18. MADDIE

CHAPTER 18

MADDIE

" W ow, that was intense." Wyatt basically has to shout to be heard over the din from the throng of people vacating the arena.

I'm shaky as I follow. I've already seen enough clips of hockey games to know sometimes they get violent and the audience revels in it. Like tonight, for example. When Aran socked the Falcon player, the whole place almost went down. Meanwhile, I sat ramrod straight.

I wonder if he gets into fights a lot. One blow, and that's all it took for the other guy to go down. But, I mean, Aran's strong enough that he could literally haul me up if I was about to fall, and I weigh two hundred pounds. That other guy stood no chance. And the fact that it took half of the Bolts to hold Aran back gave me chills. I'm not sure whether they were good or bad. It was just the realization that I've been treating him as a pal when he's an untamed, testosterone-filled entity I don't really understand.

And what little I know of him makes me worry. Because what does it take for impassive, nonchalant Aran Rodriguez to snap like that?

I wonder if he's okay. I hope his hand's not hurt. Maybe I'll text him when I get home.

Wyatt keeps talking, oblivious to the fact that I'm fully in my head.

"Not gonna lie. At first, I was confused. Then I was kinda scared? But then —" He puts emphasis on the last word. "Then, I was kinda excited."

"Wyatt!" I smack his shoulder, and he chuckles.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel anything."

I can't. Because it's wrong of me to admit that, yes, Aran's intensity does things to me. Those chills might've been what Wyatt is talking about. Maybe my lizard brain wondered what Aran is like when he uses all that sheer power for something else. When those deep eyes of his are looking at you like he wants to eat you up. Just not in an angry way. I dig my face into my fluffy scarf when I feel heat traveling up my neck.

Wyatt checks his phone. "Anyway, thanks for keeping me company while I waited for my date to be done with practice."

"Well, thanks for the emotional support, I guess."

"See you later, Maddie!"

I wave at him, and we part ways in the parking lot. My head still churns as I get in my car and drive home.

Yeah, so I'm as attracted to Aran, like he and I are magnets of opposite polarity. Who isn't? At least half of the stadium probably swooned too. But this changes nothing. He's still completely out of my reach. And more importantly, he's my friend. How awkward would things get for him, for Ryan, and for everyone else, if I start drooling over him?

I'll just have to drool in private. Forcing myself to ignore this hasn't helped at all.

I get home and climb the four floors with relative ease now that I've been living here for a month. The apartment is dark, cold, and silent as a tomb. Ryan and the Strikes had an away game, so she'll come back home pretty late.

"Should've watched that one. But no, you had to choose the home game because it'd be easier that way," I mumble to myself as I ease off my winter clothes.

Easier my behind. I chose the home game because Aran was playing in it. And now look—I'm home alone, my blood is still roaring in my ears, and I want to cry.

Pulling my phone from my bag, I decide to at least attempt to be a good friend. I find Aran's contact near the top of my list on the text messaging app.

Me

Hey, are you okay?

I hesitate a little but hit send. Friends are allowed to be concerned about each other. And their primary function is giving encouragement when needed, right?

But maybe Aran doesn't want any. In fact, I spend about five minutes checking to see if he's at least read it, and nothing.

After pouring a tall mug of tea, I trudge to the couch and fire up my laptop. I'm in the perfect mood to write the first truly dramatic scene that happens in chapter ten of my hockey romance book. I finally started it a couple of weeks ago, and between talking about the sport so much with everyone, the skating non-date, and now this, I've had plenty inspiration to churn out one chapter after the next.

I let my mind transport me away from this weird feeling in my chest, and I immerse myself in what my characters are experiencing. In this chapter, the hero sees the heroine with another guy—who later turns out to be her brother—and gets disproportionately jealous. It makes him realize he has feelings for her, even though he swore to himself he would never love another woman after his ex.

Some readers live for the happy moments, the domestic bliss, the spicy scenes. I live for the angst that makes my chest twist. That makes me wonder how they could possibly get together against the odds.

In romance books, the happy ending is guaranteed. Not so much in life.

As I write some stream of consciousness about what the hero is feeling, keys jangle in the door and I hear it open.

