Chapter Twenty

A s I walk up to my dorm room door, I hear muffled music playing from inside. Quickly, I unlock the door and step inside.

Peyton turns toward me and smiles. "Hey, where'd you go this morning?"

After making sure the door clicks shut, I walk over to my bed and set my bag on the floor. "I had an errand I needed to run."

"Good. You better hurry and get ready. It's a long drive."

"I am ready," I tell her, looking down at my outfit.

Peyton rolls her eyes as she walks to my closet. "No, you're not."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I have on a Walker Wolves hockey hoodie and a pair of jeans.

Peyton finds what she's looking for and tosses it to me. I catch the jersey right before it hits me in the face.

"There's nothing wrong with it, but you and I both know you should wear that."

I look down at the jersey and run my hand over his name on the back. While yes, I want to wear it, I know if I do, it will make everything between us seem real. I don't know where we stand since we haven't seen each other since things changed.

"Did something happen between you two?" Peyton asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I feel my cheeks heat. I meant to tell her everything yesterday morning, but after I hashed it out with my mom, I didn't feel like going over it all again. By the time Peyton woke up, I was a mess and decided to keep it to myself.

Seems like I don't get that option now.

Peyton squeals and dances around in a circle. "You're getting over that dumbass!"

"Shut up," I mutter as I try to fight back a smile.

Peyton flings herself onto her bed and rolls over to look at me. "Look, I'll be nice and won't ask you questions right now because we need to get ready, but I'm happy for you. As far as I can tell, Clay is a great guy and is into you and only you."

"You think so?"

Peyton scoffs. "You two are so blind when it comes to how you look at each other. Just trust me on this."

I chew on the corner of my cheek. "I'm scared."

Her eyes soften. "Clayton isn't Kellan. You have to give him a chance to make him prove himself."

I look down at the jersey as I think about it. She's not wrong. Time and time again, Clayton has proven to me that he isn't like Kellan.

"You're right."

Peyton jumps off the bed. "I usually am. Now, let's get ready and go. I want to grab some popcorn and nachos."

I laugh under my breath as I pull off the sweatshirt. Standing, I drop the jersey on the bed and walk to my closet. After taking off my T-shirt, I grab a thick, long-sleeved shirt and put it on. Turning, I move back to the bed and grab the jersey, slipping it over my head.

"How do I look?" I ask as I hold my hands out to the side.

Peyton turns and tilts her head to the side. "Almost perfect. Come here."

I walk over and sit on her bed. Peyton pulls out black eyeliner from her bag. She comes over and starts drawing on my cheek. With Clayton's numbers drawn on my cheeks, she moves on to putting some makeup on my face.

"This is ridiculous. Just make sure you don't put too much on me, you know I don't like it," I mumble as I try not to move my face too much.

"Hush. Trust my process," she scolds.

Once she's done with the makeup, she starts messing with my hair.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Absolutely. Tonight you are going to his game as the girl who's interested in him, not as his friend. I won't let you look anything else other than smoking hot."

"Am I not smoking hot every day?"

She rolls her eyes. "You know you are, but still, you know what I mean."

Once she's finished, I stand and look in the mirror. She's right, I do look better than I normally do. I wonder what Clayton will think.

"Come on." She grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the door.

"Wait." I pull out of her hold and move back toward my bed. Leaning down, I open my backpack and pull out my wallet. "All right, let's go."

Arm in arm, Peyton and I leave our room and go down to Clayton's car. When he offered it to me, I didn't think anything of it. Now I'm wondering if it could mean something more.

This is why we shouldn't have crossed that line. I am overanalyzing everything.

Once inside the car, Peyton proceeds to put on her road trip playlist.

It's only a couple hours to the rink, but I find it peaceful. It gives me enough time to settle my mind. By the time we pull up to the rink, I feel better about everything.

"I feel like I shouldn't be this excited to see him," I admit to Peyton as we start the walk to the rink.

She threads her arm through mine. "Don't say that, Grace. You have the right to feel however you want. I bet he is just as excited to see you."

"You think so?" I ask, hopeful.

"I bet he searches you out the moment he gets on the ice."

Smiling, I tuck my head. I know my cheeks are bright red at the thought.

"People are wild," she says as she watches someone jump off the roof of a truck onto a plastic table below them.

"Tailgaters." I sigh, shaking my head.

"Hey baby!" some guy catcalls.

"Suck my dick!" Peyton shouts back.

"Pey!" I hiss, slapping her arm.

"What? I didn't do anything!"

We make our way into the rink and show the attendant our tickets before moving to the concession stand. Once loaded down, we make our way to our seats and settle in. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling at home. No matter where you or how different they are, rinks are all the same. The air is crisp, there's tension in the room, and you know no matter what you are in for one hell of a game.

"I can't believe you are eating a hot dog," Peyton grumbles as she picks at a chip.

"Sporting events are the only time it's acceptable to eat one," I say before taking a bite.

She rolls her eyes. "You got ketchup on the corner of your mouth."

"Shit," I mutter as I grab my napkin, running it over my lips. "Did I get it?"

"You're good."

The seats start to fill as we enjoy our food, and before you know it, the guys start to come onto the ice to warm up. Instantly, I find Clayton, and my breath catches.

