Page 79 of Daddies on Ice
The idea of needing a bodyguard feels surreal, like something that happens to celebrities, not single mothers from small towns who just wanted to pay their bills.
This isn’t what I signed up for when I agreed to the fake relationship scheme.
The arena fills quickly, a sea of blue and gold jerseys mixed with the opposing team’s colors.
Christmas music plays over the sound system, and the ice gleams under the bright lights like a frozen lake.
Becky and Krystal press their faces to the glass, watching the players warm up with wide-eyed fascination.
The game starts with the usual fanfare, but my attention keeps drifting between the action on the ice and the three men who’ve somehow become the center of my increasingly complicated world.
Jake moves like poetry in motion, cutting through defenders with ease. Carl paces behind the bench, his silver hair catching the arena lights as he shouts instructions.
And Ash plays like a man possessed, checking opponents with controlled violence that makes the crowd roar its approval.
He’s the team captain for a reason, leading by example, never backing down from a fight.
The first period passes in a blur of goals and penalties, the score tied 2-2. During the intermission, Jake skates over to our section, his helmet tucked under his arm and that devastating smile aimed directly at me.
“How’s the view from up here?” he calls out, loud enough for nearby fans to hear.
“Perfect,” the word slips out before I can stop it, and his grin widens.
“Save me a kiss for after we win.” He winks and skates away, leaving me burning with embarrassment and something much more dangerous.
The second period is more intense, both teams fighting for every inch of ice. But then, with less than five minutes left, everything changes.
Ash is racing toward the goal, the puck dancing on his stick like it’s attached by invisible strings.
The opposing team’s defenseman comes at him from the side, and I can see the collision coming before it happens.
Time seems to slow as bodies collide with a sickening crack that echoes through the arena.
Ash hits the boards hard, his body crumpling in a way that makes my stomach lurch. He doesn’t get up.
The arena falls silent except for the scrape of skates as players gather around Ash’s motionless form.
Carl is already moving, vaulting over the boards with surprising agility.
The team medic follows, and my heart hammers against my ribs as they kneel beside him.
“Mommy, why isn’t Uncle Ash getting up?” Becky’s small voice cuts through the terrible quiet.
The stretcher appears, and my world tilts sideways as they carefully load Ash onto it, his face pale beneath the arena lights.
Carl skates alongside as they move toward the tunnel, his expression carved from stone.
As the stretcher disappears from view, one thought echoes through my mind with crystal clarity:I can’t lose him. Not now. Not when I’m just beginning to understand what he might mean to me.
27
ASH
The hotel room feels smaller with Tish hovering over me like I’m made of glass.
She’s rearranged my pillows three times, adjusted the curtains twice, and checked my ice pack every few minutes.
Christmas decorations around the mirror catch the afternoon sun, throwing cheerful patterns that contrast sharply with how hard I got hit during today’s game.
