Page 68 of Gloves Off

Walker blocks their forward from receiving the puck—good—but then he skates to their other forward, the one I’m covering.

I shake my head. What’s he doing? This isn’t the play. This isn’t what we practiced.

Walker tries to snag the puck but their defense checks him out of the way with ease. Their forward snaps the puck at the net and they score.

A collective groan of disappointment ripples through the arena, and I let out a heavy exhale, frustrated.

“Aren’t you going to remind me to play more physical?” Walker asks after the game as we head upstairs to the owner’s box reserved for staff, friends, and family. His usual cocky grin is gone.

I think about the way he got slammed into the boards by the other team tonight. He wasn’t hurt, but he could have been. Walker’s not big like me, he’s lean like Miller. Guys’ careers end due to injuries all the time. Look at Ward, who had been on track to be the next Gretzky when he blew out his knee.

The rookie’s only twenty-two. I don’t want his career to be over before it even starts. I’d never forgive myself.

“I don’t know, Walker.” I could tell him to play more physical, but what’s the point?

Nothing we’re doing is working.

“I’m sorry,” he says as we step into the box, and I feel like fucking garbage. I don’t know why I care. I have my own game to focus on, and the last thing I need is mentoring this arrogant rookie.

“Luca!” A taller guy in his fifties with a deep umber skin tone waves at him, smiling. Beside him, a blond guy about the same age wears his own proud grin.

Walker lights up and gestures at me to follow. “Come on. My dads are here.”

I begrudgingly follow the kid to his parents. When he’s within arm’s reach, they pull him into a tight hug, squeezing the life out of him, telling him what a great game he just played.

My gut sinks. I didn’t know they were here, and I wish they’d seen a game where Walker had played better, where some of what we’ve been practicing had actually worked, instead of a loss.

“This is Michael,” Walker gestures to the taller man, who gives me a broad grin, “and Terrence.” Walker’s other father wears a quiet smile.

I shake both their hands with a firm nod. “Alexei Volkov. Nice to meet you both.”

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Michael sends a pointedglance to my left hand, where I slipped my ring back on in the dressing room. “I hear congratulations are in order. Is your wife here?”

“No.” I glance around, rubbing my thumb against the band on my ring finger, thinking about that fucking airport kiss again. About how it felt when she wrapped herself around me every night. “She’s working.”

Probably. I don’t know her hospital schedule. All I know is that she’s in her office at the arena in the mornings, and she doesn’t get home until late.

My cracks about her shopping and spending money replay in my head. During the three-day road trip, I don’t think I saw her stop working once, except to sleep or get ready in the mornings. She was always on her laptop, talking with players, stitching guys up, or helping them retape their injuries.

A bad feeling, like I’ve been very wrong, moves through me.

“Georgia’s one of the team doctors,” Walker explains to his dads.

“Georgia,” Terrence repeats, smiling. “What a beautiful name.”

“It is.” My mom said the same thing after they met.Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,she said to me.

Again, my mind goes to that fucking airport kiss. I thought challenging her and proving her wrong would feel like victory, but it was me who enjoyed it too much.

“We want to thank you so much for everything you’ve done for our Luca,” Michael adds. “We really appreciate it. It’s hard when we’re all the way out in Winnipeg.”

My mood sinks even further. “I haven’t done anything except bark his ear off.”

“No shit,” Walker says with a snort, and Terrence gives him a scolding look before smiling up at me.

“That’s not true. He’s told us all about you. You have a very impressive career and we’re so grateful that he has someone like you to show him the ropes.”

There’s a weird feeling in my chest, watching his parents look proudly at their son. Maybe it’s that they remind me of my parents. Maybe it’s that I know Ward signed him for a reason.

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