Page 152 of Breakaway Hearts
I shout out to Noah, who sees me skating toward the net, nudging toward a blind spot of the goalie’s as he stares at our captain with a look of determination on his face. He doesn’t see me coming. That dirty hit from Kaplan definitely should’ve taken me out—my aching side is telling me that too.
But Noah slams the puck toward me, and I get into position just in time, ignoring the pain in my side. I catch the puck on my stick and catapult it into the net with only ten seconds left on the game clock.
The home crowd roars at our goal, and I clutch at my left side to stop my teammates from agitating my ribs more with their tackling attempts. If our defense has anything to say about it, that will be the winning goal. I spot Kaplan scowling at me over the mountain of my teammates all surrounding me, and I give him a hard smile.
Sure enough, our defense holds out, and my goal ends up being the winning one. Our fans go nuts, and we can’t even hear the groans of the few Prowlers fans peppering the arena.
After the ref blows the whistle, we move to shake hands with the Prowlers. But as I pass by Kaplan, he checks me in the shoulder instead, giving the bare minimum to everyone else. Noah calls my name when he sees me tense up as he skates toward our bench. He shifts course and comes to a stop next to me.
“Not worth it,” he mutters under his voice. “Just celebrate. It’s over for now.”
“For now.” I clench my hands, almost certain that I’ll break my stick if I hold it any tighter. “You saw that hit. That was shady as shit, and the refs didn’t catch it. The slimy fucker knows just how to time his dirty plays. He could’ve broken my fucking ribs.”
“You know he’s got it out for you,” Noah says as if that’s supposed to soothe me. “To be fair, you’ve both got it out for each other.”
“But I don’t pull bullshit like that.”
“True. Because you’re a better person and a better player. You don’t need to resort to cheating to win.” We step off the ice together and head down the tunnel to the locker room. “Don’t let that prick get under your skin. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
“Optimist to the bitter end,” I mutter.
We join the others, and I check my ribs as I tug off my equipment. They’re still sore as hell, but I can take a full deep breath in without any stabbing pain, so I don’t think there are any cracks, just bruises.
After we shower and get dressed, Coach Dunaway sends me into the press room, where I answer the usual slew of questions about how I played, how the win feels, that hit at the end, and the final goal. All very standard stuff, and when I’m finally released, I head to the staff parking lot quickly, eager to join my teammates at The Hideout for a victory drink. I could use the chance to blow off some steam, especially since Noah won’t let me go after Shawn.
Maybe I’ll find a cute girl at the bar. A couple hours of sweaty sex would definitely help me forget all about it.
The area around The Hideout is hopping, since it’s a Friday night, so I end up parking about a block away. As I stride down the sidewalk toward the bar, an unwelcome voice reaches my ears, and I scowl as my footsteps slow.
Kaplan.
He’s climbing out of the back of a black town car, talking to a willowy, dark-haired woman as she slides out after him.
“Becca, babe.” He shakes his head as he closes the door behind her. “I’ve told you a million times not to wear that jersey.”
“But it’s your jersey,” she says, glancing down at it. “I just wanted to support you.”
“You can support me and still look hot.” He tilts her chin up, giving her a kiss and a smile that looks condescending as hell from where I’m standing. “You’ve got a decent body under there, but it looks like you’re trying to cover it up. People will think you’re trying to hide something, like you’ve put on a bunch of weight or something, you know? It’s like feeding the tabloids their front page headline. Don’t do that.”
She lets out a quiet breath, looking a little defeated. “Right. Okay.”
“Hey, hey.” He drops his head a little, catching her gaze. “I’m just trying to help you, you know that. Show business is rough, babe. It’s not for the faint of heart. The tabloids and fans will tear you apart if they don’t think you’re good enough for me, so I’m just trying to help you measure up to their standards, you know?”
She nods again, somehow managing to muster a small smile. But it’s clear that he hurt her feelings, even if it’s under the guise of ‘helping’ her, and I feel my blood start to boil at the sight. What the fuck is wrong with this asshole? His girlfriend is gorgeous no matter what, and he thinks he has the right to say shit like that to her?
I take a few long strides forward, veering slightly out of my way so that I ‘accidentally’ slam my shoulder into Shawn’s. It makes my own ribs twinge a little, but it’s worth it when Shawn stumbles forward, knocked off balance by the hit. Becca lets out a little yelp of surprise, darting out of his way and almost into my arms in the process.
“Whoops. Watch out.” I touch her arm to steady her, only for the slightest moment, but it looks like Shawn’s ready to launch himself out at me and rip my head off. I turn to him, giving him a savage smile as I say, “Sorry about that. Didn’t see you there. You okay? How are your ribs? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Shawn’s face turns beet red, his hands curling into fists. Mine do the same, unconsciously mirroring his gesture as the urge to finally bring this motherfucker down fills me. But before we can start swinging, the camera crew for his reality show turns the corner, talking amongst themselves.
He immediately relaxes a little, his fists loosening as he affixes an easy, affable smile to his face. “No problem,” he tells me. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”
“Shawn!” one of the guys—a producer, maybe—calls to him as they near us. “You good for us to start rolling? Did Elaine come by to get a mic on you?”
“No, not yet,” Shawn says, stepping away from me. “I’m ready though. Let’s do it.”
“Alright, come with us.”