Page 57 of Choke

It doesn’t stop, rising higher and higher until his index finger extends, pointing directly at me. I feel my lungs seize and struggle to take a full breath. Rosie glances at me and then back at the deranged lunatic on the ice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her mouth open and close, as if she wants to say something but can’t find the words. I’m in the same situation, completely speechless.

We sit in stunned silence for what feels like minutes when suddenly a player in a green jersey side-swipes Adrian, knocking him off his feet. I gasp, and my hand flies to my mouth. I sit up straight, leaning in closer.

Is he okay?

The hit didn’t seem hard, but I don’t think I take another breath until I watch him climb back to his feet. He looks over his shoulder and then quickly back at us before spinning around and pushing toward the player who hit him. As he moves with lethal precision, gaining speed with each push of his skates, he drops his stick and shucks off his gloves. I look at the other player, catching a glimpse of the back of the green jersey. The Grizz.

It all happens so quickly. One minute, Adrian is near the glass at our end of the rink. The next, he appears behind Greg, who has his back to Adrian. Subconsciously, I rise to my feet, and Rosie follows suit. We’re the only ones standing, and the seats around us turn to stare at us. The hit is hard, so much harder than the earlier one Rosie commented on. It’s so hard that both Adrian’s and Greg’s feet lift clear off the ice as they crash into the boards; Greg’s helmet comes loose and slides behind the net.

Rosie gasps, and I realize it’s been ages since I last took a breath. The ensuing fight is sheer chaos. Every player from the Sasquatches rushes onto the ice, charging straight at Adrian, who has regained his footing and is standing over Greg, glaring down at him. I open my mouth to scream at him to watch out when he turns, delivering a furious punch to the face of the first player who reaches him.

The referees blow their whistles relentlessly. Again and again, the high-pitched shriek pierces through the growing roar of the crowd. More people are starting to stand, cheering for the fight. Players collide with one another, with Adrian at the center of the storm, his arms recoiling repeatedly before striking anyone near him. At some point, I realize the marks on the ice are blood, and my stomach churns.

“Shit,” Rosie breathes beside me.

My nails dig into my palms as a referee tries to get between him and another player. The entire crowd goes momentarily silent before emitting a collective gasp when he rears back and punches the referee, sending him careening backward.Holy Fuck. That’s when the whole place goes dark, as if the power to the arena has been cut. Rosie and I cling to each other as screams erupt from the crowd. When the lights flick back on a moment later, there are four referees and two men in suits in the middle of the ice, and they look furious.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” one of the refs booms over the loudspeaker. “This is completely unacceptable. Player #55, Adrian Liberty - you are suspended indefinitely, pending a review by the league. Every other player on the ice receives a 5-minute penalty. This is beer league hockey, guys. Relax.”

The players filter off the ice, some assisting others in getting to the bench. A voice crackles over the speakers, informing us that the Zamboni will make another sweep of the ice to clear the blood. I’m still standing, chilled to the bone, staring wide-eyed at the ice when Rosie finally speaks.

“I guess the jersey was a bad idea.”

And Then?

Lex

A hand presses against my back, guiding me through the double doors into a crowded open space. The giant table in the center is piled high with teddy bears. I scan the room full of people wearing either hockey jerseys or black tie attire. I can’t help but smirk at the juxtaposition.

I look down at myself, the emerald green jersey pinned to be more fitted and shorter, leaving a small gap between the top of my skirt and the bottom of the jersey. As we move further into the room, the slit in my long skirt allows my left leg to be revealed, displaying a rainbow of tattoos. I feel him lean in closer before I hear him speak. His warm breath brushes across my ear and neck, creating a ripple effect of goosebumps and a chill down my spine.

“You look incredible.” Greg breathes out.

I lift my eyes and turn toward him, offering a small smile. The first thing I notice is the angry split in his lip and the purple bruising that shadows his jaw. He’s tall—above average, but not quite as towering as Adrian. Muscular and lean, he carries himself well, though his presence lacks the quiet command Adrian exudes. His dark, tousled hair contrasts sharply with his bright green eyes, and his features are refined—classically handsome in a way that exudes an easy, good-guy charm. If Adrian weren’t messing with my head, I might actually be into it. Tonight, Greg serves a purpose. And his looks fit the role perfectly.

I smile sweetly, tucking my hair behind my ear. I need anyone looking at us to see a demure, respectable lady. Not a scheming,manipulative monster. Greg steers us toward the bar, spotting a few of his teammates. He asks what I’d like and leaves me with a small group of players and their dates to order us drinks.

I wrap an arm around myself, suddenly feeling self-conscious when no one looks my way. I’m a terrible date without the social requirements of a work event. I would much rather be home with Millie. However, Adrian crossed a line, and I need to communicate clearly that I belong to no one. The thought has me straightening. I hold my head high and turn to the closest woman, smiling brightly.

She returns the smile, and we exchange pleasantries. She tells me about her husband, who plays for the Sasquatch team. She gives me the rundown on the event and what she expects based on last year. We’ve settled into a friendly silence, laughing at the players teasing each other about the game they lost when Greg returns, sliding his hand around my waist and passing me a drink.

Chills run through my body. It’s not that I’m interested in Greg at all. It’s that Adrian is somewhere in here, that his seeing us is inevitable. It’s a gigantic space but not so large that we can go completely undetected, especially with the way this group carries on. I scan the room to see if I can spot him first. The chills remain, and it feels so much like when you know you’re being watched, but I can’t locate him.

Turning back toward the group in front of me, I lock eyes with someone. Not Adrian, but the police officer from the night after my break-in. What the hell? He raises his beer in a cheers motion, but the look on his face seems less friendly and more nervous. I smile and return the gesture, but Officer Calloway no longer looks my way. His attention is focused over my shoulder, and the chill running down my spine intensifies. Greg must sense my tension because he tightens his arm around my waist, pulling me closer before pressing a kiss to my temple.

Calloway moves as I look back, striding toward Greg and me. He doesn’t stop, continuing past us to where I know Adrian is standing. I can’t bring myself to turn around, so I lean into Greg. To anyonewatching, it probably looks affectionate, but I’m just using him to keep my knees from buckling.

I might have bitten off more than I can chew.

A few seconds later, Calloway passes by us again. This time, he has his arm around Adrian’s shoulder and speaks directly to him. I can see the tension in both of them. Neither of them turns around to look at us, and somehow, I know this is worse than Adrian taking an immediate swing at Greg. An hour passes without any problems—except Greg keeps getting drunker. And handsy. I look around for Rosie, but she’s nowhere to be found. I haven’t seen her since the end of the game. I went home to change, and she went out with an older guy. Now that I think about it, it may have been a client.

That’s…something.

Greg and his teammate make strange noises and laugh hysterically. When I hit my limit, I slip out from under his arm, which has been resting heavily across my shoulders for the past hour. Before I can step away, his hand grips my arm and pulls me back against his body. His lips hover just inches from mine, his breath thick with beer.

“Where ya going, beautiful?” He asks, slightly slurring.

Yikes.

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