Page 25 of My Virgin Puck

- CHAPTER TEN -

Madison

I stretch out, my arms feeling like a heavy attachment on my tired body. Yet another yawn is as sluggish as I feel after spending all night staring at my phone, waiting for it to beep.

It’s been fifteen hours since I last heard from Mason. It damn near feels like forever.

My bed was cold and lonely all night. Every time I drifted off, the image of Mason’s flashy smile woke me up. It was as if he was there, right beside me. Right where he belongs, forever.

God, I miss him.

I grab my bag and head downstairs to the Uber waiting outside my apartment block.

The gift shop has never been busier. Mason was right – Rival’s Week is fucking insane. I worked overtime after the game last night just to help the junior staff in the gift shop. The sudden flow of fans wanting to get the latest replica jersey or signed puck was unexpected, especially after the demoralising loss.

I’ve been asked to open up early before the game today, and the only reason I’ve accepted is so it distracts me from staring at the clock for the next ten hours until the game has finished.

Then I can hold Mason again.

A seat in the corporate box is a fair trade-off for working on my day off. Game two against Toronto is only hours away and there’s a alarming tension inside the corridors of the Viking Arena.

I pull the roller shutters up, readying the shop for opening. The shutters roll and slam to hide in the roof and I spin and see a giant poster of Mason staring back at me.

A huge number ‘11’ is off-set to the giant man. He’s holding a serious expression as tightly as the hockey stick in his hand. The bright red jersey makes his thick frame look enormous, and I feel a sparkling flutter in my belly.

A timid smile touches my lips. I reach out and my fingertips slide across the glossy paper on the poster.

I’ve never felt like this before.

I’ve never missed someone this much.

My body literally aches for him. I miss him so damned much I could cry.

I know Mason said he would be busy with back-to-back games. I just expected a text message or a quick phone call. Something. Anything.

I’m quickly forced to snap out of it when a group of teenagers stream into the store, wallets in their hands at the ready for a bumper purchase of their favourite team’s merchandise.

“Bro! A signed puck! Check it out!”

They’re the first of a steady stream of passionate supporters who make my morning fly by. After a busy couple of hours, the junior staff finally relieve me as the countdown to the game hits one hour.

The buzz down the concourse is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Chanting. Taunting. Cheering and songs being sung.

It’s all atmosphere on top of atmosphere.

I finally hand the shop over and I’m free.

Free to find Mason before the game.

I race down the stairs to the locker room and dodge the hundreds of fans vying for the player’s autographs as they retreat from their warm-up on the ice. Parker Phillips and Jacob Rule are the last off the ice and I follow in behind them to work my way in to wish Mason good luck.

“Hey! Who are you?” A voice startles me as I reach for the door handle. “You can’t go in there!”

I turn and see a large bulky man. He’s dressed in a navy-blue uniform with ‘Security’ written across the front in fluorescent lettering.

“I’m with the team,” I say shakily.

The large man steps over and raises his brows, “Really? You don’t look like you’re about to kick some Toronto ass…”

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