Page 62 of Make Your Move
Things calm down in the stands, and the Archers move through the second period and into the third without the other team scoring a single goal. Rowan is on fire; the rest of the guys are buzzing and the energy is palpable inside the arena. The opposing team is feeling their loss, and no one ever likes to lose with a shutout. They’re starting to get chippy and aggressive. Lincoln and his team are all highly capable of taking the hits, but when the tensions are high like this, it’s hard to not feel like your stomach is going to fall out of your body.
I’m on the edge of my seat, watching them volleying the puck back and forth, skating from one side to the other. Our team has spent more time in their offensive zone than anything, and you can see the other team is getting pissed. The exhaustion is evident, and our guys are running them hard right now.
One of their wingers gets possession of the puck and dumps it into our defensive zone. It goes sliding across the goal line and the ref calls an icing, bringing the face off back to our offensive zone. Lincoln comes off the bench and skates to the middle, getting into position in the center of the circle. There’s only three minutes left in the game, and everyone is feeling the win already.
There are others who are also feeling the loss…
The ref drops the puck, and Lincoln battles with the other team’s center for the piece of rubber. Lincoln ends up winning it, sending it back to Caleb Ford, one of the defensive players on the team. Their center takes three strides, charging at Lincoln before shouldering him in the chest. Lincoln’s knocked backward, instantly falling back onto the ice.
My heart stops in my chest, and panic builds in the pit of my stomach as I jump up to my feet. The whistle blows, play stops and Lincoln is still on the ice for a second. My breath is stuck inmy throat, and my hands are by my mouth as time stretches on for an eternity.
“Sit the fuck down,” the drunken man behind me calls out as he throws his cup into the row in front of me.
Ignoring him, I keep my eyes on the ice, watching as Lincoln climbs up to his feet. Relief floods me, and I let out the breath I was holding as I watch him slowly start skating over to the bench. He doesn’t look like he’s limping or anything bad, but that hit definitely took it out of him. Since the game is so close to being over, I don’t imagine he’ll be back out.
“Can you not fucking hear me, you stupid bitch?”
I swallow roughly, still standing as I meet Lincoln’s gaze. He looks okay, just exhausted, and I feel even more relieved. He gives me a small smile, and that’s enough to ease my worries. He’s going to be sore from getting hit like that, but it could have been worse. Lincoln gets off the ice, and he looks back over at me once more as he’s about to walk down the tunnel.
A pair of massive hands lands on my shoulders like a ton of bricks as I’m jerked backward and slammed down into my seat. “I said sit the fuck down.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, my eyes widening as I’m completely caught off guard and in a state of shock. There’s a sudden flurry of commotion around me, and my mind can’t even comprehend what is going on. I think I see a security officer, and the people around me are jumping to my defense, but I can’t move. I can’t think.
Tears spring to my eyes when my brain finally catches up to the chaos that has ensued around me. Someone grabs my arm, dragging me from my seat and pulling me into the aisle. I glance at the older woman who’s saying something to me, but I don’t hear the words falling from her lips as I see Lincoln standing in the stands behind me, fully dressed in his gear, skates and all.
He’s going to ruin those blades on the concrete.
I don’t know why the hell that’s the first thought that crosses my mind, but then I see him pushing the usher before he grabs a fist full of the front of the man’s shirt. Lincoln throws a fist, and it connects with the man’s nose before they’re broken up.
The usher that Lincoln originally pushed starts pulling him away while two others have the drunken man. Lincoln’s gaze meets mine, blood dripping from his mouth as his eyes scan my face. It’s loud and chaotic around us. The officer takes Lincoln over toward the seats by the tunnel, and that’s when I see the door that’s open.
Lincoln must have come through the small, latched door that the team doctors use. They sit in the seats right by it during the game, and I see the three men in suits following Lincoln into the tunnel before the door is closed behind them.
I’m in a state of shock and thankfully my feet move on autopilot as I head up the stairs, out to the concourse. I manage to sneak away before anyone pulls me to the side. I slip out of the building and out to my car in a haste. My body is still shaking as I sit down and stare back at the stadium.
I don’t know what will happen to Lincoln after this, but I don’t imagine it will be good…
CHAPTER THIRTY
LINCOLN
The gate out front groans as I push it open and let it fall shut behind me. There’s a click from the latch, and I let out a deep breath as I look up at the massive Victorian house in front of me. As I start to walk, I feel a twinge of pain in my thigh, the aching feeling radiating from my knee to my hip. The hit I took at the end of the game didn’t fuck me up, but my body is feeling the stress from it.
It’s fine though.
I’m going to have plenty of time to let my body rest right now.
Nash didn’t follow me home, since he figured I would need some time after I got back here. He went over to Ford’s house and would be back later on. I’m glad he went there. The only thing I’m worried about right now is seeing Nova and making sure she’s okay.
The wood floorboards creak under my weight as I begin to walk up onto the front porch. Movement from my right catches my eye and I look over, seeing the swing swaying back and forth. I see an outline of someone sitting there, and as the swing moves backward, moonlight catches on their head, illuminating her blonde hair.
My throat constricts, and I walk over to her, stopping in front of the swing as she looks up at me. “Is there room for one more?”
I don’t miss the corners of her mouth lifting as she pats the cushion beside her. “Always.”
Reaching for the chain, I stop it from moving, just enough for me to sit down next to her. Relief washes over my body, easing some of the pain as I take the weight off my legs. Nova pulls her legs up, facing me with her legs bent in front of her. I let out a sigh, turning to face Nova as we begin to gently sway. I reach for her, my hands grabbing her knees as I pull her closer to me.
She throws her legs over my lap, the backs of her thighs resting against the side of mine. I wrap my arms around her knees. “Are you okay?” I ask her, feeling the soft material of her pajama pants beneath my fingers.