Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

C oach benched me. I can't really say I'm surprised. I've missed three weeks of practice and games. I am surprised I haven't received a huge fucking fine. I know I have Gray and his connections (or his father's connections) to thank for that. As far as the world knows, I was recovering from a minor injury and just received clearance to play today.

We're in the second period. I've yet to have any ice time, and I don't think I'm going to. It's okay, though. Sure, it sucks but I'm still here, with my team at The Castle, the Knight's arena. And there's nothing better than a home game crowd, my name being chanted over and over. I know they're all waiting to see if I actually play or not. I think the whole team is. When the second period timer goes off, I know it's not likely.

I walk down the tunnel into the dressing room. I want to reach for my phone. I want to call and check on Montana. I don't do that. Coach doesn't need any more of a reason to be pissed off at me. Instead, I sit on the bench in front of my locker and wait. It doesn't take long for the room to buzz with activity. Every player has their own intermission routine or ritual, depending on who you're looking at.

Right now, Gray is on his phone, stripping out of his gear. He calls his daughter and then spends at least ten minutes in the shower. Travis sits on the bench, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. I can never tell if he's praying or meditating, but that's what he does for the first ten minutes, and God help anyone that tries to talk to him.

King takes a shower and sprawls out on a massage table. He has two PTs working on him at the same time. Me? I usually strip off my skates and jump on the bike or treadmill while I watch reruns of plays on a tablet. I need to keep moving to keep my muscles warm. But since I know I'm not playing tonight, I'm content to sit here and watch everyone else carry on with their business.

Like clockwork, five minutes before the third period starts, Coach gathers the team and goes into his usual pep talk. He runs through plays and then sends us out. I'm halfway down the tunnel, the last player to walk through the door, with Coach right behind me.

"Get ready, Jameson. You're going out on second rotation," he says.

I nod my head. "I'm ready, Coach."

"I fucking hope you are. You've been MIA for three weeks with some mysterious injury that I wasn't made aware of. Whatever the fuck was wrong with you, I hope for your sake and the team's that it's sorted."

I don't tell him that nothing's sorted . It's a damn miracle that Montana left the house tonight. I have a feeling if it weren't for Aliyah's encouragement, she might not have .

Aliyah blows up my phone daily, asking if she can come around. I always refer her to Montana—it's her decision if she wants visitors or not. Some days, she doesn't want to see anyone, especially after talking to Dr. West.

Her sleep is still shit, which is evident from the black bags under her eyes. I don't think she'll sleep soundly again until she knows for sure that, that asshole Andrew is six feet under. And I can't wait to be the one to deliver that message to her.

I take my place on the bench and watch the ice. The puck drops and we win possession. Gray and King are right next to me, all of us waiting to get out there and show everyone the line our team's been missing.

The moment we get our chance, I'm jumping over the board and inserting myself in the game. When you've been playing for as long as I have, missing three weeks is nothing; it's almost muscle memory at this point.

Gray steals the puck and the three of us take off down the rink, rushing the net. The Winnipeg Maples are right on us. Their defense is good. I've been watching closely all night, which is why when Gray passes the puck to his right, to me, I fake a left and maneuver around the guy who's been slowing down since the start of the second period.

I see the opening. It's small, but it's there. Right between their goalie's legs. I take my shot and watch as the puck slides through and hits the back of the net. The lights go red, the horns blare, and smoke blasts from the corners of the rink. The crowd screams as a sea of Knights jerseys jumps to their feet. Clapping and cheering.

I drop to a knee with my stick in the air. "Fuck yeah!"

Gray and King slap my back as I look up and see her. Montana is standing in the window. I kiss my glove and raise it towards her. And that's when the cameras decide to hone in on that damn box, plastering Montana's face up on the jumbotron. The moment she notices, her eyes widen and she moves back. Out of view.

"Fuck," I hiss. Then look to Gray.

"Don't even fucking think about it. Come on, I'll call Lia from the bench. They're together. She'll be fine," he says.

I nod my head, not believing for a second that Montana's fine. She's going to try to pretend to be, but I know her. She's scared of being seen and her face was just plastered on that giant screen. Viewed by tens of thousands of people, not to mention how ever many hundreds of thousands are watching the game from their living rooms, pubs, and anywhere in this country that has a television.

I jump over the bench. And before I can storm down the tunnel, Gray slams a hand against my chest, pushing me onto the seat.

"Wait," he grunts. Then he holds out a hand, talking to someone. I don't care enough to look up and see who, before he's dialing a number into a phone.

I don't hear what he says. I don't even hear the noise of the crowd. My gaze is hyperfocused on that window. She needs me. I need to get to her. I can feel it in my bones.

Gray dangles the phone in front of my face. "It's Montana."

I pull off my helmet and snatch the device out of his hand. "Tanna, you okay?"

"I'm okay. That was a great goal, Luke," she replies, her voice quiet.

"We can leave, if you want… If you need to go, we can leave," I tell her.

"No, the game's almost over. What I want is for you to go back out there and score again."

"You sure? "

"Yes, I'm sure. Go and finish the game, Luke. I'll be watching," she tells me.

"Okay." I hang up and pass the phone back to Gray. "Thanks." I nod at him as I slide my helmet back on. If Montana wants to watch me score again, then that's exactly what I'm going to do. "Put us in, Coach!" I yell over the chatter of my teammates.

Coach glares at me, shaking his head before signaling for our line. The minute my skates touch the ice, I'm body-checked into the boards, hard enough that I almost fall back over onto the bench.

"Fucker," I grunt while pushing the huge fucking Maple player off me. I'd love nothing more than to throw gloves. But just as the thought enters my head, Gray is there. Right beside me, his gloves already on the ice and his fist slamming into the asshole's head.

This is what I love about this sport. No, not the fighting, but the being part of a team. Knowing that Gray will always have my back on and off the ice, and I'll always have his too. Which is why, when he gets the fucker on the ground, I help the refs pull him off. My friend is known to be a little hot-headed at times and doesn't always know when to stop.