31. Anthony

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Nova tapped my shin with his stick as we clomped out to the ice. “Does this mean you’ll remember how to play hockey today?”

“Hey!” I whacked him with my own stick. “I always remember to play!”

He shot me a pointed look.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, dude. I’ve been doing fine for a while.”

“Uh-huh. You have. So how about you keep it up, yeah?”

I just laughed, and when we reached the sheet, I skated out to start my pre-practice warmup routine. Nova was right—I was in a damn good mood this morning. Even the ride to the arena with Simon hadn’t been enough to dampen my spirits. As I skated, I could still feel last night, which had me smiling to myself behind my visor.

Practice started, and I joined my teammates, reminding myself to concentrate. Hockey, not Wyatt, damn it.

I’d been so distracted on the ride in with Simon this morning that I’d barely been able to follow our conversation. Not that we’d talked much; Simon hadn’t been chatty and I didn’t feel compelled to make small talk. Still, I’d assumed that with as hard as I’d had to work just to stay focused on him, I’d be a mess once I hit the ice.

Not so much—the morning skate went really well. Through all of our light drills and line rushes, I was dialed in.

In the locker room, Coach clapped my shoulder. “I don’t know what you did to get your head back in the game, Aussie, but keep it up. You’re on a roll, and I like it.”

Thank God I was still hot from practice, so my face was probably flushed enough that he wouldn’t notice if I blushed. And I managed to not cut my eyes toward Simon at the next locker stall. Somehow, I held on to enough dignity and restraint to just say, “Thanks, Coach. I will.”

He left us to continue changing out of our gear, and Simon turned to me. “So what are you doing to get your head in the game?”

Why do I feel like if I tell you, you won’t have your head in the game?

I shrugged. After I’d pulled off my jersey, I said, “Just focusing better, I guess.”

He peered at me in that way that meant he knew I was full of shit.

He wisely let it go, though. Awesome. That meant we could have it out in the car. Couldn’t fucking wait.

Ugh. Well, there wasn’t much I could do to avoid it, so I just continued with my routine. I showered, threw on some sweats, and joined Simon, Nova, and some of the other guys for our post-practice meal. As we were eating, Megan from PR came into the lounge and stopped by our table.

“Hey, boys.” She smiled. “Just wanted to give you a heads up that Casino Night is coming up in February. We’ll be doing some training for card dealing, which will be a refresher for some of you.” She shot a pointed look toward Nova. “Since some of you clearly needed one last year.”

“What?” Nova spread his hands. “I know the rules!”

“I know you do,” Megan muttered. “But the refresher is still mandatory, and you’d better listen this time.”

Everyone just chuckled. Nobody really stuck to the rules on Casino Night. It was for charity anyway—the chips were exchanged for raffle tickets at the end, not cash—so being sticklers for the rules really wasn’t that important. And besides, the fans who came to play loved it, and they’d buy even more chips to play with those of us who screwed off, which meant more money for the charity. So who cared?

It really was a lot of fun, too. A nice night out. I hoped Wyatt enjoyed it.

Speaking of Wyatt, I pulled Megan aside on my way out of the locker room. “Oh, hey, can I get an extra ticket for someone?”

Megan took out her phone. “Sure. Just the one?”

I nodded. She jotted herself a note, then smiled at me as she pocketed the phone again. “Got it. I’ll email the info to you.”

“Awesome. Thanks!”

I made it all of two steps away from her before Simon headed me off. From his hard expression, he wanted to talk. Like, now.

I didn’t want to talk to him, but we weren’t going to argue here in the locker room. So, we stepped out into the hall, and once we’d made sure we were alone, I faced him. “What?”

Simon glared at me. “You’re bringing someone to Casino Night?”

“Yeah.” I held his gaze without flinching. “Is that all right?”

He set his jaw. “Let me guess—your ‘roommate’ who you’re totally not banging?”

A cold rush of panic shot through me before my brain caught up. Simon didn’t know Wyatt and I had slept together. He’d been suspicious since day one. He didn’t know a damn thing.

I shrugged with as much indifference as I could muster. “Is that a problem?”

Simon blinked. “Um. Yes? It is?”

“Why? He came to Thanksgiving, so the whole team has—”

“And you don’t think that’ll get rumors flying?” he snapped. “If he keeps coming to shit with you?”

“Uh, not if he’s just there like a normal person and we’re not doing anything incriminating, no?” I crossed my arms and inclined my head. “Would you be this pissy if I was bringing a woman?”

He scowled. “This isn’t about you being bi.”

“No, it’s about you being jealous and insecure.” I narrowed my eyes. “No one’s going to think anything of it if you don’t make anything of it. He’s a friend. Get over it.”

Then I turned and stalked away, not interested in getting into a pissing match with him. Not here. Not where someone could see or hear us. This wasn’t the time or place. If he wanted to have it out in the car later… eh. Whatever. I couldn’t even muster up enough aggravation to care.

As for bringing Wyatt to Casino Night, yeah, it was possible rumors might start. Especially when Cole Tandy was so hellbent on digging up dirt and splashing it all over the place for clout.

But Wyatt and I didn’t do anything in public that would lend any credence to those rumors. As I’d pointed out to both Simon and Tandy, I did have friends. I didn’t screw every man in my orbit any more than I screwed every woman who came near me.

And no one—not Simon, not Tandy, not the team, not the public—had any real, concrete reason to suspect Wyatt and I were sleeping together.

Admittedly, as much as I’d hated keeping my relationship with Simon a secret, the secrecy gave me a little thrill now. Maybe because I was rebelling against my ex and the rules our team had put on us. Or maybe because everything about this thing with Wyatt gave me a thrill.

I’d spent last night having the best sex of my life. I’d been spending all my free time lately with the sweetest, most laidback man I’d ever met. I was giddy to the point of distraction over this newfound connection with Wyatt.

