Home Ice (24 page)

When Elvis finished strong, the place thundered with applause so loud she almost covered her ears. The ref appeared with a puck, and Dylan skated to center ice and crouched down. As soon as the whistle blew, he used his stick to push the opposing player’s away before hitting the puck to a teammate behind him, who ran with it. Faster than she could track, it bounced from Sinner to Sinner and ended up in Los Angeles’s net. The red light flashed, and the announcer boomed over the music, “Sinners gooooooal!” And the arena lost its collective mind.

Swept up with everyone else, she jumped to her feet and clapped until her hands hurt. Dylan and his line skated along the bench, bumping gloves with the other guys. When he got to the end, he grinned at her, and her heart stopped altogether.
I love him
. A complete shock but indisputable. She knew it in the same way that she knew she was meant to skate. To realize it and admit it was both terrifying and freeing.

He took a seat in the middle of the bench, and she could only see the number on his helmet, so she watched the action on the ice. The puck dropped again, but this time the battle for it was longer. The Kings were on their heels, and the Sinners tried to take advantage, but it wasn’t until the ten-minute mark that a lucky bounce floated under L.A.’s goalie and lit the lamp again. The rest of the first period was intense but scoreless.

When the players headed for the locker room, Dylan met her eyes, but the uncertainty there broke her heart. His smile wavered like he wasn’t sure what to expect from her, and it made sense but hurt worse than any fall she’d ever taken. She wanted to follow him, pull him aside, tell him how she felt, but Nealy was right behind, corralling her team, determined.

The need to move was strong, but the thought of wriggling through the thousands of people on the main concourse kept her in place. Her picture was plastered around the arena even more thanks to the win at worlds, and the last thing she wanted was to sign autographs when she was so distracted she could barely remember her name. Instead she stood by the glass, watching the Lady Sinners shake … everything while Sinbad, the green devil mascot, shot T-shirts into the crowd with a handheld cannon. When they wrapped up, the lights went down, and the Zambonis glided out.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was hard to describe the scent of new ice. Fresh, pure, cold, if that could be a smell. It was like a balm to her raw nerves; always had been. No matter where she was in the world, when she breathed in the ice, she was home. But this ice especially.

The lights came up faster than she expected, and the team returned. Dylan glanced at her but only briefly. He was in game mode. Whatever Nealy said combined with the dynamite first period had gotten all the guys pumped. They skated out with purpose, and as soon as the first puck dropped, they attacked. The plays were faster, hits were harder, and an occasional fight broke out, but the refs were quick to separate the brawlers to the booing of the audience. She couldn’t remember breathing for the entire twenty minutes, but at the end of it, the score remained two to zero.

Enough was enough. Head down, she braved the crowd. There were so many people and she was so small, she disappeared in the tide. Instead of feeling anxious, it was actually a huge weight off her shoulders. Dodging and drifting was better than stewing and sitting. Food was out of the question even though the hotdogs, popcorn, and cotton candy smelled good. She made her way to the outer lane and nearly walked right into the fan club table. And Saralynn.

Lori backpedaled. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—oh my God.” The rock on Saralynn’s left hand glinted like a star under the florescent lights. “You’re—”

“Engaged! Can you believe it?”

She didn’t know Saralynn well enough to judge if this were that unbelievable, but from what Dylan said, it’d been coming. He hadn’t seemed to think Saralynn would accept, but apparently he’d been wrong. Good for Madden. “Congratulations. That’s really great.”

“I’m over the moon. He was so romantic about it, too. Cooked my favorite meal, took me for ice cream sundaes, then surprised me with a stop at Tiffany’s and let me pick out this stunner.” She wiggled her ring finger. “Sugar and diamonds are the way to my heart. I kinda love him.” More than
kinda
if her ooey-gooey expression meant anything.

“I’m happy for you both.”

Saralynn’s smile toned down a few notches. “I heard about you and Cole. I’ve done my fair share of scheming, but it was always for me. If it means anything, I think he did it for you. But you’re here, so you probably know.”

“Finally figured it out, which required figuring myself out.”

“Preach it, sister.”

