Page 97 of Crossing Lines

“It’s nothing. I suppose I’m still worried about my mom.” He jerked the edge of his mouth as if trying to grin and failing. Leaning against me, he wove his fingers into mine. “I’m glad you came over tonight, Jonah. I’m glad we got to share a moment.” He kissed my knuckles. “We have a busy week coming up.”

“We do.” Did he want me to leave already? I kissed his hair. “Maybe we can go out dancing or something after we win the championship.” I squeezed his shoulders. “What do you say?”

He lifted his head and offered a sad grin. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Good, then it’s a plan.” I left him to skim my briefs and shorts up my legs, hopping my ass off the couch for a moment.

“Jonah? It’s getting late.” He stood and held out his hand to me. “I’d love to have you stay the night, but?—”

“I know. I have shit in the morning.” Taking his hand, I rose from the couch. “And so do you.” I followed him toward his door.

“I need you to focus on the game for me. I want you fully present at practice the rest of the week, okay?” He stopped at his door. “I don’t want you worrying about me.”

“Yeah, sure.” I hugged him into my chest and breathed him in. Maybe that’s what all this was about. He was afraid I’d be too worried about him to play well. “I’m going to play the best game of my life, Ryan. You’ll see, and it’ll be all for you.” I hugged him tighter, then released him.

“I’ll be watching and cheering you on, Boehm.” He tapped the tip of my nose. “Love you.”

“Love you more.” I smirked at him, then opened his door and left.

A few days later,we were in the first game of the playoffs. We were playing Cornell, and the place was insane with a full house and people screaming. It was the second period, and we were down by one. I’d played well the times Coach Finley had me on the ice and I was itching to get back out there. This was my first time in the championship, and it felt good.

I glanced at Ryan, standing behind Archer with his hands on hips. He’d been all business since I’d left his apartment two nights ago. We’d texted on and off, but they weren’t anything serious. I hadn’t wanted him to think I wasn’t focused on my game. But fuck, this sucked. My boyfriend was dealing with shit, and I had to pretend it didn’t matter. I flicked my gaze to the ice.

Hopkins had the puck and drove it past center ice and into Cornell’s defensive zone. Their D-man came at him and checked him, then grabbed the puck.

“Get out there, Boehm.” A tap landed on my shoulder. With a glance at Richardson, we hopped over the board and took to the ice, while Branson and Taylor skated in.

We beelined it for the puck and as the Cornell D-man swung around by the net, I hightailed it to him, then smashed him against the boards.

“Ah, fucker!” He swung his stick at me.

Nabbing the puck, I ducked and flung it at Hopkins.

As he glided by, he picked it up. “Glad to have you back, Boehm.” With a smirk, he worked it down the ice, then popped it over to Richardson.

I knew what they were up to. We’d practiced this play a million times. With my eye on Richardson, I skated toward the crease.

Richardson dodged the Cornell center, chirping at him, then shoved the puck my way.

With a glance at the goal, I shot, the puck pinging off my stick.

The puck hurled across the ice and the goalie dropped onto his leg pads.

A horn blew and the red goal light lit up.

“Fuck!” The Cornell center swung around and glared at me. “Cheap fucking shot.”

“Cheap? That was right on and Goddamn perfect.” I cackled and twisted around as Richardson and Hopkins threw their arms around me in hockey hugs. Yeah, I was on fire tonight. I’d show Ryan I was one person he didn’t have to worry about. After they freed me, I slipped off my glove to touch my nose, my gaze finding his.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RYAN

As expected, Jonah was playing like he was on fire. My plan to keep my bullshit out of his head was working. So, it was no wonder we won our game against Cornell. Next up was the finals and we were pretty sure we were playing Notre Dame.

After the game, we pulled Ace and Hopkins out for a press conference with Patterson. Mason was on his way to the Coyotes and Ace was surely going to get picked up by an NHL team next year when he was fully seasoned. Plus, the guy had more saves on goal tonight than any goaltender in the finals since 2005. He deserved some time in the limelight.

I watched from the side of the room as Mason handled the reporter’s questions with ease. The guy wasn’t just good at hockey, he was charismatic as hell when he wanted to be. My phone buzzed in the breast pocket of my blue suit, and I fished it out. Mom scrolled across the screen. I had to take it.

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