Page 16 of Gamechanger

"Oh, man, you are so on." I rolled up my sleeves and gave a moose-ish grunt.

The following five minutes were complete chaos as Finn and I raced around the food bank, filling our boxes. The volunteers cheered us on like the crowd at a hockey game. They provided helpful hints, pointing out missed items and partially empty boxes. By the end, I could barely catch my breath.

"Time!" Finn called, appointing himself both timekeeper and judge. "Final count… Novak: 22 boxes, and Moretti: 21."

Finn threw his fists in the air and spun in an impromptu victory dance. "The student has conquered the master."

"Defeated by one box. How will my pride ever recover?"

He slung one arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. It was the perfect reward for participating in his impromptu race. "You're a good sport about this."

"Always up for a little fun."

Our eyes met, and the food bank melted into the background for a split second. It was just Finn and me. He stared at me like I was the best man on earth.

Suddenly, a door opened, and I heard Quinn's voice. "Hey lovebirds! Just stopped by to see how you're doing here."

Finn and I suddenly jumped apart, and I blushed slightly. "All good here. Finn has everything under control."

***

The rest of the week flew by in a whirlwind of charity events and PR meetings. Each night, I collapsed into bed, exhausted but satisfied, my thoughts inevitably drifting to Finn's infectious laugh or the way his eyes lit up when he talked about hockey. Before I knew it, the next home game day had arrived.

When I stepped into the press box that night, the unfamiliar vantage point made my stomach lurch. Way up high, just beneath the rafters, I suddenly understood how someone could get vertigo.

As I looked down toward the rink, I couldn't stop watching #89, Finn Novak, dart back and forth between the larger players. He was poetry in motion. Everyone marveled at his speed and agility, as well as his anticipation of the puck's next location.

Then, I saw him—Donovan Michaels, one of the league's most notorious enforcers. Quinn told me stories about him, and apparently, he once tangled with Axel in a legendary brawl on the ice. Now, he had Finn in his sights.

I leaned forward and gripped the edge of the press table while I watched Michaels shadow Finn, throwing the occasional elbow. His mouth moved, so I knew he was saying something. A shake of Finn's head told me it was unnecessary trash.

"Come on, ref," I growled. "Keep your eyes open. Watch him."

"First time up here?"

The voice startled me. I turned my head to find Sam Rivera, Assistant GM of the Portland Lumberjacks, sliding into the seat beside me. She glanced at me before turning her attention to the ice.

"Is it that obvious?" I did my best to relax my white-knuckled grip on the table.

She shrugged. "Just something about your look. You keep looking from one side to the other, and I heard you're the new guy in marketing. Michaels down there is a piece of work, isn't he?"

I nodded and wondered whether she could sense the worry on my mind. "Finn's tough, but I've heard Michaels plays dirty. He's ended the seasons of some top players."

"True," Sam agreed, "but Novak is smarter than he looks. He's pretty, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He won't let Michaels bait him."

I grinned at her assessment of Finn. Suddenly, Michaels caught Finn with a nasty cross-check that sent him down to the ice. The crowd roared and stomped their feet, but the refs didn't blow their whistles.

Finn climbed back to his feet, and before we could count to three, he retaliated, catching Michaels with a high stick that sent the thug sprawling. It was blatant, and the refs blew their whistles.

"Damn," I mumbled as I watched Finn skate to the penalty box. He whipped off his helmet, and his frustration was readily apparent.

I pressed a hand to the glass. My overwhelming urge to protect him and ward off the Donovan Michaels of the world told me I'd moved beyond any simple infatuation.

Sam's calm voice cut through my thoughts. "You can't shield them when they're on the ice, Moose. They're on their own, but you can soothe the aches later."

I grunted. "Damn, I think my skull is transparent. You see right into my thoughts. Anyway, do you… I mean, what do you do when there's a goon like that…"

She smiled. "You learn to focus on what you can control. Build them up when you can, and trust that you've done a great job at that. Every one of those players is probably a lot more resilient than either of us knows."

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