Page 4 of Forbidden Puck
“Oh, I'msureyou were, Ella. Just like I was going to drop to one knee, pull out a ring, and pop the question on the beach.” He rolled his eyes.
“Whatever. Get out of my apartment already, you heartless douche-bag.”
He headed for the door, but stopped to get one last word in. “You know. You were right about one thing.Damn,it feels good to tell the truth.”
With that, he left.
I kicked my suitcase off the bed, crawled under the sheets, curled into a ball and told myself I wouldn't cry.
So much for Key West. Guess I'll just spend the week working like usual …
Chapter 2
The Code
Ryan 'Radar' Ryder
At thirty-four thousand feet in the air, the Boston Brawlers had left Denver and were finally heading home.
The four of us sat in the team plane's lounge, crammed into the restaurant-style booth.
On my left was Lance Couture. At 24 years old, Lance is our all-star. He's all speed, flash and skill, and supreme confidence in his talent. He's also my best bud and roommate. At the start of this season, we moved into a sweet condo together downtown.
Across the table, captain Shea Ellis. At 37, Shea is still the Brawlers' undisputed #1 defenseman. He's not the fastest d-man anymore—but there's no substitute for the years of experience that the crafty vet has accumulated over his career.
To Shea's side sat goalie Ilya Zarkov. A fierce competitor who didn't speak a word of English when he arrived in the States to play hockey at age 20. Ilyastill speaks with a thick (and sometimes hilarious) Russian accent—but his English had really improved from when he first joined the league. The guys love 'em, even if we all think he's completely nuts.
Anytime we flew home after a road trip, the four of us had a tradition of getting together for a cut-throat game of poker. And we were feeling the heat: our suit jackets had come off, our neck-ties loosened, and our shirt sleeves rolled up.
I laid my cards on the table with a sigh. “I'm out. I got fuckin' nothing.”
“Same,” Ilya muttered.
Now the hand was between Shea and Lance.
“Long road trip, eh boys?”Shea said as he pushed a small stack of $500 chips into the pile with a clatteringclinkand raised the pot. He lifted a salt-and-pepper eyebrow and cast a suspicious glance at Lance.
Lance clutched a bag of ice to his swollen and purple eye thanks to a punch he'd taken in the game. “It was only a week on the road. You feeling it in your bones, old man?” he teased.
Shea didn't react. “Waiting on you, young-blood.”
Lance finally pushed a stack of chips into the pile. “I've played enough poker with you to know that youlovesmall talk when you're bluffing.”
Suddenly looking ten years younger, Shea revealed his cards.
“Aw,fuck!” Lance swore while Shea lunged forward and greedily scooped up the entire pot with a snicker.
“You've got a lot to learn, kid. You don't realize I'm setting traps for you every time we play.”
“Oh, that was a trap, was it? Yeah, right, you gambled and you gotlucky.”
Ilya, always amused and always laughing, chuckled heartily. “That, that was not luck. You walked right into that, Lance.Everyone could see that coming!”
“Just like everyone knew Hunter Rockwell was going top cheddar on you tonight, right Ilya?” Lance shot back.
Someone in the row ahead of us overheard the insult and gasped, “Damn!”
Rockwell had scored the only goal of the game for Colorado with a laser of a wrist-shot that he fired over Ilya's shoulder and into the roof of the net—AKA,top cheddar.
