Page 165 of Waiting Game

“We’re going to do it, Mia. That Holy Grail is gonna be mine. I mean ours.” He pumps his fist as he moves over to the small kitchenette. “Just wait until you see the ring. I need to add another to my collection?—”

Toeing out of my sneakers, I turn to him, watching as he moves around the suite, utterly unaware that I’m feeling a little green around the edges.

Still, this conversation is almost… normal.

It makes me feel like this is actually happening.

Today has had a dreamlike quality to it, from the business class lounge to the seats in the air. Then, there was the car that picked me up and this suite, followed by the chance of watching him play in person.

With the panic attack and the game, this,us, feels real.

“I still can’t believe how Gagné went down with the smallest hit. That hothead Bobcat punches like he’s got a fist made ofglass—” I don’t want to think about how he knows that. “—so there’s no way he got hit that hard. It’s impossible.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He chugs down some water. “We had to get that fucker back for the hit. You saw that, right? Gagné goes down and that asshole wants to keep things going.”

“It’s pretty dangerous out there, isn’t it?”

“Nah.”

“There werefourfistfights!”

He makes some ‘pow pow’ noises as he punches the air. “Got ‘em good.”

I swallow. “You got punched.”

“Only because that asshole tried to—” My tone must register because he pauses. “Mia, you’re used to bar brawls!”

“Not when the guys are walking on blades!”

He pshaws, then he sees my expression. “Are you okay, babe? You look… on edge.”

I gape at him. “On edge?! Bet your damn ass I’m on edge. There werefourfistfights, Cole! There were so many broken bones on the ice, the local ER is going to be crammed with hockey players! Gagné’s in surgery!”

“It’s only a punctured lung.” When my already gaping mouth gapes wider, he clarifies, “You don’t die from punctured lungs. Not when you’re surrounded by EMTs and get airlifted to the nearest hospital. He won’t die.”

“Hewon’t die?” I shriek at his weak reassurance. “He’s playing sports! Heshouldn’tdie.”

He grimaces. “You’ve watched games before.”

“Yeah, but live, it’s different.”

“It’s better.” His wink has me rubbing my temple.

He enjoys this. Not my horror. But this nightmare game that’s both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Even beneath the concern for his teammate, the love is there.

“I didn’t think it was so… so…so…”

“Hands-on. Fucking awesome, isn’t it?”

“You could get hurt.”

“Nah.”

“Yes!”

“I mean, it doesn’t happen a lot.”

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