“He’s a tough guy,” Greta murmured. “Nothing’s keeping him out of this game.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, my concern warring with pride, but he seemed to be playing just as well as he had been before the hit, despite the occasional flash of pain I caught on his face from my vantage point. Even so, the final part of the third period seemed to last forever. Calgary held on to the lead, despite the constant attacks from Dallas. When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd went wild again, the sound reverberating off the walls and floor of the arena.
They’d done it. They’d won the first game.
I watched the players celebrating on the ice, Brayden fist-pumping the air as he skated down the rink to the sound of deafening cheers. But it was Cody who held my attention—bloodstained jersey, his chest heaving from the exertion, but with his eyes shining and a triumphant smile on his face.
That smile. So fucking gorgeous. Even if I never got to see it again, I’d never forget it.
“One win in the bag,” Greta said, grinning as she rose to her feet. “Come on, I’ll show you where we go to meet the team.”
As I followed Greta and the other families and friends of the players, I reminded myself of what was at stake. Though I wanted nothing more than to see Cody, to tell him how fucking proud I was and how amazing he’d played, to check if he was okay after the hit he’d taken… I couldn’t. I had to pretend that he meant nothing to me.
Somehow.
9
Cody
The adrenaline was still coursing through me two hours after the final buzzer, my body thrumming from the high of our win. I was fucking proud of the way we’d played tonight. Everything had just clicked, and personally, I’d had one of the best games of my career, despite the time I’d spent in the sin bin and the stick I’d taken to the face.
Adjusting the ice pack I was currently holding over my taped-up nose with one hand, I reached for my phone, lifting it from the truck’s centre console. I was still in the arena parking garage, wearing my fucking uncomfortable suit, thanks to the post-game meeting my agent had arranged with me to discuss what was going to happen after the playoffs. Why he insisted on fucking formalwear every time we met, I had no idea. And why he’d insisted on meeting right after the game— Okay. Maybe I knew that. Maybe it was down to the fact I’d been avoiding all his calls and texts about my future. But how could I think about that now, when I didn’t even know what was happening in my present?
At least I hadn’t been asked to do any interviews after the game. Coach had taken one look at my face and shoved Brayden into the spotlight, where he’d mentioned how my assist had been integral to his goal, and I had to stand there with camerastrained on us both, counting down the seconds until I could leave.
All I’d been able to think about was the moment I’d looked up into the stands and seen Jude watching me.
I knew he was going to be there, but I thought I’d be able to block it out, like I did with the crowd noise. Instead, I’d been aware of him the entire game. When our eyes met for a brief moment, the look on his face made my heart stutter in my chest.
Pride. Want. Maybe even something more.
Stay away from me, Jude.The words I’d said to him seemed fucking laughable now. How was it possible when he looked at me like that? Like no one else ever had before?
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I exhaled sharply as the name of the man I couldn’t get out of my mind flashed up on my screen.
Jude:
You were amazing tonight. Are you celebrating at the team dinner?
My heart hammered as I stared at the message. What I should do was delete it and stick to the plan we’d agreed on in his car.
I knew what Ishoulddo.
Me:
No team dinner. I’m guessing you’re not there either if you’re asking me that question. I thought Brayden would’ve invited you
Jude:
He did, but I told him I was tired
Me:
Tired huh, British? Maybe you should go to bed
Jude:
Can’t sleep. I’m lonely. All alone in my hotel room
