Page 77 of Breakaway

“Mom said she tried everything to have a relationship with me, and I never let her in because I was tight-lipped and introverted,” she says. “I’ll explain everything about Kyle after the game. It’s…not an easy conversation, and I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, especially when I’m at work.”

Nevaeh falls silent, and I stay silent too. As my gaze roams over my bathroom, I bite the inside of my cheek. Then an idea pops into my head. I hope she’ll go for it. It might help her move on and never look back.

“Malyshka?”

“What?”

“Did you ever figure out what to write for that special edition in December?” I ask.

“Not yet, and I’m running out of time. Kai keeps asking about it.”

“Write about Kyle,” I say. “Write about your experience. Tell your story.”

“It’s an ugly story, Roman.”

“But it’s yours.”

Shuffling sounds from her end fill my ear. I wait, hoping she’ll agree. She needs this, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sure,” I tell her and finally take off my tee.

“I’m so sorry, Roman. This was the last thing you needed before your game,” Nevaeh mutters. “I just wanted you to know, because I’m sure people will be talking.”

I snort quietly. “I’m sure they will, but I don’t care.” Stepping closer to the shower, I start the water and pull down my sweatpants and boxers. “Sorry, Malyshka, I really need to get rolling.”

“Sure. See you at the game.”

“See you.” I hang up, toss my phone onto the marble surface of the bathroom countertop, and step into the shower.

A clear head. That’s what I really need…because she’s right. People will be talking.

Sitting on the bench,I follow my teammates around the ice with my eyes. My teeth are clenched so hard, my molars could be fucking dust by the end of the night. And not just my molars if Nathan Tucker doesn’t learn how to keep his mouth shut.

We started off strong, dominating on the ice. The steady number of pucks we were able to sneak behind Boston’s defense in the first period helped us a ton, giving us the motivation we needed to score.

Benson getting the puck in the left circle from Boston’s player when he was midway through our zone was priceless. He sent the puck into the board, and it ricocheted to a wide-open Thompson. With a precise wrist shot into the top-right corner, Colton scored our first goal in the first period. Seeing one to zero on the Jumbotron made me extremely happy.

After we cut Boston’s defense apart, our team got the chance to make it a two-goal game just six minutes after Colton’s goal. I slid a pass under the stick of Nathan Tucker to unlock Crawford. And damn, Dean didn’t disappoint, sending the puck into the net with a backhand shot. Leading two to zero by the end of the first period gave the whole arena hope.

How the fuck we went from leading to losing two to three is beyond me. It’s like Boston just had a slow start, adjusting to our game and opening up new possibilities after the first period. When we got back on the ice during the second period, they decided they were done letting us win. They have clawed back like fucking beasts, and we haven’t had a single chance to score again.

Every moment we have created has fallen short. Even the ones that were successful, when we were able to send the puck toward Boston’s net, didn’t lead to another goal. Schneider, Boston’s goalie, has secured his net every fucking time, making us restless.

My mood only worsened when two to two flashed on the Jumbotron. I want to win. My teammates want to win. Too bad Boston has had no desire to fuck off and let us move forward.

Tucker chirping me was another level of fucked up. Hearing him talk about Nevaeh sent me into a rampage. If it hadn’t been time for me to get off the ice, I would’ve smashed his fucking face in.

At the start of the third period, our first line created the perfect chance to score. Colton finished off Drake’s full-ice pass from our team’s crease. But the happiness was short-lived. The Boston bench made a quick challenge to overturn the call, and it was ruled that Koskinen was well offside. And, unfortunately, it proved to be a damned demotivator for the entire team. Exactly four minutes after that, Boston made the score two to three.

I glance at the Jumbotron. Six minutes till the end of third period. God, I hope we get the chance to turn the game around and tie it again—and maybe even score one more so we can win.

Jumping to my feet, I get on the ice and enter the game in a rush. I block Tucker, stealing the puck from him and sending it to Colton. A glance to my left, and I see Tucker glaring at me.

“Really think you’re going to win?” he says snidely. “Not going to happen, asshole. Just like no one is going to forget who your wife is. Making her boyfriend ra?—”

I don’t even think. I just turn around and block his path. A smirk forms on his lips, and I’m determined to wipe it off his smug face. I read all the shit that Nevaeh’s mom spewed about her on my way to the arena, and it made my blood boil. Only my need to be one hundred percent focused on the game helpedme stuff away all those thoughts. Talking to Nevaeh will give me the whole picture, but it’s clear to anyone with even a shred of logic that her mom’s insinuations are nothing but lies. Even the journalist who wrote the article mentioned that Nevaeh was a victim too.

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