Page 122 of Sweet Thing

“It’s going to work out,” he said. “Sure, Dad’s pissed at him, but the game is too important for them to letyourdrama get in the way. Don’t be so conceited.”

I watched the game with my heart in my throat from the tenth row behind the players’ bench. The body language on that stretch of pine was more frigid than the rink. My father and Lars were not speaking to each other, that much was clear. Yet on the ice, they appeared to have everything under control.

Until what was likely their final shift before the break, when a scuffle graduated into my worst nightmare. My father dropped his gloves, yelled at Lars, then started to pound him into the ice.

“Oh my God!” Rosie stood, along with everyone else in our section. I didn’t feel the need as the entire spectacle was playing in glorious Technicolor on the ’tron.

Conor yelled, “Take him, Dad!”

An outraged Rosie pointed at him. “Stop being a jerk!”

“What, I’mnotsupposed to support my own father against the asshole who deflowered my sister?”

“He did not deflower me!”

Landon sat beside me and offered a bag. “Chocolate-covered gummy bear?”

I covered my eyes, only peeking through the cage of my fingers when the crowd went “Ooh!” After what seemed like forever, a couple of players—Cody and Peyton—separated them.

“That’s a lot of blood but it probably looks worse than it is. Broken noses bleed a lot.” Rosie reached over and squeezed my arm. “This is good, Addy.”

“How’s that now?”

“They need to get this out in the open—no way!” She jumped up again. “They’re throwing him out!”

Now everyone was on their feet, booing the ref’s decision to eject my father. Both players skated to the gate, and it might have been my imagination, but I thought my father made a gesture, offering first dibs through the gate to Lars. Was Rosie right? Had this helped?

“I have to get down there.”

Ejected players returned to the dressing room while injured players were brought to an exam room. Back of the house was where I needed to be.

The game restarted quickly while the crowd was still buzzing. Twenty seconds later, the Hawks scored a goal, with a minute to go in the period.

Oh, well done! Your love life is already ruining the Rebels’ game.

I stood, only to have Rosie grasp my arm and yank me down to my seat.

“You’ve got to let this play out. Give it time.”

“They could be killing each other down there!”

Landon grimaced. “Let them figure it out—and to the victor the spoils.”

“Am I the spoils in this scenario?”

“If the jock strap fits.”

I looked at Conor. “Is Rosie right?”

“Rosie is never right. But Landon has a point.” He blew out a breath as the Hawks made another shot on goal, which Noah Boden saved by the skin of his teeth. The Rebels were trying their best to regroup without their usually rock-solid defense.

I was trying the same.

Lars

Dr. Sykes adjustedthe bridge of my nose. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes, it fucking hurts!”

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