Page 95 of Puck to the Heart
“Because I’m doing a horrible job.”
“Ash, you've been acting captain for three seconds. Settle into it a bit.”
“But—”
“No buts unless you’re grabbing one.” Oops, poor timing on my part. I winced.
A beleaguered sigh sounded above my head.
“Too soon for jokes?”
“Probably.”
A sweaty drop fell on my neck, then another. “You’re leaking on me, Wilder.”
“My bad.” He shook his head, raining more sweat down on me.
“This is probably a terrible time to tell you, but I’m back. In Portland, I mean. Permanently?”Why am I babbling? This shouldn’t be so hard.“And, um, I love you. Even when you’re disgusting.” Would he forgive me so easily?
“That’s nice to hear. Especially when I’m disgusting.” The stormy depths of his eyes met mine, and relief fell at finding a hint of his usual playful streak and his acceptance of my admission. One of those puzzle pieces floating around in my mind settled into place, filling out the scattered image.
“Yeah, you’re disgusting pretty frequently.” I prodded him in the arm.
Gently, though, because I’d learned my lesson about poking him with too much force and earned a sore hand for my trouble.
“You usually like it when I’m all sweaty.”
“Context, Ash. Context is important.” I tightened my fists in the fabric of his jersey, needing to get us back on track. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I… need to think about some things. But I’ll make it through the game. Thank you.”
“Can’t be captain if you’re not on the ice.”
“I don’t know if?—”
“Ash, I say this lovingly— shut. Up. You’re still learning, and everyone makes mistakes. You’ve got this, okay?”
“I’ve got this,” he repeated distantly.
“Well go on then, you’re out of time.” I swatted his rear the way I’d seen his teammates do.
He grinned, still dimmer than usual, but brighter than the past few minutes. “The fuck, Barnes? You spanking me now?”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
“Hmm. We’ll see who does the asking.” He pulled in close, pressing his lips to mine in a quick, hard kiss. “I love you too, you know.”
“That’s nice to hear when you’re all sweaty,” I parroted his earlier words. It had the intended effect, making his mouth twitch upward for a moment. “Go kick some ass, Ash.”
Back in my seat, I watched the Knights skating with renewed energy. Whatever Ash said to them was unintelligible through the arena noise, but it was working. It had to be a confidence booster for him.
The other team was out for blood, targeting him, but his usual agility and focus were back. He slapped the puck across the ice, straight toward a waiting Goldstein, who shot it toward the goalie.
“Number twelve, Kevin Goldstein scores, assisted by number eighteen Ash Wilder,” the announcer called.
Fans jumped out of their seats as the Knights skated around Goldstein and Ash, banging them with sticks and gloves. People smacked the barrier and screamed, igniting a fire under the Knights’ asses.
The goal was the birth of an entirely new team, and with three more goals in the final period, the Knights won, with Ash scoring the final goal with seven seconds to spare.
