“Mm-hm. You bet, sis. Later.”
I hung up, tossed my phone on the bed and stared at it as if it were an evil thing that could only bring bad things into my life.
As if on cue, my phone vibrated. I peeked. Another text from Hunter: “What's up? Haven't heard from you in two days. Mad? Say the word and I'll leave you alone.”
“Ugh!” I yelled. I didn't want him to worry aboutmewhen he should be focusing on his hockey game, but I still didn't know what to say. Because which guy was Hunter? Was he the guy jumping through hoops for my heart, or he was the psychopath who would say anything to get laid?
I fired back with a salvo of texts of my own, powered my phone off, and sighed.
Whew. It's done. Whatever happens, happens.
Chapter 14:
Test
Rockwell
The team had just finished up our morning skate, which wasn't so pretty. Once we left the ice and made it back to the dressing room, I made a bee-line to my stall and reached for my phone.
“Jesus,” Vinny laughed. “You with that phone all week, man. What's going on? You got somebody you're finally interested in, Rockwell?”
“Hell nah,” I forced a smug grin. “Just seeing if any girls in Toronto wanna meet up after the game. You know me.” It was a lie, but I couldn't have the boys thinking I was going all soft on them or anything.
But I glanced and saw Honor still hadn't replied to any of my texts over the past two days, ever since the phone sex incident—and my heart crumpled like a shitty piece of paper tossed into the wastebasket.Damn.
After the morning skate, we went back to the hotel and ate lunch. After lunch, we always take a pre-game nap. But I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned in bed. I figured Honor needed space after last night, but I needed to know if she hated my guts or what.
I texted her. “What's up? Haven't heard from you in two days. Mad? Say the word and I'll leave you alone.”
And, finally, her reply came in, one text after another: “Not mad. We both got carried away that night and I wanted space. Date? I dunno if that's a good idea. Win your game tonight, and maybe, MAYBE I'll say yes.”
My crumpled-up-paper heart popped right out of the wastebasket, and back into my chest, where it happily pounded. Was this a test? Sure, but I didn't care. I just wanted that date. I was probably only putting off the inevitable—when she'd find out that beyond the money and prestige, there wasn't a whole lot to love about Hunter Rockwell.
But was that reallymyproblem?
“Deal,” I texted her back.
***
I had it tonight: that pure, concentrated power of will that elevates men to greatness.
But the rest of the team? They'd explored the Toronto club scene last night, and didn't get back until late—drunk as skunks, too. Coach was furious over it, but we couldn't change that now.
As the game wore on, their fatigue started to show. Their feet stopped moving. On the bench, they bent over, sucking air and looking like they might spew.
Late in the third period, we were trailing Toronto by one goal.
“C'mon, boys!” I yelled to rally the troops on the bench. “I'm not fuckin' losing this game! Get it together!”
My shift came next. I hopped over the boards and charged into the play, my legs chugging along the ice like a runaway train.
I threw my shoulder into the Toronto d-man and let my momentum surge right through him. He flew off his skates and crashed into the end boards—Boom!—leaving the puck for me to steal.
Stick on my puck, head up, battling through slashes on my wrists and hooks that yanked at my mid-section, I drove behind the net and flipped a quick backhand pass into the slot to Vinny.
Vinny slapped at it, and the puck rocketed right between the goalie's legs.
Tie game.
