Page 69 of Breakaway Goal

It’smynumber.

It feels like I’ve just been knocked down by a blindside hit; no, more like I’ve just been flattened by a Zamboni somehow going sixty miles an hour.

The unexpected sight sends shockwaves through me, and my jaw hangs open as I gaze at her dumbfounded for a long, long moment.

Then, a powerful feeling of pride and satisfaction spreads through me, like I’ve never felt before. It feels like I grow three feet taller in an instant. Pure, masculine possessiveness is pumping thick through my blood, and I want nothing more thanto toss my stick to the side, climb over the dasher boards, march to her seat, and sear her lips with a kiss as she wearsmyjersey.

The spell is broken when someone bumps into me from behind. I turn to see Tuck, wearing a shit-eating grin that’s smarmy and provocative even by his standards, which says a lot.

“Spot something interesting in the crowd, Rhys?” he taunts, his eyebrows arcing.

I beam a disgruntled look at him before turning on my blades and skating off to our section of the ice to do my stretching. His cackles follow me as I retreat.

If someone on the team had to get an inkling of my feelings for Maddie, why the hell did it have to be Tuck?

I sigh as I start to stretch. At least I know my secret is safe with him. He may love pushing people’s buttons, but he’s a good friend who’d never betray someone’s trust.

Right before puck drop, I let my gaze flit to Maddie again. I’ve dreamed of seeing her in my jersey for years—and just like kissing her, the reality is so much better than my dreams that I can’t fucking believe it.

During the game, I resist the urge to look at her, but the sight of her wearing my number is still seared into my brain, and it supercharges me throughout the game.

I play one of the best games of my life. I play like a man possessed. Electricity is simmering through my limbs, and I skate faster, hit harder, pass better, and react quicker than I can ever remember doing before.

But it’s not enough for me just to play my best. With Maddie looking on wearing my jersey, with my name on her back … fuck, I want to score a goal.

I’m a defenseman, and it’s my job to set up goals for our forwards rather than to score them myself …

But I want to. I want to send the puck into the net, hear the buzzer sounding because of me, and then look up into the crowdand see my girl jumping up and down in my jersey because of what I did out here.

In the second period, I get my chance.

Jamie’s just stolen the puck from one of our University of Maine opponents. Our forwards ahead of us are getting into position to make an attack on the enemy goal. Two of the Maine players swarm Jamie, so he unloads the puck to me.

And I see it. I see my opening. A slice of empty space from where I am straight to the Maine net.

I take the opportunity. I rear back with my stick and slam it forward, sending the puck careening through the air.

It flies right past their goalie’s right arm and collides with the back of the net.

The sound of the buzzer blasts through the frigid air. The crowd erupts, shooting to their feet in unison. My teammates rush over to me, showering me with cheers and gestures of congratulations.

My eyes go straight to Maddie in the crowd. She’s not just standing. She’s jumping up and down. The bouncing movement of my number on her chest is hypnotizing. Her mouth is wide open, cheering—cheering for me.

My heart pulses.

This is what I want. I want her in the crowd for all my games, wearing my jersey every time. I want her cheering not just for my team, not just for her brother—I want her cheering forme. I want to know I’m the one she’s watching on the ice, the one she’s here for.

For the first time, there’s a hopeful spark snuggled deep behind my sternum. Is that reallysocrazy?

The game endsin a 4-1 victory.

The first thing I do when we hit the locker room isn’t to get amped up celebrating like the rest of the guys. I head straight to my locker, grab my phone, and fire off a text to Maddie.

Meet me in the west hallway on the ground floor.

I need to see her while she’s wearing my jersey, and it very much needs to be just the two of us. I can’t go a moment longer than necessary without pressing my lips to hers, knowing that she’s wearing my name on her back.

Maddie’s familiar enough with the arena to know where I’m asking her to wait for me, it’s a section of the hallways in the bowels of the arena that’s almost always empty.

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