22. Devon

Devon

I feel like a fucking bobblehead with how often my neck snaps up, my gaze going to Lola up there in the SportsDeck, chatting away with the other wives and girlfriends. Though she's too far away, I swear I can practically hear her laugh from here.

Shaking my head, I refocus on my warm-ups. Five minutes later, I realize I'm skating along and staring up at the box again. It's when she turns, facing the rink again, that I realize it—she's wearing a fucking Bruins jersey.

"Do you see this shit?" I question, skating over to Grey and gesturing wildly up to the box, where Lola is chatting happily with Ellie. I don't even want to think about what they could be saying.

"Yeah, it's pretty great," Grey says, his eyes focusing on me. "Our girls, here to watch the game."

"You are so fucking whipped, man," I say, twisting my stick in my hand. "I'm saying—look at Lola! She's wearing a fucking Bruins jersey, man!"

"So, talk to her?" Grey laughs, wrinkling his brow at me. "She's your girlfriend, right? Can't imagine she'd be doing that if she knew you really didn't like it."

I open my mouth, then swallow what I was going to say. I can't tell him that she's not really my girlfriend. The only people privy to that fact are our PR people and Lola. And I can't very well chat with Lola about the fact that this arrangement is killing me.

Especially when she comes to my games wearing the other team's jerseys. What are the journalists going to say?

A Bruin skates by me, sneering, and I realize the journalists are the least of my worries when it comes to nasty comments about my girl. Fire licks through my chest—preemptive anger and whatever bullshit is going to happen during this game. I return to the warm-ups, playing hard and fast, getting the puck and rocketing it into the net past our goalie, who gives me a thumbs-up.

Grey puts me on the starting face-off again, and just like last time, I take the puck. It takes us a minute, but we pass it around, getting the defense on their heels. Then, I get a pass-back from Sammy and rocket the puck into the net.

Less than two minutes later, the Bruins return the score, catching Eddie on his weak side and tying the game. Just before the end of the first period, I steal the puck, racing down the rink and slipping it past the goalie just in time to bring us ahead.

When I glance up at the SportsDeck, I can see Ellie and Lola dancing around together, celebrating the point, and it warms up something in my chest.

"Lucky shot," one of the Bruins—number six—mutters, skating past me, and I ignore him, getting to the bench and guzzling as much water as I can before Grey puts me back out again.

I start the second period, and we trade the puck back and forth. Whenever it seems like we've worked the ice enough to get a point, a Bruin takes the puck to their end. Our defense holds, but the second period ends without a single point.

Grey talks us through our strategy of running their big guy the hardest. He's got a killer shot, but he gets tired more quickly than most, so we want to keep him skating and avoid getting physical with him because he will knock us out.

"Chambers," Grey says, "just keep doing what you're doing."

I see Dole roll his eyes, but I don't comment. When he scores, he can have a say in whether our coach calls the shots correctly.

We get back out on the ice, and there's a breakaway puck on the ice. I skate hard after it, and so does number six. The ref blows the whistle, calling it as my puck, and I slow, but number six doesn't stop, slamming me against the wall so hard that I feel my brain rattle inside my skull.

I taste blood, and the second I can see straight again, I push him back. Our teammates are there in a second; some join in on the fight, while others try to break it apart. The refs are blowing their whistles loudly.

Eventually, number six and I go into the penalty box together, even though I didn't start it. Six stays in longer, though, which sends our team into a power play. We're unable to convert on it, and number six comes out of the box, glaring at me as he returns to the ice.

Then, the Bruins scored again with six minutes left on the clock, tying the game. We run the big guy, and our defense holds perfectly. Eddie blocks a perfect shot from one of the Bruins to the net, and I let out a noise of triumph when the ref finally calls one of the Bruins for a penalty he's been committing all night.

"What are you smiling about?" number six sneers, skating near me. "Your girl's too stupid to wear the right jersey? Or maybe she's just looking to get my cock in her mouth—"

I cut him off, grabbing the front of his jersey and whipping him back. I throw him against the wall and slam my fist into his jaw once, twice, three times before arms wrap around mine and pull me away, still swinging.

"Chambers!" Grey hollers. "Calm the fuck down. Do not get yourself ejected from this game."

"He's talking about Lola, man," I say, wiping at my lip and realizing it's split open again from the hit I took earlier.

"Bring your girl to the game, they're gonna talk shit. Don't let it throw you off. Let it motivate you."

I roll my eyes and climb into the penalty box. The Bruin is in with me, which at least saves us from defending against the power play. I force myself to keep my eyes on the ice rather than looking over at him.

Grey is right. It doesn't matter what they say about Lola. All that matters is we win this fucking game and rub it in their stupid Boston faces.

I get back onto the ice with a single minute left in play. To everyone, it looks like this game will go into overtime. But not to me.

I can feel it in my bones before I even get the puck on my stick. I'm going to score. I'm going to win this game. I look up at Lola in the stands and see her standing with her hand to her mouth, riveted to the game.

Part of my chest expands. That's right, I think. Eyes on me, baby.

Dole steals the puck and passes to Sammy. Back to Dole, to me, to Dole, a high shot headed my way—

I bounce the puck so it hits off the goalie and slides right into the net.

The buzzer sounds, and the Vipers lose it, jumping, yelling, and skating around. Another fight breaks out on the other side of the rink, but I'm not paying attention.

I'm looking up at Lola, who's hugging Ellie. She has a huge smile on her face as she stares at the scoreboard.