Page 32 of Twisted Minds

“Hunter is a center. He leads the attack, basically, and supports his wingers. And as captain he’s responsible for talking with the refs.”

“Wingers?” Noah asks. “They get wingmen?”

“I guess you could say that.” Sawyer chuckles. “They’re basically his support system. Typically, you have a goalie, your center—so, Hunter in this situation—two wingers, two defense. There’s a lot to it, but basically that’s what you have. The lines rotate for players who are winded, and defensemen can shoot goals, and wingers and centers can be great defense.”

“How good is he?”

Sawyer grins. “Hunter’s the best. He plays a nasty game. I like to say it’s where all that rage inside him goes. You’ll see.”

The lights dim in the arena. Music begins to pump from the speakers and then I see them coming onto the ice in their navy and baby-blue jerseys. It takes me a minute to spot Hunter, butI see him. Number nineteen. The same number on the hoodie I’m wearing. I watch him skate onto the ice, searching over the crowd until he spots me. He lifts his hockey stick and points it right at me. Eyes snap to me and I blush. Then he blows me a kiss with his gloves on and I smile.

That’s my man.

Sawyer stands, cheering loudly. Noah gets up, following him, his attention now locked on the ice. We all cheer as our team skates around the arena for warmups, then sit and watch as everyone stretches and practices shooting pucks into the net. Noah’s attention locks onto the goalie. “I love when they hump the ice.”

“He’s not . . . They’re stretching.”

“Uh-huh, stretching, sure. See the goalie? I’ve been in that position a time or two.”

“Goalies have to be flexible. They have the most important role. Defend your net.”

Hunter skates over to the goalie, saying something to him, and they both look up in our direction. Noah gets up and sits on the other side of me, closer to the goalie. “He isfine.” The goalie skates over, then searches before looking up at our section of the stand. Noah stands up, waving hard at him, then blows him a kiss. “Oh my god, I love hockey.” Noah sits back down, but the goalie skates over to our section, taking his stick and scooping up a puck. He holds it out, pointing at Noah. “Oh my god, I’m a hockey wife now!” Noah whisper-screams. He stands, waiting as the goalie flicks the puck over the glass. Noah catches it before sitting down, really pleased with himself. “I love sports. Sports are the best.”

The rival team comes out to a small chorus of boos.Okay then. Music begins to play. We stand for the national anthem and my eyes drift down to Hunter with his helmet in hand and eyes on the flag. As if he feels it, his head swivels to me and he smiles.

I feel so warm.

The game begins and it’s high energy right from the start. Sawyer is right. Hunter’s insane on the ice. The agility he has is unmatched. I watch him skate down, shooting the puck to his winger, as Sawyer says. He turns, outskating his opponent and catching a rebound shot then skating fast to the opponent’s goal. He fakes shooting the puck before sliding it to another player, then it comes back to him, and he shoots it hard. It sails through the net, clean and easy. “Whooo!” Sawyer gets up and I join him. “That’s right, Hunter!”

“Go, Puck Daddy!” Noah screams.

“Noah—” I look over, doing a double take at his jersey which is now tied up making it a belly shirt.

“Stop checking me out! I’m trying to pick up an athlete. I don’t need anyone getting any ideas.” Shaking my head, I see Sawyer smirk, doing the same.

The puck drops on the center line and the Hornets take control. Hunter is knocked out of the way, onto the ice, but no penalty is called, and the Hammerheads take control. “Come on!” Sawyer yells.

“Seriously! Watch the game, ref!” Noah shouts. “Refs, am I right?” he says to Sawyer.

I watch them play, back and forth. The speed of play is intense. Noah stands, cheering loudly as the Hornets take control of the ice. “Come on Russo!” Sawyer screams as Hunter takes the puck, driving it down the middle. I stand, my heart racing. Hunter skates fast down the ice toward the opposing goalie. We collectively gasp as he’s hit from behind, knocking him to the ground. The whistle blows.

One of Hunter’s teammates rushes to the man who knocked Hunter over. They throw off their gloves, fighting in the middle of the rink. The crowd loses it. My attention stays on Hunter, watching his teammates pick him back up. Montague—it sayson the back of his jersey—and the opposing player fight, trading fists as the referee breaks them apart. The whistle blows. Both players skate to the side. Hunter skates toward the ref, yelling something at him. “What’s going on?”

“Dirty shot,” Sawyer says. “You’re not supposed to hit a player when they’re skating away like that. Monty’s just defending him.” I watch Monty skate over into a box.

“What is he doing?” Noah asks.

“He’s in the sin bin, two minutes for roughing.”

“Excusemewhatnow?” Noah blinks.

“He’s um, he’s in the sin bin, ya know, the penalty box. It’s like a time out.” Noah’s mouth drops open. “Just for two minutes.”

“For being too rough. No, I got it. Been there, am I right?” Noah stands, looking over. “It’s okay, I love a bad boy!”

“Oh my god!” I yank him back down as Monty turns, looking up into the stands. Noah wiggles his fingers at him. “Can you not!”

“What? I’m just letting him know I support him while he’s in the naughty box.” Noah gets up, moving past Sawyer and practically sticking his ass in Sawyer’s face as he passes him. “Where are you going?”

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