35. Luke

Chapter 35

Luke

T he weight of my career rides on tonight’s performance. I’d trained harder than normal for one day, so I wasn’t expecting a miracle, but tonight’s match still feels like a promise of things to come.

As I skate, the adrenaline hits hard—my drug of choice. There’s nothing like it. I’m not thinking about trades or anything else, my mind is focused only on the game. And for the first time in a long time, I play like my life depends on it. Every shot, every pass is sharper, more focused.

My team feeds off the crowd’s energy, rallying around each other as we fight for every point. Even when Lucas gets in my way, I stay lasered in on the puck. Nothing is going to stop me tonight.

The energy in the arena is electric, buzzing like live wires in the air. This is the last game before the playoffs, the one that determines our future. I feel the same rush I’d felt the first time I’d ever set foot on the ice as a kid. There’s something special about tonight, and I think back to everything that’s brought me here.

It was all for this.

The roar of the crowd fades into the background, replaced by the sound of my own breath, the rhythmic pulse of my skates cutting across the ice. Nothing else matters when I’m out here.

Lucas skates right into my line, cutting across the ice like he’s in charge. I grit my teeth, trying to keep my head about me. The kid has a knack for making himself the center of attention, and tonight is no exception.

He’s been showboating the entire first period. He isn’t even supposed to be near me. We’d run these plays a thousand times in practice, and every guy knew where he belonged. But Lucas decided that tonight, of all nights, is his chance to show off. Coach has shouted at him multiple times to drop it, but the kid isn’t about to.

The old Luke would have taken the bait and given him what he was looking for—a fight. The kid was trying to pick a fight with me in front of everyone.

But I’m not going to take the bait. Not tonight. Tonight, I have bigger things to worry about.

I cut to the side, trying to outmaneuver him, but he just shifts back, blocking me out, his stick raised like he’s daring me to take him on. What the hell? We’re teammates, not opponents. Everyone else is too busy executing the play to notice.

I lock eyes with him, feeling the tension simmering between us. “Whose side are you on, Lucas? Because it looks like you’re playing for the wrong team.”

“You’re in my spot.”

“Get out of the way, Lucas.”

He just grins that cocky grin and shrugs. “You’re too slow, old man. You can’t stop me.”

I’ve worked too damn hard to let a kid with a bad attitude knock me off my game. Fine. If he wants to make a fool of himself, I’m going to let him.

I hang back, watching as he skates into my line, fully expecting me to play along, to give him what he wants. But instead, I reach up, unclip my helmet, and let it drop.

“Go ahead! You want to act like a kid, that’s on you. I’m not fighting you.”

He falters when he realizes I’m not playing into his plan. Fans take note, and a lot of eyes turn to us instead of the actual game. I hold my ground, watching as he charges forward, expecting me to retaliate. But instead, I stand there as he comes at me, and at the last second, I twist out of his way, forcing him to swing at nothing but cold air.

Lucas goes down. Hard.

He hits the ice with a dull thud, sliding a few feet before coming to a stop, his stick clattering beside him. A hush settles over the arena, everyone waiting to see what will happen next. I skate over to him and look down at his sprawled form, resisting the urge to laugh. But I refuse to prevent the smirk that’s forming on my face.

“Get up,” I tell him, extending out a hand. “And stop acting like a kid. We’ve got a game to win. We’re a team, remember?”

He glares up at me, his face flushed with embarrassment and anger, but after a moment, he reaches up and takes my hand.

I’m relieved.

As I pull him to his feet, the crowd cheers for the camaraderie on display. I half-expected him to curse or insult me, spout out some bullshit excuse.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he swings.

Pain explodes in my jaw as his fist connects, a sucker punch that knocks me back. My vision blurs and I stagger, my legs buckling as I fight to stay upright. I know I’m going down. The sound of the crowd, the lights, everything fades into a distant hum as I feel my head hit the ice.

Then everything goes black.

When I open my eyes, I’m staring at my team, standing surrounded around me, Coach charging through them to reach me. He kneels and asks, “You good?”

I was. I feel no pain. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He turns and shouts, “Someone grab Lucas!”

I hear a skirmish as Coach and Seb pull me to my feet, but I’m too busy checking out the crowd to know what it is. All eyes are on me, so I offer a sheepish grin and wave, the arena bursting into cheers.

