Page 113 of Three Pucking Words
I gawk at her. “How would you do that?”
She pushes up to standing. “You don’t want to know.”
And, somehow, I believe her.
Because Karina is kind of scary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Honor
Ilift thecamera lens up to the friends and family suite after the game goes into overtime and snap photos of the little girl being held up by her grandmother wearing matching Henderson jerseys. Gemma is waving her arms in the air and knocking on the window as she looks down at her father and his team. Her little hand goes a mile a minute trying to get their attention, smiling and laughing as a few of them lift their hands to wave back. Including, of course, Bodhi.
Karina clears her throat, making my cheeks flame as I lower my camera. “That’s the first one I’ve taken,” I defend, not wanting to be chided for doing something outside of my job.
“I know, but people are watching,” she says softly, gesturing to a few people in the crowd who have their cell phones pointed in my direction.
My nose scrunches. “I don’t see why they care,” I mutter, feeling uncomfortable. I choose to force my gaze toward what’s happening on the ice. Which, at the moment, is a whole lot of nothing.
In a matter of minutes, everybody’s attention will be on the players swarming the ice to get even one more point on their opponents. I’ve never cared that deeply about these games, but something in me is buzzing with adrenaline over the possible results.
“They’ve got this,” I say quietly, swallowing as I see the players start to come back out.
The crowd begins making noise as the teams get into formation. My eyes go to the scoreboard, and I swear I start sweating. As if it’smeout there—as if the pressure is mine alone.
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Karina asks softly, putting a hand on my arm.
My eyes don’t move from the scoreboard. “What does?”
“Loving them enough to worry.”
I don’t say anything.
I don’t need to.
Her smile is sympathetic. “Get ready. It only gets worse. But it’s worth it for the right person.”
She gestures toward the rink when the clock starts again, and overtime begins.
I don’t have time to overthink what she says because I have to start working again. It helps distract me, but there’s a tingling in the back of my neck that tells me she’s right.
Bodhi makes the stress worth it.
And as the time counts down, and the players battle it out with pristine precision on the ice, I realize how badly I want this. To be here. To support Bodhi. To be part of the very thing he’s passionate about.
Ten seconds left.
Eight.
Bodhi manages to steal the puck and pass it to Akira Mendell, who rushes it past the defense and racks his stick back.
Five seconds.
Four.
Three.
With a wrist shot, the puck goes flying toward the goal.
