Page 39 of Power Move
Smiling, he raises onto his toes, cups my face in his hands, and seals his lips over mine. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 11
SAGE
The dressing roomis rocking with Maxim’s music choice of a French pop band. Grinning at him singing away, I tug on my jersey. It’s been a long road trip. Chicago, Colorado, Las Vegas, and now tonight in San Jose, and then facing LA in two days. Then back home for the final game of the season.
My body is sore from the last game, but my mood is high. It’s been a week since Rhys and I had dinner with his parents. They liked me, and I liked them. My point streak is still alive. And I get to call him my boyfriend now, to friends, and once the season is over, we’ll figure out how to tell everyone else.
Beside me, Morgan sips coffee as he dresses. “I’m telling you, that goaliecannotblock a shot off the left side of the post. I think he’s injured and trying to play through it. If you concentrate your shots there tonight, they’re definitely going in.”
“I noticed the same thing watching the videos.” I sit to tie my skates.
Expression strained, Maxim drops onto the bench next to me and motions for Morgan to join us. “San Jose called up Chad.”
Shock stills my hands. “What? For real?”
“Yeah. Today. Quinn just told me. Two of their players were injured in a collision during the morning skate, one has a concussion, the other messed up his knee.”
“Yikes.” I crane my neck, looking for Rhys’s auburn hair. “Does Rhys know?”
“Quinn’s telling him now. I know Rhys says he feels nothing, and that’s great. But I saw the way Chad looked at him that day. That dude has issues.” Maxim pats my shoulder and stands. “We’ll look out for him.”
I crack my neck, and my knuckles. “Of course we will.”
Coach comes in. Maxim cuts the music. We get the starting lineup. Maxim, Quinn, and me. Rhys and Remy. And Pierre.
I slip behind Rhys on the way into the tunnel, walking to warm ups. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He bumps his arm into mine, and I take the chance, grabbing hold of his hand with a squeeze of support, then release him before anyone notices. “I guess Maxim told you.”
“Yep. We have your back.”
We reach the ice. He hops on and waits for me, then guides me into a lap around our zone, his glove clutching my jersey. “Listen to me. I know you’ve played against him twice. But I was his teammate for a few years. He’s an ass who tries to take people out. You’re one of our best players. You need to watch your back tonight. Don’t drop your head if you have the puck. Stay alert.”
“Okay.” I press closer to him, using our momentum as we turn. “You be careful too. Maxim thinks Chad still has an issue with you.”
“The only way Chad can hurt me now is by hurting you.” He glances at the sea of blue jerseys. Chad is in the mix, taking shots at the goalie.
My guard goes up. Games where two rival teams meet are always more energized. But this feels different. Personal. For thefirst time in my life, I wish a hockey game was over before it’s begun.
I get in position as Maxim lines up for a faceoff. Chad’s line is out for San Jose. Putting the fourth line out against our top line is a deliberate choice by his coach. The anxiety that’s prickled my blood all evening grows sharper.
San Jose scored early, slipping a goal past Pierre on a wrap-around five minutes into the game. They got another goal halfway through the second period. We clawed our way back at the top of the third with my two goals, back to back, within the first ninety seconds. Morgan was right, the left side is the goalie’s weakness.
I’d love to get a hat trick. But with Chad on the ice, and in light of what Rhys said, I feel like there’s a target on my back. Chad’s mission tonight seems to be functioning as a wrecking ball. I tense up every time he and Rhys are on the ice together.
Maxim wins the face off and sends the puck to Quinn. He barrels down the center of the rink and I race up the side, making sure he crosses the blue line before I do.
In a play we perfected in practice, he passes me the puck between his legs, mid-skate.
I get it on my stick and skate closer. As I fire a wrist shot, something smacks into my back, spinning me. I fall, watching the puck rocket toward the net at a wider angle thanks to whoever checked me and changed the puck’s trajectory.
Both Maxim and a San Jose defenseman fly in, but the puck squeaks by between the left post and the goalie’s left skate and crosses over the line. The red goal light goes off.
“Yes!” Still sitting on the ice, I pump my hands in the air.
Quinn grabs my glove and hauls me to my feet. He sweeps me into a hug. “Nice job, man.”
