Page 17 of Devil on Skates
Instead of joining the usual celebration circle, I skate to center ice, right in front of the VIP section where Irina sits.
I raise my stick like a salute, as if I’m acknowledging Keith, but my eyes lock with Irina’s just for a second. She’s watching now, surprise breaking through her composed mask. Keith claps and grins next to her, completely clueless.
The moment’s brief. I rejoin my teammates, accepting fist bumps like a pro. Coach nods, clearly reading my move as respect to Costello, not the message I actually sent.
“Nice finish,” Ronan says. “Very... diplomatic celebration.”
I shrug. “Just giving the VIPs their due.”
He shoots me a look that says he’s not totally buying it, but doesn’t push.
The rest of the first period passes with no more goals, but we dominate puck possession and shots. Coach is pleased, focusing on tweaks during intermission.
Second period starts, and I keep catching Irina’s gaze whenever I hit the bench. She’s getting drawn in, despite herself. Once, I see her lean forward during a tense moment, then quickly snap back into her perfect-guest role when Keith says something to her.
My next goal chance comes on a power play halfway through the period. Our point man fires a shot that bounces off the goalie’s pads right to me by the net. One quick move, and the puck’s in the back of the net before he recovers.
This celebration’s even more deliberate. After the team huddle, I skate to center ice again, facing the crowd but making sure Irina sees me. I tap my chest once, which seems like a small gesture to everyone else, but I’m sure she knows the meaning of my message.
This one’s for you.
Coach just stares at me as I return, his lips pressed into a flat line, his eyes unreadable. “Effective positioning,” he says, but I catch the warning in his tone, which I choose to ignore.
By the third period, the arena’s energy is electric. We’re up 2-0, but our opponents are pushing hard to avoid a shutout. The game gets rougher, with body checks and scrums after whistles.
At one point, their defenseman elbows me hard after I dump the puck in. I crash into the boards, and the crowd gasps. Penalty called.
As I get up, I look for Irina. She’s half standing as if she’s worried, before she settles back down. That flash of real emotion feels like a win bigger than any goal.
Power play doesn’t net another goal, but we hold on to the lead. When the buzzer sounds, the thrill isn’t just about the win. It’s about knowing that Irina caught every second.
Back in the locker room, the vibe’s celebratory but controlled. Coach gives his usual rundown and says our game was good but with plenty to improve. And he casually mentions he’s joining his daughter and Costello after, hinting we better behave if we run into them.
As everyone starts changing, Ronan drops beside me. “That was subtle.”
“What?” I ask, but I know exactly what he means.
“The look-at-me celebrations,” he says, doing an exaggerated chest tap. “Dude, you were basically performing for Coach’s daughter.”
I keep my face neutral. “Just acknowledging our special guests.”
“Right.” He glances around. “But heads up. She’s basically engaged to Keith, or they wouldn’t be sitting together like this. And Coach? He’ll bench you or worse if you get anywhere near his daughter.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I mutter under my breath and turn away.
“She’s off-limits,” Ronan says. “Even if she wasn’t with Keith, Coach probably treats her like some princess with dragons guarding her.”
Dramatic, but from what I’ve seen, it’s not far off. It explains the way she acted, disappeared, and blocked my profile, even if she unblocked it later. She’s not just avoiding me. She’s protecting herself from disappointing her dad.
And it makes me want her even more.
“Don’t worry about me.” I grin at Ronan. “I can handle it.”
His brows slowly unfurrow, and his shoulders sag as he exhales loudly. “That’s the look that means trouble. Justremember. If Coach buries you under the ice, I tried to warn you.”
I laugh, but yeah, Coach’s reputation is no joke. Crossing him professionally could kill my career. And going after his daughter? Things could get really, really ugly.
Still, as I shower and pack up, ready to leave the arena, I don’t give a fuck.