He makes that uniform look good.

Almost as if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks up and spots me immediately. As soon as he sees me, a smile takes over his face, making my heart race. I can't help but smile and send him a little wave back.

"Girlfriend, you got it bad," Peyton teases as she bumps her shoulder into mine.

Finally, I pull my eyes away from Clayton.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.

"Right," she drawls. "I can't wait to watch this play out."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up and eat your nachos."

"Now I know you guys have what it takes. Those fans know you do too. Now I want you to show those scouts what you are made of. Go out there and show them why Wolves are so vicious!" Coach yells.

We all howl in unison, the locker room becoming rowdy.

This is what it's like before every game. This energy flowing through our bodies as we anticipate three periods of intense battle. Only one can be a winner.

It's going to be us.

Rushing out onto the ice, we all do our warm-ups. I glance over to the area I put Grace in. She's there, my jersey on her with my number on her cheek, and I fucking love it.

Warmth runs through me as I rub my hand over my chest.

She looks like my girlfriend. Why doesn't that scare me like it used to?

Yesterday morning, I was so worried when she didn't text back right away. I saw that she read it pretty quickly, but she never responded. It made me wonder if I made a mistake the other night.

Does she regret it?

I don't. Fuck, her breathy little moans and the way she arched into me have consumed my thoughts. I want to do it again, over and over. I want to see what other noises I can get her to make.

For the first time in my life, I get why the guys are always chasing tail. I don't want just any girl, though.

I want Grace.

Then she texted back, sending me one of those stupid emojis that I hate. Well, I normally hate it, but when she sent it? I had other feelings. I couldn't wait to see her tonight.

I wave at her, smiling when she waves back.

Then I focus back on the game. I'm going to win this game for my guys and for her.

Warm-ups go by quickly, then the game starts.

It's a fight right out of the gate. The Garrison Ravens are no joke. They have many amazing players that I'm sure will end up playing professionally. They are known for being one of the best teams in the country.

So are we, though.

I sneak another glance at Grace as I exit the ice. After all the pregame rituals, the buzzer finally indicates the game is on.

I sit on the bench, watching my guys go out there making it known that we might be in their house, but we are here to play.

The Ravens aren't holding back either. They want this win. That much is obvious.

When their enforcer slams Beckett against the wall, I stand, waiting for the fight. It doesn't come. The referee gets in there before they can start anything, sending the enforcer to the penalty box. Beckett comes back to the bench.

"You good?" I ask as I go to take his place on the ice.

"Fine," he grumbles.

Heading onto the ice, I try to make the most of the power play we have. Brett and Kellan are both on the ice with me. Kellan seems to be as angry as I am about the cheap shot on Beckett.

He looks at me and nods as if saying, "Let's destroy these assholes."

I nod back.

Kellan gets the puck and hauls ass down the ice. I'm right there with him. He barely misses a check as he slaps the puck my way.

I feel the puck connect with my stick, but it doesn't stay there long. I swing my stick, hitting the puck perfectly. The buzzer sounds, showing that we scored.

I cheer with the rest of my team. I'm surprised when Kellan knocks my helmet with a smile.

This is the camaraderie we have been missing. Who knew all it took was Beckett taking a cheap shot?

I go back to the bench and switch back out for Beckett. Kellan does the same. Brett is now on the ice.

I watch as he plays enforcer with a vengeance. I've always thought it funny that he plays such an intimidating position when he is the most laid-back guy of us all. Then again, maybe that's his secret. Get all the aggression out on the ice.

"That was a great shot," Kellan tells me.

"Wouldn't have been able to do it without your assist. Watch number fourteen. He is playing dirty," I tell him.

"If he hurts one of our guys again, I might have to switch positions."

I snort. "Brett's out there. He can handle it."

Just as I say that, I watch it happen. It's as if it is in slow motion. The same enforcer from before is after Beckett. This time, he doesn't slow though. He slams Beckett into the boards so hard that his head bounces off the glass.

I'm on my feet in an instant. Then I watch as my best friend crumbles to the ground. I'm over the wall and skating to him, ignoring the yells. I slide on my knees across the ice as I come to him, but he's not awake.

"Beck. Wake up, buddy. Beckett."

I tear my gloves off before taking his helmet off. Then I feel for his pulse.

When I feel it pumping strong, I feel like I might cry with joy.

"Move out of the way," the on-site paramedic says, pushing through our teammates. He is on the ground on the other side of him in an instant. As he looks him over, Beckett blinks his eyes open.

"Beck, buddy. You're ok. Don't move," I tell him.

"What happened?" he groans.

That's not a good sign.

"Just stay relaxed. The paramedics are going to take good care of you."

The paramedic starts asking him questions, but I stay by his side the whole time. When they finally load him up on a stretcher and take him out, I finally stand. I look right at the enforcer now being led off the ice.

He's lucky they ejected him from the game.

For the first time in my entire life, my career wouldn't have mattered to me. The vengeance I feel for my buddy has taken over.

Once back at the bench, I look at my team.

"Let's stomp these fuckers into the ground. For Beckett."

"For Beckett," they echo.