Page 71 of Icing Hearts

“Tory,” she whines.

“Do it.”

“I’m too shy.”

I pluck the book from her hands and open up to the page she was last reading from. “We’re gonna fix that shyness. I can promise you that. But for now…” I give her a devious brow wag. “I’ll read it to you.”

Clara’s jaw drops, eyes going wide. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“We land in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m a fast reader. You can close your eyes and picture me, if you want.”

“I won’t.”

“Liar,” I hiss close to her neck.

Clara stares straight ahead as I read the sultry words, letting my voice go deep and filling with intent. Every word on the page is a promise.

As long as we can get past the horrible truth of how her mother died.

Chapter 42

Victory

Too many thoughts swirl in my mind. I’m the type of player who can block everything out with relative ease. But some thoughts I don’t want to block out. Reading a spicy book scene to Clara on the plane is one of those thoughts.

Seeing her stare straight ahead, digging her nails into my leg got my pulse racing faster than any cardio workout I’ve ever done. I’m surprised I didn’t bruise. Two paragraphs in, she was biting her bottom lip, and I imagined how sweet it would taste. If I play my cards right, I’ll know for certain.

So I let myself be distracted. Keep the image in my mind. Because it’s way better than hockey.

We checked into the hotel and settled in for a couple hours. The team is all on the twentieth floor and I had to trade rooms with two people to make sure Clara and Clover’s double was next to my single. I prefer my solitude at the end of the day. Several hours later, and we’re at the rink. Though it’s not a rink. It’s a stadium. The Tampa Bay Lightning stadium to be exact. The tournament games are on off times so we’re all cleared out well before or after Bolts games. One of the perks of the tournament is that we all get to go to a Lightning game. But for right now, it’s the first game on the first day and everyone is buzzing.

What I’m not anticipating is how aggressive our first opponents are. A few hard hits in, and I pull myself out of my thoughts and into the game. It’s all I can do to avoid the cheap shots the enemy takes at our top scorers—especially me.

Eight minutes into the first period, Vince goes down and stays down. Once I’m close, I slide over on my knees and kneel over his helmet, waving over the trainers. Hockey includes injuries. It’s the nature of the sport. But Vince is usually an exception to that rule. In the five years I’ve played with him. I’ve never seen him get hurt. Not that he doesn’t take big hits. I’ve seen the guy slammed into the boards more times than I can count. But he always pops back up. Seeing him lying here, eyes closed, is unnerving.

“Vince. Buddy. Wake up,” I call down to him. His eyelids flutter, and my heart rate starts to even out.

Ice chips melt beneath my ungloved hands. I keep them planted on the ice, so I don’t touch Vince and potentially make something worse.

A lazy smile tugs at the corners of his lips, revealing a gaping hole where his front tooth should be. Shoot. His mom is gonna freak.

“Amato. Didn’t think you cared.”

“Of course I care, you idiot. You got your tooth knocked out. You look like a hick. Why don’t you wear a mouth guard?” I scold him while the trainers do their work of checking him over.

I land some of the most savage hits I’ve ever delivered in my life. One of them gets a player on the bench, and I’m about to level another. Screw these guys and their bad attitude. Not that my attitude is much better. But they hurt my teammate. Just because I’m mad at him, doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate such behavior.

After one of our Defenders gets leveled, I fly across the ice, aiming to strike. I’m seeing red, so singularly focused that I don’t notice one of the guys on the other team skate up on my left side.

Then everything goes dark.

When I come to, all I can think of is the dull throb in my head and Clara. A trainer helps me off the ice. I’m whisked into an office, and the trainer does some preliminary tests. I feel myself fading again as she tells the assistant coach that I need to go to the hospital to get checked out for a concussion.

“Clara,” I say. “I need Clara. She knows all my medical info. I need her.”

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