Page 94 of Whiskey Wednesdays

Stepping back, I put up a hand. “I may not be in town much longer, but it was nice to see you and Tyler again. Have a good weekend.”

“You too.” He studied me then turned and walked away.

When I looked around for Connor, I saw him walking toward us with Sebastian. He didn’t look happy.

He met up with me and took my hand. “See? Total fucktwit.”

Chapter 26

The Thunderbirds had another home game on Sunday. I nervously watched the action from the front row next to Ben.

Mikael played starting goalie, and he was a machine. Titus and Wyatt still didn’t seem to trust each other, but Wyatt passed a little more often, and both he and Titus scored.

The Thunderbirds were up by one at the beginning of the third period, when an opposing player hooked Jackson in the face from behind with his hockey stick, and the stick got under his face shield.

Jackson’s head jerked back, and blood flew. He went down on his knees, and Ben and I both jumped up. When the official stopped the game, we ran out on the ice. Jackson was bent over, bleeding and holding his face with his gloved hands. When he straightened up, I saw the deep slice along his lower cheek. It reminded me of the scar on Connor’s face.

An official called a minor penalty against the player who’d hooked Jackson, and the Thunderbird players and fans erupted into angry shouts.

Ben gave Jackson a clean towel to stem the bleeding, and he skated off the ice unassisted while the crowd applauded him and booed the opposing player who skated toward the penalty box.

I glanced over at Elodie, who was standing between my dad and Connor. I gave them a quick thumbs up, and Connor put his arm around Elodie. Her face looked pale, but she waved back.

Ben took Jackson to the medical office to treat his face and stitch him up, and I stayed to finish the game. I fervently hoped there wouldn’t be any more injuries, and when the final buzzer sounded, relief coursed through me.

Jackson’s injury and the questionable call seemed to energize his teammates. They played hard during the third period and ended up winning the game four to one. I was a sweaty, nervous wreck by the end of the game.

The locker room buzzed as the players laughed and shouted at each other while they re-hashed their win. Jackson sported eight stitches across his right cheek, and he laughed when someone called him Scarface.

Connor walked into the locker room not long after, and he grinned at a few players who called out to him. He nodded to me but headed over to Jackson. I breathed a relieved sigh, picturing Coach Bailey’s head exploding if he saw Connor come over and kiss or hug me in front of the team.

My dad and Elodie were waiting outside the locker room.

When Elodie saw me, she grabbed my hand. “Is Jack okay?”

Then she zeroed in on a few spots of blood on my jacket, and her eyes went wide. I hadn’t realized I’d gotten Jackson’s blood on me. Quickly shrugging the jacket off, I squatted down next to her.

“He’s fine, Ellie. He got a cut on his face, but my friend gave him stitches.” I smiled even though I was upset Jackson would probably have a permanent scar on his face. “He looks kind of like a pirate.”

When I stood up, Dad patted my shoulder. “That was one of the few times I regret having such good seats.” He shook his head. “It was a little graphic for her.”

A couple of players started filing out of the locker room. Connor and Jackson walked out a few minutes later, and Elodie grabbed Jackson’s hand. “Are you okay? There was blood everywhere!”

Jackson knelt next to her and smiled. His stitches pulled, and he grimaced a little.

“I’m fine, Els. It looks like I might have a scar like your dad. Cool, huh?”

Elodie didn’t agree. She hugged him and patted his shoulder. “You scared us. Don’t do that anymore.”

Connor took her hand, wrapped an arm around me, and we all walked out together. The game had been exciting, and the players were pumped up from the win. I just felt shaky relief that Jackson was okay.

On Monday, Titus and I went to lunch to discuss his important issue. We picked a Tex-Mex place, and I tried to talk Titus into splitting a burrito with me.

“I can’t eat the whole thing by myself,” I argued.

“I can, and I’m paying so order what you want. And don’t be stingy, for fuck’s sake. You always order a little salad then end up eating my food.”

“That’s not true, I only eathalfyour food.”

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