And none of it was anyone else’s goddamned business.

Sometimes it wasn’tworth the headache—both traffic and my traveling companion—to go home between the morning skate and a game.

Today, putting up with gridlock and Simon’s pissy mood turned out to be a small inconvenience compared to what was waiting for me when I got home.

“Aren’t athletes supposed to abstain before a game?” Wyatt had asked between kisses. “Something, something, using up all their energy?”

“Urban legend,” I’d panted against his lips. “Get these clothes off.”

Now, a few hours later as I put on my gear in the locker room, I felt amazing. Getting laid earlier definitely hadn’t taken away any energy or focus for tonight. In fact, my focus was sharper. We’d relieved a solid year’s worth of tension and frustration yesterday and this afternoon, and I was so fucking ready to get out there and play hockey. I was ready to play the kind of hockey Coach had been impatiently waiting for out of me since the season started.

Was Wyatt a magical cure-all for my game being off? No, but he sure had yanked me out of my post-Simon funk, and that crystallized my concentration on everything. It was like the whole damn world had shifted back into focus, and I could finally function again. And it wasn’t just the sex with Wyatt—it was the broken standoff with Simon.

Jesus. Why had I tried so hard to save that trainwreck of a relationship?

Ah, well. It was over now, and I was happily moving the hell on. Some good sex, and now—hopefully—some good hockey.

The game started slower than any of us would’ve liked. That was a thing this team did sometimes—coming out of the gate sluggish—and it was costly. The only reason it didn’t cost us dearly tonight was because Beaus stood on his head and made some spectacular saves. By the end of the first period, we were tied one apiece, but Minneapolis had three times the shots on goal we did.

Fuck. We needed to get it together. Our offense needed to be more aggressive, and our defense needed to keep those assholes away from our net. Coach told as much during the first intermission, if in decidedly more colorful terms. He finished by reminding us we had a whole farm team full of prospects who’d happily show up if we couldn’t be bothered.

We came out for the second as a different team. Simon’s line racked up four shots on goal during their first shift, and when Nova and I went out with the third line, we kept the pressure on. Two shots very nearly went in, and I would go to my grave wondering how their goalie stopped that second one. He was good, damn it.

But we’d put a puck behind him once this game, and we could do it again. We kept up the pressure, even as the third line peeled away. The first line was coming back out, so Coach must’ve seen what I did—we were wearing the other team down, and that was the perfect time to bring out our top line to make things happen.

We cycled and shot, cycled and shot, and the other players were clearly getting tired, desperate for a line change. Perfect.

I fired a pass from the blue line to D’Angelo, who was near the net, and he wound back to put it on goal—

And the whistle blew.

I looked around and found a linesman gesturing at Nova, then at his own leg.

For God’s sake. Really?

Yep. Really. Nova was headed to the box for tripping.

As Minneapolis’s power play unit came onto the ice, relieving their exhausted players, I watched the replay.

Okay, fine, it was a good call. But the guy Nova tripped should’ve taken a penalty for embellishment, because wow, he really wanted to sell it, didn’t he? Ugh. I hated guys who did that. We all wanted to draw penalties, but this wasn’t soccer. Don’t be a baby about it.

I headed for the bench. Coach usually had me on the top penalty kill unit, but I’d already been out for a solid ninety seconds. I needed the breather, especially going up against one of the top power play units in the League.

Within half a minute, I was bouncing my knee and itching to go over the boards. I was still a little winded, but damn it, I wanted to get out there. I wanted to help keep this power play from scoring. They were on a hot streak—they’d scored in nineteen of their last twenty power plays—and I wanted us to break it.

Finally, Chip cleared the puck, and as the first penalty kill unit came back, I flew over the boards with the rest of the second.

Minneapolis’s guys were speeding back through the neutral zone, ready to set up in our end. Two of our guys closed in on the forward who had the puck, and he did a no-look pass to one of his teammates.

No-look passes had one major weakness, though: the guy he was passing to was probably where he expected him to be, but he wasn’t the only player on the ice.

In this case, I swooped in between them and stole the puck.

I’d intended to just steal it and clear it, but the instant it hit my tape, I realized the player he’d been passing to was pulling up the rear. There was no one behind him. Just empty space between him and the goal.

I whipped past the forward who’d been expecting to receive the puck, and I hauled ass toward their zone. The crowd roared. Players were shouting at each other and probably at me, but I couldn’t hear them. Not over the fans. Not over my heart pounding in my ears.

This goalie was almost impossible to score on from straight ahead unless there was a screen in front of him. I barreled head on toward him, eyes locked on him as he watched me, blocker and glove up and ready.

With a few feet to go, I made like I was going to dart to one side and wrist the puck into the goal.

He fell for it.

Moved to block my incoming shot.

And left the other side of the net wide open.

One backhand later, the goal light lit up my whole world. The roar of the crowd drowned out everything else as I banged myself into the glass and did a fist pump just before my teammates crushed me in hugs and helmet smacks.

I was almost lightheaded with joy. Though I put in a lot of minutes on the penalty kill, this was only the second shorthanded goal of my career. It also gave us the lead.

My teammates were all smiles and full of “nice one, Aussie!” as I skated by the bench for fist bumps.

Well, except for one.

Simon smiled because there were cameras nearby, and he fist-bumped me like everybody else, but his eyes were frosty.

I rolled mine.

Whatever, dude. Do you want to win this game or not?

I felt too good to care about his attitude, both because I’d scored and given us the lead, and because I just… didn’t care about his bullshit anymore.

Especially since I knew there was someone else watching who would be more than happy to celebrate with me later.

I grinned to myself as we set up to finish the penalty kill.

And I couldn’t wait to get home to Wyatt.