less than two minutes left, Dec. We’ve got this.” Gideon claps my back as I skate by him to take my spot to his right.

I nod, my focus on the puck and nowhere else. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get through this game. If I let my focus slip back to what’s at stake, I make stupid mistakes.

Gideon loses the face-off, and the puck is sent down the ice. I race after it, leaving Hank. Gagne, the asshole that replaced me, takes a shot on Bouchard. I hold my breath and let out a sigh of relief when it’s caught. Coach takes the pause in play as an opportunity to call us back to the bench.

“I am going to need to meditate for several weeks after this game,” Slava says next to me. Ivanov never came back so he’s been the left wing on my line.

“You meditate?”

“You do not?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Uh, no. Should I start?”

“Yes.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the game. It might not be a terrible idea with the amount of stress I’ve been under recently.

The game clock is down to thirty seconds when Coach calls for another line change. I throw myself over the boards immediately, ready for the carnage that will be the final seconds. San Diego pulled Finn since they have nothing to lose. The sixth man could be a real issue if they did it earlier.

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