After being checked out by the medical staff, it’s game on.

I’d given it everything I had and when the final buzzer sounds, the crowd explodes, chanting, “Fire! Fire!” We won. But all I can think about is the one person who wasn’t there to see it.

I walk off the ice, my mind focused on Keke. I’d held out hope that she would show up and see the changes I was making, but in my heart I knew it was foolish. She didn’t owe me anything. Still, I want her to know I’m trying, that I’m ready to be the man she and our child need.

As I leave the arena, the cool Atlanta night wraps around me, and for the first time in weeks, I feel something close to peace. The kind of peace you feel when things are finally clear in your mind. Like I was floating within myself. Serenity? Perhaps. I’d never felt that, save for the times in bed with Keke.

Damn, I miss that girl.

As I’m thinking of her, she comes around the side of my car, wearing a wedding dress. She is absolutely stunning. My bride. I’m the luckiest groom in the world. My car fades away, replaced by my team, all suited up for my wedding. No longer in the parking lot of the arena, we are now on the coast for a beach wedding.

Wait. That’s not right. She turned me down. What’s going on?

My back hurts, aching from the cold. And my jaw… fuck, my jaw throbs along with a headache from hell.

“Smith! Wake the fuck up!” Coach shouts from somewhere far away.

I try to laugh because Coach doesn’t curse much at all. I didn’t even know he knew that word. But the pain in my jaw makes laughing damn near impossible.

I force my eyes open and get an extreme close-up of Coach’s face right over mine. A sharp, metallic taste fills my mouth as I struggle to focus. I cough on it, and he helps me sit up.

“Spit it out!”

Too late. I’d already swallowed the blood.

The hum of voices fills my ears, distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. I blink, trying to clear my vision, but the lights overhead feel like spotlights—too bright, too harsh. I squint, trying to make out the shapes around me.

Dr. Catarino, she’s part of our medical team. She has a silly nickname but it’s gone from my brain, like someone cut it out. People are talking, their voices low and urgent, but I can’t make out the words. I try to sit up but a sharp pain shoots through my head and I slump back, the world tilting around me.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say, the words slurred and barely audible. One of the medics presses gently on my shoulder, keeping me down.

“You’re not fine,” he says firmly. “You need to stay still.”

The sound of my own breathing seems loud in my ears. I’ve been sucker punched before, but this was different. Lucas had caught me completely off guard. The pain is sharp, throbbing, and radiating through my skull in a way that makes everything feel slow and disjointed.

I want to vomit, and I know what that means. Concussion.

They lift me onto a stretcher, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my head, increasing the nausea. I clench my teeth, holding back a groan as they hoist me off the ice and through the corridor. The usual familiar surroundings blur by in a haze of colors and sounds.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her. She’s the only person clear in my vision.

Keke. No wedding dress this time which means she’s probably real.

She stands just past the boards, her eyes wide with fear as she watches them carry me out. For a moment, everything else fades away—the pain, the noise, the confusion—and all I can see is her. I reach out my hand toward her, a desperate, instinctual need to touch her and let her know I’m alright. But before I can reach her, they turn the stretcher, pulling me away, and the last thing I see before everything goes dark again is the fear in her eyes, a look that stays with me, even as consciousness slips away.

The next time I wake up, I’m in a dimly lit room, the sterile smell of antiseptic heavy in the air. I blink, trying to focus and to make sense of where I am. What happened?

Lucas.

I am in an exam room. The ache in my jaw has cranked up, the throbbing in my skull begging for attention, a dull nausea pulsing with every heartbeat. I shift, but that makes all of it worse, forcing me back down.

The door creaks open and I glance over, expecting to see a doctor, or one of the medical staff. But instead, it’s Keke.

She stands there, her arms crossed over her chest, her face a mixture of relief and frustration as she looks at me. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything as if she’s trying to convince herself that I really am okay.

But then, the wedding dress materializes onto her body, and I know this isn’t real.

Had she really been at the game when I was carted off? Or was that nothing more than a concussion dream, too? When I’d reached for her, she looked real. She looked terrified. But maybe I was deluding myself that she cared that I was hurt.

I had potentially ruined her career and threatened my own, all because I couldn’t stay away from her, and now, she probably hates me.

No wonder she isn’t here.