Page 161 of Home Game

No.I prefer spunky, punk rocker chicks who make me laugh and never hold a verbal punch if they can get one in. “Just not in the mood these days.”

His voice lowered. “It’s been over four months.”

“I’m not ready.”

He shrugged. “We will keep on trying.”

“Nope. My only focus is winning the playoffs.”

“When we win the cup, will you let me set you up again?”

“I’ll think about it.”

CHAPTER 32

ZOEY

I decidedI needed more furniture. Mica drove me to IKEA where he helped me pick out a couch and a farm-style dining room table I wanted to use as a desk. Mica insisted on buying me a TV. I didn’t find the same joy I had when decorating Ryan’s place, but I put effort into buying accessories, pillows, and homey touches.

That night, after assembling my furniture, he set up my TV.

“We’re going on the road tomorrow.”

“How’s the team doing?” Which really meant,how is Ryan doing?

Mica was top-notch. He knew what I meant.

“He wants to fight. Coach isn’t happy, but he’s one of our top goal scorers so he gets away with it.”

“Why?”Why was he fighting? Is he okay? Is he getting hurt?

Mica turned on the TV. “He’s in a shit place. I told you that.”

“So he’s fighting?”

“Every chance he can get.”

The next night,against my will, I watched their away game in Edmonton. I greedily drank in the sight of Ryan skating around. He looked bigger than I remembered. He also looked more scruffy. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and his hair was longer beneath his helmet. He had a healing cut beneath his eye and another one on his lip. He reminded me of a battle-worn Viking.

Mica hadn’t lied.

If a player on the opposite team looked at Ryan funny, he was driving them against the boards, body checking them the moment they got the puck and acting like a bulldozer who tore through their team without care. If an opposing player tried to take action back, it wasn’t pretty.

For the other team.

He wants to fight.

I watched with my hands over my mouth, as the commentators talked about the change that had come over Ryan, and how Vancouver fans had nicknamed him “The Terminator” because he destroyed everyone in his path.

Between a play, Jensen chirped at an Edmonton player and the camera zoomed into the two players verbally sparring face-to-face on the ice. Jensen wasn’t a small guy, but he looked like a child next to this guy. I watched in amazement as Ryan moved with speed to Jensen’s side. He wasn’t as big as the Edmonton player, but at least he looked like he could hold his own.

“Just skate away,” I breathed from behind my hands.

The player shoved Ryan and then the giant’s head snapped back from Ryan’s fist. It wasn’t a pretty fight, most of which I missed because I squeezed my eyes shut, but when they ended up in the penalty box, both were bleeding.

I had forgotten how much I loved hockey.

The network showed repeated slow-motion clips of the fight, buzzing about how surprised Jensen looked when Ryan came to his defense. It wasn’t a secret they didn’t like each other, so this was big news in the hockey world.

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