Page 71 of Game Misconduct
And then there’s Jace.
The captain, our anchor. Doesn’t need to raise his voice to own the room.
He tapes his stick with surgical precision, shoulders squared like the weight of the team belongs exactly there. The rest of us take our cues from him, whether we mean to or not.
All in all, they’re a formidable group of guys even Cal, who I can see has potential once he gets past the rookie nerves.
Even Riley the peacock. He’s a helluva player, he’s just too much of a showman for my liking.
I tug my laces tighter, hands moving slow and deliberate. I can’t let my mind wander. Not to the shoulder that still throbs when I push it wrong.
Not to the whispers about my age.
And sure as hell not to her.
But she’s there anyway.
Sloane.
Two weeks since the elevator incident as I’ve started calling it.
Two weeks since I had her pinned in a corner, her breath mingling with mine, one shift away from breaking every line I swore I wouldn’t cross.
Two weeks of restless nights where I dream about kissing her, fucking her against the wall of that elevator.
Of waking up with her scent in my lungs and my sheets twisted like I’d been fighting ghosts.
She’s too young. Too untouchable. Too much my boss. And yet…
My jaw flexes as I yank the last lace tight.
The locker room roars as Holt barks his call, players pounding sticks, energy spiking. The tunnel waits, the ice beyond it like a battlefield ready to be claimed.
The rookies are jittering, the vets steady, Riley flapping his damn gums.
And me?
I pull my mask into my hands, weight solid against my palms.
My body hums with the wrong kind of adrenaline, too sharp, too dirty. Because tonight isn’t just about the crease.
It’s about proving I’m not done, even if my bones scream otherwise.
It’s about keeping my head down while the image of a woman I can’t have keeps clawing through me.
The horn blasts outside, long and low, shaking the walls.
Game time.
And then The Pit goes dark.
For half a beat the place holds its breath, twenty thousand bodies packed into one arena, waiting for the spark. Then thefire cannons ignite, bass rattles the glass, and the crowd detonates.
Home opener. The circus in full swing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome the visiting team, the Chicago Outlaws!”
Our opposition is met with a chorus of boos, but Atlanta’s a melting pot city, so there’s also a smattering of applause and cheers for Chicago.
