Page 51 of Puck King
Jake looked away from the players passing pucks to each other and waved.
“Let’s go, Ali.” Colton wrapped his arm around my neck and whispered in my ear. “Everything is turning around for me.” He pecked me on the cheek. “We’re going to win every damn game left in the regular season, I’m going to make sure of it.”
Colton hopped into the pilot’s seat, and we left the postcard scene below us behind as we prepared to return to reality. Somehow over the past twenty-four hours, I’d managed to forget that Colton was a cheater. Was I foolish to think that it would be different with me? But after his fierce defense, I had to let go of that apprehension.
Colton’s cheating days were over. I couldn’t let his past, or my own, dictate our future together.
Twenty-Three
Colton
The game was soldout and as we stood for the national anthem, my eyes scanned the crowd, ending at the King Corporation’s private box. I could see Everleigh’s white blond hair from the ice, but there was no sign of Alison.
I had asked Everleigh to send Alison a ticket when I’d sent her the photos from our date. They were enough to satisfy the tabloids for a few weeks. There were shots of us in the helicopter and a gorgeous one of Alison leaning on the kitchen island, but my favorite was the one Jake McManus had taken of us on the ice. Alison was in my arms, and her eyes were closed as I kissed the side of her face. It had felt natural, and I didn’t think that anyone would notice the difference between the photos the paparazzi had taken, and ours. But with that one, it was obvious to me that the emotions in the photo were very real.
And that was a combination of scary and really fucking exciting.
The game was tied two to all. There were only five minutes left in the third period, and Alison still hadn’t shown up. I put all my focus on the play, but wondered why she hadn’t come to the game. I thought she’d planned on coming with Hollie.
In the last few minutes, Coach pulled our goalie, which was risky. If we lost the game, we’d be out of the running for the playoffs, but if we won, it would secure our spot. In my opinion, it was worth the risk.
My heart was pumping.
We were six players to their five. We had two jobs – to keep the puck from going into our empty net obviously, and to score as fast as humanly possible. All without getting a penalty.
The rookie, Gunnar Lockwood, was my right winger, and Smitty was my left. The fans went silent as I met at center ice for the puck drop. The player on the other side of the faceoff was the biggest asshole in the league, and the only player I truly despised – Liam Bradshaw. I held his gaze, an attempt at intimidation. He was a younger player, and like Tanner, he was too big for his hockey pants.
“Hey old man, I thought you retired.” He stared back at me as we waited for the ref to drop the puck. I ignored him. Shit talking wasn’t my thing.
The puck fell in slow motion and I snatched it with a quick flick, then backhanded it to Lockwood.
“Fuck,” Bradshaw muttered the moment he realized he’d lost control, and the three of us forwards headed down the ice. The crowd was on its feet.
Lockwood faked a slapshot from the blue line and then passed it to Smitty. Bradshaw was trailing me, and as we passed the puck back and forth, he caught up. I smacked my stick on the ice and Lockwood spun, evading their defenseman to pass the puck to me. I body checked Bradshaw out of the way and charged directly at the net. The goalie steeled himself and shuffled back and forth, trying to read my next move, but I didn’t fuck around. I dangled the puck only once, then hit it – hard and high enough to go over his shoulder. I whipped past the net, but heard the distinctive sound of the puck hitting the cross bar. The red light flashed and the foghorn sounded, and I knew that I’d executed the perfect bar down. It wasn’t a shot I took often, but everything that night had been a risk. And it had all paid off. The puck had hit the bar, and instead of ricocheting or flicking over the top, it had slammed directly down to the ice and into the net. The bar down was a tricky shot, but I’d executed it perfectly.
Letting my eyes travel to the box again, I saw Everleigh on her feet, clapping with her hands above her head, but no sign of Alison. Tonight had been one of the biggest games of my life, and the disappointment that Alison hadn’t seen it was like a stone in my gut.
My disappointment was quickly replaced with a shot to my ribs. I wasn’t sure whether it was an elbow or the knob of a stick, but it didn’t matter – it hurt. “Fuck.” I turned to see Bradshaw skating away.
There was only one minute left in the game. We put our goalie back in the net, but the other team pulled theirs. It wasn’t over yet. I wanted nothing more than to smash Bradshaw into the boards – maybe even drop the gloves and give a couple of shots to his smug scarred face. But as I skated past the team, I knew I couldn’t risk it.
As we lined up to shake hands at the end of the game, I told myself to keep a clear head. Bradshaw was just a rookie, but had quickly climbed the ranks of the Toronto Tigers. I met his eyes as we shook hands. He squeezed hard, but I squeezed harder. He leaned in close. “Fuck you, old man,” he whispered.
I couldn’t help it. “That’s what your mom said last night.” It was immature, but I knew that these young players hated mom jokes.
Before I knew what was happening, Bradshaw grabbed my jersey. The roar from the crowd was louder than when I’d scored the winning goal. He had time to get in one punch before the refs pulled him off me. “Fuck you, King,” he shouted as he was escorted off the ice.
Gunnar leaned in. “What the hell was that?”
“Kid’s rough. He needs to learn his place.” The spot where Bradshaw had elbowed me in the ribs throbbed, reminding me I wasn’t an enforcer, but the captain of the team.
Off the ice, the mood in the dressing room was upbeat. We had scored ourselves a spot in the playoffs. Even if we were in last place, we had made it. Most of the guys on the team were clean-shaven, but they would soon be scruffy, sporting full-on playoff beards.
We had a full week until the first game in the series, and I couldn’t wait to spend some time with Alison. As the guys cleared out of the dressing room, I wondered why she hadn’t been in the private box with Everleigh. I checked my phone to make sure there wasn’t an emergency, but there weren’t any new messages from Alison. The last one, which I’d already seen, was her wishing me good luck in the game.
“Great game, boys.” Everleigh’s voice made me look up from my phone. “Can’t wait to see those playoff beards get long.”
Everleigh wove her way past the players and sat beside me. “I need a word with you.”