“Well hey, the third period’s about to start. I should get back. I’m glad I bumped into you. Literally. I’ll see you around.”

Saralynn smiled. “I believe you will.”

Cryptic, but it somehow made her feel better. Getting to her seat took a while, and the action was already underway when she dropped into her chair. Dylan zipped by and looked over his shoulder at her. Only for a second, but one of the Kings stole the puck and sprinted for the other end. A quick shot slipped beyond Reese’s defenses.

Oh God. My fault.
The guilt was reflexive even though logic said the blame belonged to the men on the ice. Above the booing, Nealy’s piercing scream threatened to pop her eardrums. Dylan seemed shaken after that and kept his eyes on the ice. If the Sinners could just keep up on defense, it would be okay. The time ticked down one excruciating second at a time until there were three minutes left.

The fight for the puck became desperate on both sides. One King saw Dylan’s outstretched stick and threw himself over it. A whistle blew, and the ref called Dylan for tripping. Outrage pulsed through the arena, and Nealy could have burst her larynx shouting her objections and strongly worded theories about the ref’s eyesight. But it was no use. Dylan went to the box. The Sinners sacrificed themselves in front of Reese, willing to do anything to kill the penalty, but the Kings were relentless, and eventually, the puck found its way in just before Dylan’s time was up. Tied game.

Her heart beat away the remaining seconds. Overtime was all but guaranteed. And then, the puck found Dylan’s stick on a breakaway. He moved impossibly fast, dodged L.A.’s defense left and right, and took one last shot. The red goal light went on just as the buzzer sounded, and the entire crowd jumped to its feat with a roar.

The Sinners on the bench hopped the wall and joined the others on ice in embracing their captain. Everyone took their turn touching helmets with him, and when they were done, they all raised their sticks in a salute to the fans, who gave the love right back. After the three stars of the game were called, Dylan being number one, the players filed off the ice. He was last. What if he walked by? What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if—

All thought stopped as he lifted his visor, scooped her up, and kissed her for all he was worth as he swung her around. Relief and joy rushed from head to toe, and she kissed him back, making sure he knew she meant it. It was hot and sweet and a little desperate, and when he set her down, she rocked back a step. His smile was back to full wattage. He walked backward down the tunnel and called, “Later!”

There were a lot of things she still wanted to say, but they’d just cleared up the most important one. What was an hour or two more?

Postgame

The celebration in the locker room was loud and champagne-soaked. Dylan’s teammates recounted the story of his last goal at least ten times, and Nealy actually hugged him.
Hugged
him. It was the most emotion he’d seen out of her in four years except for the tears she shed when they won their first Cup. Reporters filtered in, and for at least twenty minutes, he had no fewer than fifteen microphones in his face. He must have answered their questions, but he didn’t remember any of it. He could focus on only one thing.

After he showered and dressed, the room was empty. He stepped into the hallway to the underground garage and stopped. Lori was leaning against a cement wall, looking hesitant, uncertain, and for the first time that night, he really took her in. She wore very little makeup, her hair in a curly ponytail. Leggings, sneakers, and a Sinners jersey three sizes too big. With a C on the chest. Away from the crazy excitement of the rink, in the quiet hallway, some fear crept back. “I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me again.”

She pushed off the wall and looked like she might walk right into his arms, but she stopped about a foot away. “I did some thinking. A lot of thinking.”

“I swear—”

“I know. I know your intentions were good.”

“But I never should have—”

“Owning up to my weaknesses is not one of my strong suits, so if you’ll just let me get this out?” The hint of amusement in her smile softened the blow, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t relate.

It took a beat for her to continue. “Okay. Aside from family, I’ve never had anyone look out for me. My mom was my manager, and she gave everything to support my dream. So much that it hurt my family. She and my dad … they almost didn’t make it. And I always thought it was my fault. She sacrificed for me, and it ruined things. When you wanted to step in and sponsor me, I was scared the same thing would happen. And I meant what I said about wanting to be equal. But mostly I didn’t want anything to come between us.”

Hearing her explain it made him ache. “I’m so sorry. But you know it wasn’t your fault. Your family. Right?”

