Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Mom rolls her eyes, her smile bright as she answers, “Spilled her nachos all over her lap. She went to clean up.” She points up the stairs to the upper level where the restrooms, concessions, and thousands of people are currently wandering.
“Alone?” I bark, about to come over the wall and go hunt Penny down in the bowels of the arena behind the seats. She’s safe from the Mob, but there’s no telling what mess she could get into or what damage she might cause. Admittedly, I’ve picked up the baton on Dominic’s overprotectiveness where Penny is concerned, but we are in an away city, in a less familiar arena, with a high-stress game on the line, and she’s walking around in a signed Mahoney jersey. Any number of things could happen to her, or because of her.
“Talia went with her. She’s fine.”
Oh.
I check their block of four seats, belatedly realizing that both women are missing. I knew Talia was coming—Dom and I bought her seat, too—but I only have eyes for Penny. I tell myself that Penny will be fine with Talia, who can go into the actual restroom, too, unlike me, who’d have to wait in the hall and would likely end up mobbed by fans. In short, my presence would cause more problems than potentially help.
I grin sheepishly at Mom and Dad, knowing I almost grossly overreacted. But they’re smiling kindly. Honestly, I think they like knowing that I’ll always take care of Penny, and also aren’t nearly as worried about me now that Penny’s taking care of me. We take care of each other. It’s a dynamic I never thought I’d have, with a woman I never thought I’d be worthy of. But somehow, through whatever magic she possesses, it’s working.
Dominic bangs his stick to the ice beside me. “Check up!”
He lifts his chin, greeting his parents, and then together we skate away to finish warming up. While we run through our usual drills and routine, I keep one eye turned toward Penny’s empty seat. When she returns, she waves both arms in the air with a big smile to grab my attention, totally oblivious that her absence might’ve distracted me. I grin back around my mouth guard.
“God, you’re such a pussy.” Dom laughs.
“For her? Fuck yeah, I am. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I reply, pushing at him playfully, getting us both ready for the upcoming battles we’ll face down tonight.
Minutes later, we’re in position for the opening puck drop, all banter falling away as we get serious. This game is the culmination of years of work, blood, sweat, and tears.
I can’t hear Jack Off and the Blizzard’s center, McKinnon, but they must have words, because the instant the puck hits the ice, they drop their sticks to go at each other. The crowd goes wild, loving the aggressive action right off the jump. It’s messy and more of an ugly hug than actual fighting, though they act like they’re throwing power punches here and there. It ends with McKinnon getting two minutes, the refs not wanting to hand out five in the playoffs unless there’s actual contact or blood, and being escorted to the box.
My gut tells me the Blizzard’s goal was to get Jack Off taken out for a full five-minute, and now that they’ve failed, he’ll be the number-one target. Pretty Boy and Castaway are good, though, and they’ll work together to keep Jacofovich clear. The three of them quickly run a slick power play, pitting their offense against the down-a-man Blizzard and slipping around the backside of the crease to score an early goal.
The crowd explodes, and to be honest, the boos of the Blizzard faithful are music to my ears.
Play continues like that, with endless back-and-forth battles across the ice, but when the horn sounds at the end of the first period, it’s still Hawks 1, Blizzard 0. As we hit the locker room for the first intermission, Coach checks in with everyone, telling us to stay alert and be aggressive before disappearing into his office. No specific guidance means we’re doing well, but I think we already knew that. We can feel it in the air surrounding us, the energy flowing through us, and we’re ready for more.
In the blink of an eye, we’re hitting the ice again.
It’s immediately obvious that the Blizzard are changing their strategy from period one’s Take Out the Offensive Line plan. Now they’re coming after defense. I guess they figure if they can’t keep us from scoring, they need to make sure they can score too. It’d be a solid plan except for one ginormous problem.
Me.
Every time they cross the blue line, I’m there to do a meet and greet . . . with my hip, my shoulder, and a couple of times, with my forearm. Elbows up, motherfuckers. Somehow I manage to only get in the box once, and though the Blizzard do score, so do we.