Page 81 of Face Off
“Whatever he’s saying to you out there, let it go,” I say without turning to look at him. I feel him squeeze his fist tighter, but I don’t move my hand. “Promise me, you’ll walk away no matter what he says. Focus on the game. Win the Cup not just for yourself and the team, but for Camden and me.”
He looks at me, his gaze intense as heat rises in them, turning them a darker shade of blue. Pulling me closer, he crashes his lips to mine. My hands tangle into his sweaty wet hair as he pulls me so close, I’m practically on his lap. Hoots and hollers and some cat calls echo throughout the small space as a light blush spreads across my cheeks.
“Miller,” Coach yells from the other side of the locker room as we pull apart. “Stop playing tonsil hockey and get yourass back out there and play some real hockey. Let’s go, boys. Let’s get out there and bring the Cup home.”
The sound of sticks hitting the floor and cheers fill the room. Brooks places another kiss to my lips before pushing himself to stand. He redresses in his gear and walks toward the tunnel with the rest of the team. Game horns blare as the team skates back onto the ice, rewarming themselves. The first line takes their place at center ice, ready for the ref to drop the puck. As soon as the puck hits the ice, Halloway battles it out with Mathers, the center for the Heat. Mathers wins the puck of course, sending it down the ice into our zone.
Sparrows intercepts the puck behind the goal, passing it to Throne who skates out of our zone with the puck. Two players from the Heat skate up beside him as he sends the puck to Brooks before being thrown into the boards. Brooks skates into the zone, winding up to take the shot toward the goal, but his attempt is deflected by the Heat’s goalie. Halloway gains control of the puck off the rebound but is caged against the wall by a defenseman. Fighting for the puck, he sends it toward Brooks, who gets off another shot, going through the five hole, lighting up the lamp on the back of the goal. The crowd erupts in cheers as the team celebrates with Brooks, but the cheers are short lived.
Second and third line take their turn on the ice, scoring a goal with the Heat answering with two of their own, tying the game 3-3. The lines change, and first line is back on the ice, ready for another tough battle. Yet, a bigger battle is brewing at center ice as Boyce and Brooks chat again. This time close enough for me to hear.
“Couldn’t have a family of your own, so you thought you could just move in on mine?” Boyce spats as he comes face to face, chest to chest with Brooks at center ice.
“Fuck you,” he growls in response as he grips Boyce’s jersey after dropping his gloves to the ice.
His hand cocks back as he uses all his force to swing it forward, making contact with his face. Stumbling a little on the ice, but never letting up as they go at each other.
“Brooks! Just walk the fuck away!” I yell from the player’s box. But its muffled and hard for him to hear me as they go at each other.
“Break it up,” the refs say as they try to separate the pair. But Brooks refuses to let up. To let him stake claim on me after all these years. After he abandoned me in a time of need.
This game is turning into a complete blood bath. Tension’s been running high every game of the series, but all leading up to this. Boyce Cameron, the Heat’s star center, being the instigator of it all. It has nothing to do with the Skipjacks. It has everything to do with Brooks Miller, how he has weaseled his way into my heart, stepping up when Boyce was nowhere to be found.
Now, here I stand, watching the man I love, brawling with the man I thought I once loved. Punch after punch continues as blood drips down to the ice. Boyce stumbles onto the ice, giving Brooks the advantage as he uses the last of his force behind his punches.
As the refs finally pull Brooks off Boyce, I hop the wall separating the players from the ice, running… well, slipping more than anything to reach Brooks. Never once glancing at Boyce who’s slow to get up from the ice.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I say to him, my hands flying to either side of his face, inspecting the fresh cuts on his cheek.
“Baby, it’s just a cut,” he says between pants as he tries to get his heart rate down. “All series, that asshat has been talking so much shit about you and Camden. I just lost it,” Brooks says, turning to me, pulling me to his chest as he towers over me in his skates.
“That’s right, walk away with the whore,” Boyce yells. Brooks stiffens at my side, gritting his teeth, ready to lunge at him again. “You better watch yourself, Miller. You have no idea who she really is. Still doubt that kid was even mine to begin with.”
“Cameron, final warning. Get to the box now. Miller, you’re out for the rest of the game,” the ref says, skating over to him. “Dr. Marshall, if you will.”
His gaze still locked on Boyce after his comment, I pull his face back to mine, silently reminding him to let it go. Picking up his gloves and tucking them under his arm, his fingers entwining with mine. Skating slowly by my side, making sure I don’t slip on the ice as we make our way off the ice.
“Should have let me deck him again.”
We walk into the locker room, taking a seat on the bench so I can clean and dress his wound. “He’s not worth it,” I say, grabbing my medical bag from the cubby in the corner.
“I don’t care who he is to you. He had no right to say what he said about you and Cam,” he says, looking me in the eye. A protectiveness showing through them.
I kneel in front of him, taking his hands in mine. “I know,” I say quietly. “But you have to know why he would say those things. Boyce—”
I don’t get to continue, as my father barrels into the locker room.
“Hayley Richards, what the hell has gotten into you? And you, Mr. Miller. What in the fuck went through your mind when you decided to throw down during one of the most important games of this entire season!”
“Richards?” He looks up at me, pulling his hands from my tightening grip. “Did he just say Hayley Richards?” The look of shock resonates on his face as he stands to put some distance between the two of us.
“Brooks…” I reach out to him, but he moves further away.
“Of course, it all makes sense now.”
My heart begins to crack as his once warm eyes darken with anger and hurt. Skates still on, he darts out of the locker room slamming the door behind him. Tears that once stung the back of my eyes are now front and center, streaming down my face as I stand here looking at my father. Disappointment written all over his stoic face.
And just like I knew it would, my world shatters once again.