"Hey! How come you're here by your lonesome?" Ryan locks the door back up and adds, "I thought you'd be at O'Malley's with everyone."

I lift my head for the first time in—and here I check the clock—two hours. Wow. My spine cracks as I stretch.

"Um, no. I don't know if they were in much of a mood to celebrate."

Her eyebrows go up while she unzips her coat. "Don't tell me the losers lost?"

I smile a little. Even though they get along well, and there sure are enough couples between the teams, the Strikes and the Bolts still give each other crap like this on a daily basis.

"Well, I wouldn't call the Bolts losers, but yeah, they didn't win tonight."

"Huh. You should've come to watch us instead. We beat the Sirens five-nothing. It was almost embarrassing."

"Next time I'll definitely go watch you."

Ryan grabs a sports drink from the fridge and heads over to the couch, plopping beside me. "I bet they're drowning their sorrows at O'Malley's. Wanna go? Some of my girls are hitting it up too."

"And you?"

She leans her head back on the cushion. "I don't know. I really busted my ass in the game."

"I'd rather stay home," I say in a mumble, running my hands across my laptop's keyboard as if I were cleaning it.

"How come?" She cracks one eye open. "I thought you'd be eager to do book research about what happens after a team loses."

My lips curve, but with little humor. "I don't think it's the best moment for that. The Bolts seemed pretty down about the loss, and after Aran got into a fight, I just don't know how?—"

"Whoa, whoa. What?" She screeches, sitting upright with a lot of energy for someone who is supposedly exhausted. "Aran what?"

"Got into a fight." I add, "At the game, I mean."

"I want all the details."

I relay them as well as I can, which isn't much, because she asked me if Aran got a penalty, and I don't even know how to respond to that. I didn't understand a lot about what happened after that.

"Dude, this is big." Ryan lifts her hips to fish for her phone in her back pocket. As she sends furious text messages, she says, "Aran never gets into fights. I wonder what happened."

"Never?"

"No. He's so stoic he might as well be a robot." A crease appears between her eyebrows. "Huh, he's not responding to me either. Archie says he hasn't seen him since the game ended. Apparently, he walked out of the locker room without even showering."

I scratch my head. So maybe Aran was leaving the place at the same time as I was. But I didn't see him in the parking lot. Doesn't mean we were parked nearby, though.

But if he doesn't respond to his best friends, he obviously won't respond to me either.

"Um, do you think he's okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he's fine." Ryan tosses her phone onto the couch and tries to smile, even though her brow is still creased. "Sometimes he disappears like this and then returns as if nothing happened. Archie and I think it's when he gets too overwhelmed by something."

"You… think?"

Sighing, she says, "Yeah. Because the dude just doesn't talk."

"Meaning," I muse aloud, "that something did happen during the game."

"Probably." Her phone pings, and she picks it up. "It's Mark. Oh! He knows what triggered the fight."

We glue our eyes to her phone screen, watching as Mark's three dots appear and disappear as he types.

Marky boy

A Falcon douche spewed some racist bullshit at Aran

After that first text, he adds another one with quotation marks around what the opposing player said. I blink really hard and read it again. Ryan draws in a sharp breath. Something inside me snaps.

"What?" I jump off the couch, pointing at the phone in her hand. "I will murder that asshole Falcon!"

"Um, Maddie?—"

"How dare he—" I interrupt myself with a gasp. "No wonder Aran punched him in the face. That's the least that little asshole deserves!"

"Wow, I've never heard you cuss before."

I clamp my hands over my mouth, eyes wide.

Ryan's face twitches like she wants to laugh. Instead, she clears her throat. "Unfortunately, players fling about all sorts of distasteful slurs during games. Aran's been called worse before."

"So." I wince a little. "If crap like that is so commonplace, then why did he snap?"

"I don't know. And now I'm a bit worried. Archie sounded like he was too."

Slowly, I lower myself back to my seat and check my phone again. Aran still hasn't read my text, but I send him another one.

Me

We're worried about you

I hope you're okay

Say *grunt* if you are

But even after more attempts from the three of us during the course of the night, he doesn't respond.