“I do now. And I realized that for you to take a chance like that, I must mean a lot to you.”

He closed the distance, picked up her hand, and pressed it flat over his heart. “More than a lot. I love you.”

Her lower lip trembled, and he pulled her close for a kiss, cupping her jaw in his hand. Her arms wound around his neck, and holding her felt better than any medal or trophy ever had. The girl who never let anyone in made an exception for him. What had he done to deserve that? He broke away to meet her gaze.

She rubbed the back of his neck and gave him a shaky smile. “I love you, too.”

Those words lifted him higher than any medal, any trophy, and he couldn’t fight a huge smile that threated to split his face in half. “I hope it’s okay if I keep looking out for you. Because I don’t think I can stop. All things being equal, I could use someone to look out for me, too. That’s what teammates do.”

She wiped under her eyes and smiled. “I’ve never had one of those before.”

“It’s pretty simple. You got my back; I got yours. No matter what.”

“Deal.” She kissed him again, and he felt it down to his bones. Teammates. No matter what.

(From
Full Strength
by Katie Kenyhercz)

Tuesday, April 16th

Allie released a deep breath and straightened the framed degrees on the wall. Silence settled so thick, she could almost hear her heartbeat. It was hard to tell if it was a blessing or a curse being sequestered in the basement. On one hand, players would have one less excuse to avoid her because she was right next to the locker room. On the other hand, having no windows felt a little like being buried alive. The few landscape paintings at least gave the illusion of nature and made it more bearable.

A light knock on her office door made her tense, but she forced her shoulders down before she turned around to face her guest. Her heart beat double time, but it slowed when her boss stepped inside instead of her first patient.

Jacey Phlynn, owner of the Las Vegas Sinners, looked put together as usual in a black skirt suit and emerald silk blouse. As Jacey closed the door, Allie caught a glimpse of her red-soled pumps. Louboutin. She felt self-conscious in her JC Penney knockoffs, but three degrees didn’t come cheap.

“Allie, I’m glad I caught you early. I know you’re good on Reese’s history, but I wanted to give you a heads-up—”

“He doesn’t want to do this.”

Jacey’s eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and she shook her head.

Allie could see her boss scrambling for a polite denial, and she laughed. “It’s okay. I would have rather peeled my skin off with a cheese grater than see my first shrink after my injury.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry. I’m sure you know exactly what to say. I wish I did.”

“Let me guess. He paid you a visit; tried to get out of it.”

Jacey sighed, pressed her lips together.

“It’s all right. He needs this whether he knows it or not.”

“I just—he may say things. Seem uncooperative. He hasn’t been himself since it happened. He’s a great goalie and a huge asset to this team, but if he can’t get past this, we might have to trade him, and I don’t want to do that. He’s surgically attached to my husband. We’re talking shared organs. If separated, one or both might not survive. But now that Carter’s involved with the business side of the team, he has to see things as a GM would—even if that means trading his best friend. If there’s any way to avoid that, I have to try.”

Allie smiled as she remembered press pictures of Shane Reese with his best friend and ex-captain, Carter Phlynn. The two had played together their entire careers. Phlynn’s had ended just last season with a concussion. Hard to believe
he
didn’t need some therapy, too. “Reese’s recovery will depend on him, but I’ll do everything I can to get him there.”

“Bless you. We are …
I
am so glad to have you here. Thank you again for starting on such short notice.”

“I’m happy to be here. I’m excited to work with this team.”

Jacey’s barely suppressed laughter wasn’t reassuring. Especially when she followed it up with, “Hold that thought.”

• • •

“Hey, Reese. You ready to talk about your feelings?”

“Shut up.” Shane Reese ignored Kevin Scott, his teammate and tormentor. Instead, he stared at the cement block wall while his friends dressed for practice. The twentieth practice he’d miss.

“Leave him alone, Scotty. Bad enough as it is.”

“Thanks, Cole. Big help.” Shane glanced at the hotshot rookie, Dylan Cole, who earned captaincy in his second NHL season and tried to rein in his anger. That’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Cole gave him the innocent act and held up his hands. Nine years younger, and the kid thought he was Yoda or something.