Page 39 of SlapShot Sweetheart

“You should have told her how you felt…”

“Dude, you are in a real mess…”

Theo looked at their concerned faces and swallowed, feeling completely sick to his stomach. He was torn between chasing Aimee and giving her enough time to cool down if she was that angry at him. He wasn’t even upset that she was mad, but it was the hurt in her gaze that gutted him. He felt like he was less in her eyes, that something precious and valuable was gone… and he wanted it back. Obviously, tardiness wasn’t the only trigger for his girl. How could he explain how scared he was to lose her?

Starting out the door after her, Theo literally ran into the coach and bounced off the man’s beer belly.

“Going somewhere?”

“No, sir.”

“Darn straight, Batiste. Boys, gather ‘round and let’s talk. We’ve got to slam this one into the net because I just found out that ESPN is out there doing an article…”

The rest of the man’s words were a blur as he stared at the closed door separating him and Aimee.

As they paraded down the walkway to the ice, Theo’s heart hurt so badly. Aimee wasn’t waiting to give him a good luckkiss on the cheek again. She was already in her seat, her head bent toward Becca’s. He could only pray and hope that she was calming down enough to listen to him, to listen to his reasons why he continued with the charade, avoiding her questions.

Making his way to the ice, he heard their names over the loudspeakers as the lights dimmed and the can lights began swinging, sending beams across the ice as the fog machines did their job. It was a show, an event, and every game was designed the same way. Loud music and flashy lights bring everything up to a crescendo… and then they entered the ice.

The crowd loved it and enjoyed the hysteria that seemed to come with taking the high road during the games. This was something Giroux had brought about a few years ago after his accident. He came back to the team a changed man, influencing all of them. No more cussing, no more hanging out at bars, no more puck bunnies hanging around all the time – and to tell the truth?

Theo didn’t miss it.

In fact, his world seemed more peaceful without the stress of trying to figure out how to extract himself from situations he would rather not be involved with. He didn’t have to worry about staggering around drunk in front of the paparazzi if he wasn’t in a bar at two in the morning. He never had to make the walk of shame or try to remember what some woman’s name was if she wasn’t there to begin with. No more paternity tests for Coeur, no more angry boyfriends after Boucher, no more death threats for Lafrenière. Life was so much simpler – until now.

His eyes traveled across the crowd and met Aimee’s. He wasn’t sure if she could see his face behind the mask with all the lights flashing, but he could see hers, and she wasn’t smiling. Her lips were pressed together firmly, and she had a line between her eyebrows, indicating that she was still frowning or looked concerned… but his breath caught as she raised her pom-pom and shook it. Was she giving him a symbol that she had his back in the game and was there for the time being?

He gave her a nervous smile and raised his hockey stick just before stepping onto the ice. Going through the motions, he did the whole ‘dog-and-pony-show’ smiling and taking photographs for the crowds, but his heart certainly wasn’t in it. His entire being was focused on his fiery redhead, whose eyes were boring holes in his back.

Lining up, he glanced to his right, looking for Aimee, and heard the other players talking trash… but didn’t care.

“Eh, Batiste… you lookin’ for a few more inches so you can take me?”

“He’s not listening…”

“I know you hear me, Batiste…”

“’Ow can I not,” he muttered. “You sound like a donkey…”

“WHAT’D YOU SAY!”

“Mon dieu…”Theo mumbled in frustration, craning his neck to look for Aimee again – only to feel Coeur tap him on the helmet with his stick.

“Pucks go on the ice,mon frere.”

“I know that!”

“Brony is talking smack…” Thierry reminded him as he stood up, looking to the right again – only to see the coach’s outraged expression as he pointed and signaled at him.

“My name isBronson, you moron!”

“Oh really? You look like a brony to me, in fact, I bet your drag queen name on Friday nights isTwilight Sparkles,or are you more of aRainbow Stash?”

“WHY YOU LITTLE…”

“Little? Little? I’m taller than you, Ponyboy!”

“Huh, it’s not Batiste this time?”

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