Page 115 of Player Misconduct
"Someone has to make sure you don't try to fight a goalpost again."
"I told you. Someone tripped me into it."
"Likely story."
He laughs, the sound echoing around the nursery, and I can't help but laugh with him.
I follow Aleksi downstairs, still smiling, my hand brushing the banister.
Later that evening, I'm standing near the tunnel at the arena. My checklist for game day is done, everyone who needs to go back over stretching and warmups has been properly chastised and now the rumble of the early entry fans are starting to echo in the halls.
I head out to watch the players warm up… making sure my lecture to a few of them didn’t go unheard. The ice gleams under the lights, the final soundchecks over the loud speaker with the tech team are done. The light show between periods seems to be spot on and the sounds of the Hawkeyes on the ice is rhythmic.
Aleksi spots me and skates over, taking off his helmet and sliding it under his arm. His grin is so bright it warms me immediately.
He leans in close, voice low. "For luck?"
I glance around, heart pounding. "I’m not kissing you for luck. Season ticket holders are already here. That would be highly unprofessional."
"Guess I'll have to skate superstitiously bad without it."
I sigh, then kiss him quick and soft. "Go win something, sunshine."
"Already did," he says, skating off.
I watch him go, my hand drifting to my belly.
He has no idea how much I want this to last. Maybe his optimism really is contagious.
I head toward the stands, weaving through the crowd, my heart still racing from that stolen kiss.
And then I feel it.
A shift in the air. A prickle at the back of my neck. I glance over my shoulder and freeze.
Tarron.
He's standing near the concessions, arms crossed, watching me. And he doesn't look happy. Everything finally felt right, until now.
That's what scares me most.
The arena hums with pre-game energy—vendors hawking nachos, kids waving foam fingers, the sharp scent of fresh Zamboni ice. I keep walking, forcing my feet to move even though my pulse has kicked into overdrive.
Don't look back. Don't engage.
But I can feel his eyes on me, tracking my every step.
I make it to the medical office and slip inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click. My hand shakes as I set my bag down on the desk.
He's here. Why is he here?If he plans on making another scene, I don’t know what I’ll do to stop him.
My phone buzzes.
Tarron:We need to talk.
I stare at the screen, my stomach twisting.
I delete the message and shove the phone into my pocket, willing my hands to stop shaking.
