Page 65 of Chips & Checks
“Ginger’s around,” Declyn says. “Tierney keeps her in a potted plant.”
“Ginger?” Bowen mutters to himself. He’s as lost as I am.
Dad claps his hands together. “So what brings you here? Just wanted to watch your son play?”
Tierney hesitates before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go with that.”
“We wanted to meet Bowie’s new teammates,” Declyn booms. “See how he’s gelling with the guys.”
“Dad.” Bowen squirms. “Knock it off with the nicknames, okay?”
I stare at him as he turns a shade of pink. Seems I’m going to have to replace Regret Emoji #7 in my contacts for Bowie Snort-laugh Emoji. But I can razz him about that later.
“Where are you guys staying?” Dad asks.
“We’ll find a hotel room,” Tierney says. “This was a, hmm. Let’s call it an impromptu visit.”
“Last-minute flights are the cheapest!” Declyn agrees.
Dad waves him off. “Nonsense. Come stay with me and Layla. And then maybe we can get the kids to join us for brunch tomorrow.”
Brunch. Tomorrow. With both sets of our parents. Right, because how could that go wrong? I wait for Bowen to come up with some excuse to get us out of this, but he merely shakes hishead. Unless one or both of us feigns an illness, I think we’re stuck with this.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I say instead. There’s still blood on Bowen’s mouth and chin, though his actual nosebleed seems to have stopped. I urge him over to a nearby bench, which is when I register that the whole time we were talking to his parents, we had our arms around each other. Sure, in theory, I was helping him, but let’s be real: if Bowen went down, I’d get squashed in the process.
As we move out of the way, I hear Viktor say, “This team is absolutely incestuous.”
Camden laughs. “That didn’t keep you from falling for Knova.”
“Can you please shut up?” Lenyx wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I think I’d know if the two of them were that serious. So they hang out sometimes. You’re reading too much into things.”
Camden coughs into his fist a few times. “Clueless.”
I grip the railing behind the bench tightly, watching Bowen skate back onto the ice, a stormy look on his face. Even from here, I can sense the controlled fury radiating off him. Chad’s smug grin and his casual touch earlier still burn like a fresh bruise, making my stomach churn.
Once the puck drops, Bowen immediately takes control, his movements sharp and precise. Chad calls loudly for the puck, slamming his stick on the ice, but Bowen deliberately ignores him, passing instead to Camden. Chad scowls, frustration evident in his rigid posture.
Camden pivots smoothly, but the opposition intercepts and surges back toward our zone. I watch as Chad drifts lazily into his defensive position, clearly distracted and arrogant. He’s too busy glancing my way to notice the opposing winger speeding toward him from his blind side.
My breath catches sharply as I realize what’s about to happen, but before I can even react, the opposing player crashes into Chad with a bone-jarring check, sending him sprawling to the ice. The puck spins away, and Bowen lunges forward, swiftly claiming possession.
Bowen moves like lightning down the ice, his powerful strides and fluid motions mesmerizing. Two defenders close in, but Bowen sidesteps the first effortlessly, then pivots to evade the second. My heart pounds, my knuckles turning white as I grip my clipboard. Bowen skates straight toward the goalie, determination etched into every muscle.
The goalie lunges, trying to block the angle, but Bowen swiftly shifts to his backhand and lifts the puck high over the goalie’s glove. It hits the back of the net, and the arena erupts into cheers. My heart soars, relief and pride washing through me.
Bowen’s teammates swarm him, celebrating enthusiastically. Lenyx pounds Bowen’s helmet, grinning broadly. Even from behind the bench, I can see Bowen’s gaze flick briefly toward me. Our eyes meet, and my chest tightens.
Chad slowly pushes himself up from the ice, clearly dazed and humiliated. He glares darkly at Bowen, his face flushed with anger. Coach Metcalfe calls for a line change, and Chad skates toward the bench, visibly seething. I instinctively shift away, hating the way my body reacts to his presence, wishing I could shrink myself down.
“Eyes up, Hawthorne,” Coach Metcalfe snaps sharply. “Get your head back in the game or sit your ass down.”
As Chad slumps onto the bench, Bowen skates by him, leaning close enough to murmur something inaudible to the rest of us, but the tightness in Chad’s jaw tells me the message was received loud and clear.
Viktor elbows Bowen playfully as they settle on the bench. “Who knew making you mad was the secret to greatness?”
Camden laughs quietly from Viktor’s other side. “Pretty sure we all know exactly why Bowen suddenly found extra motivation tonight. And it has nothing to do with the infamous huggle.”
Bowen’s gaze slides to me again, and despite myself, warmth rushes through me. There’s something fiercely protective in his expression, something that feels more significant than our fake arrangement. For the first time, I let myself fully acknowledge the possibility that Bowen’s actions tonight were personal, that maybe I matter to him in a way that extends beyond our arrangement bound by his self-imposed rules.
