Page 128 of Game Changer
Kip closed the magazine. The kernel of dread that seemed to be living in his stomach lately began to grow.
Scott’s whole life could be ruined because of him. Or he could finally be whole and happy. Or he could be whole and happy with someone else...
Kip scrubbed his hands over his face. He hated thinking these things.
Scott walked through the door about forty minutes later. He smiled tiredly at Kip, who went to him and kissed him. Scott’s beard had filled in quite a bit.
“I watched the game last night,” Kip said.
“I’d like to get that one back.”
“You’ll win the rest,” Kip assured him.
“You’re coming tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah. Alone, though. Elena’s in L.A.”
“Oh. That’s too bad,” Scott said absently. He seemed distracted. Probably because he was an important person with actual problems that mattered. He didn’t need Kip’s insignificant worries piled on top of him.
“Rozanov bothering you?” Kip asked.
“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “He’s a real pain in the ass.”
“You wanna take a bath and unload all your problems on me?”
Scott gave him a small, grateful smile. “Yeah. Okay.”
Kip listened to Scott vent all evening. He kept his own problems to himself.
* * *
“It’s getting quiet in here,” Rozanov said, feigning confusion. “Why is it so quiet? There are so many people here! It should be loud, yes?”
“Shut up, Rozanov.” Scott bent to take the face-off against him.
“Itwasloud earlier. But since we scored that fourth goal it has been quiet. Is weird, I think.”
Scott gritted his teeth and made sure he won the fucking face-off.
Rozanov wasn’t wrong. The energy had been sucked out of Madison Square Garden. The hometown crowd was understandably unhappy with the 4–1 lead that Boston now had over the Admirals. It would be the second game in a row that Boston won in the series, unless by some miracle New York scored three goals in the next seven minutes.
Scott and Carter charged toward the net, Huff hanging back slightly. They executed the play they had perfected in practice: Scott passed to Carter, Carter immediately knocked it back to Huff, who took the shot and—
Stopped by the Boston goaltender.
“Sorry, Scott,” Huff said. “Fuck.”
“That was a cute move!” Rozanov chirped as he skated by Scott. “I fucking love old-timers hockey!”
He nudged Scott, which prompted Scott to shove him.Hard.
Rozanov stumbled backward, then moved like he was going to shove Scott right back. The referee, Hal Coleman, stepped in. “Come on, guys. Rozanov, stop being a dick. Hunter, stop listening to Rozanov.”
“How many minutes would I get if I just killed him?” Scott grumbled as he watched Rozanov skate away.
“I’d have to give you at least ten,” Hal said dryly. “Not worth it in the playoffs.”
Scott skated to the bench.
