Scowling at me, he retorted, “Oh,Ineed to get a grip?”
“Yeah, you do. You were this close to giving me away to Benji.” I held my thumb and index finger a millimeter apart. “He’s got the biggest mouth on the team. Thanks to him, everyone is going to think I’m a legend after last night.” Smirking, I added, “I kind of am.”
“Do you think this is funny?” Jaxon was a rule follower. It was a miracle he’d ever slept with Natalie in the first place.
Speaking of Natalie . . . “If you’re this jumpy over my situation, how the hell did you keep Charlie a secret for as long as you did?”
The hand he rested on the table curled into a fist. I knew bringing up his wife and daughter would set him off.
“That was different,” he sneered. “If you must know, Natalie practically barricaded the door, hiding herself away from the world. No one was ever going to find out. You and Hannah are walking a very dangerous line. Why can’t you go back to her room?”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t work logistically. She leaves the arena before we do and can slip into my room with no one from the team around to see her. If I go to her room, it’s a much greater risk.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, Jaxon closed his eyes. “Everyone else here manages without their wife, girlfriend, whatever, while on the road. The season’s almost over, with only a handful of away games left. Can’t you two control yourselves?”
I knew that Jaxon was only looking out for me as his friend. But staying away from Hannah? It was impossible. She was so far under my skin she’d become a part of me.
Before I could stop myself, I replied, “We could, but we aren’t going to.”
Rolling his eyes, Jaxon stood, leaving me at the table alone. He’d get over it. Like he said, the season was almost over, and then we would bring our relationship out in the open.
We’d made it this far. What was another month or so?
We knew getting past the Speed would be tough. So, it was no surprise that we found ourselves facing down a Game 7, winner-take-all scenario. Thankfully, we had the home-ice advantage, and the game would take place in Hartford with the Comets faithful screaming down the house.
That, and my good luck charm’s voice centering me right before puck drop.
Smiling to myself as I laced up my skates, I thought about Hannah. She was never far from my mind, but something changed when we were in LA. I’d felt a shift in our relationship—a shift in her. For a second, I thought perhaps it was that we were almost caught in the most compromising of positions by herdad, but I quickly shook that off. Hannah wanted to go public; she just didn’t want to be a distraction to the team—we shared that stance.
Hannah wasn’t exactly subtle—I could tell she was fishing for something from me. The way she phrased her statements and made indirect comments, trying to get a response. It took me a minute, but I finally figured it out.
She was trying to get me to admit my feelings for her.
I didn’t know the protocol of when to say it, and it was clear she didn’t, either. We were a couple of relationship virgins stumbling our way through this thing. Was it supposed to be a grand gesture? Or was it better to drop it casually while doing something mundane? I knew one thing: blurting it out in the middle of sex was a giant no-no.
There were hints that Hannah reciprocated my feelings of love. It was in the little things, like when she had a protein shake waiting for me when I got home from practice or when she earmarked sections of film on our opponents to showcase their weaknesses for me to exploit.
Then, there was the most obvious sign of them all. At the start of the playoffs, Hannah’s jersey rotation ceased, and she began to wear only my jersey while singing the anthem at home. We’d had three home games during our first series, and tonight would mark the fourth during our series against the Speed.
For seven games now, she’d had my name on her back, silently declaring to the world that she was mine.
No one had said a word. Maybe they hadn’t noticed. That was the best-case scenario, but seeing her willingly branded by my name spiked my competitive drive to a greater height.
Every player’s dream was to one day hold that giant silver championship trophy over his head and then for his girl to jump into his arms as they celebrated on the ice. I wanted to feel Hannah clinging to my body as we reached the pinnacle ofprofessional hockey. It would be as much a triumph for her as for me.
Tonight was do-or-die—we either won or the season was over.
Regardless of the outcome, after the game, I was going to tell Hannah that I loved her.
In a back-and-forth series that had been an all-out battle, of course, we would need overtime to determine not only the winner of the game but that of the series.
Tied 2-2 at the end of regulation, both teams headed to their respective locker rooms with the heavy knowledge that the next goal won.
For one team, there would be no tomorrow.
Filing into the locker room, we dropped onto the benches at our assigned stalls, waiting for Coach’s remarks. I could only imagine how helpless it felt to stand on the bench, knowing the outcome was ultimately up to your players.
Coach walked into the room in his game-day suit and looked each man in the eye before speaking. “I didn’t come in here to state the obvious. You’ve all been in elimination games before—on the winning and losing sides. Right now, all I want you to focus on is the next shift. Thinking too far ahead will only get us in trouble. So, execute your matchups, keep your heads up, and make smart decisions. There is no room for error. We have a special group in this room, but we all know the more deserving team doesn’t always win. I don’t know about you boys, but I’d like to wake up tomorrow and plan for our next opponent, so go out there and grind your hearts out. That’s all I can ask of you.”
