Page 85 of Rival Season
“Mr. Weatherby, Mrs. Weatherby,” I say with a polite nod. “I’m sure you’re glad to see Chadwick healed up and back on the ice.”
My ex’s mother looks down her nose at me. “Yes, we’re very proud of him.” She quickly looks away.
I swallow.
“He’s overcome many physical, and personal, challenges this year,” Mr. Weatherby says pointedly, taking his wife’s hand and looking ahead at the ice—probably to avoid talking to me anymore.
Fine by me, I don’t really want to chat him up either. My mind is spinning—because what is Chadwick playing at? Why would he fly my parents here and get us all ticketsandbook a hotel suite…oh my gosh, the hotel! Did he book that suite for me andhimto share?! The one my bags are currently sitting in?
A sick feeling has my stomach churning. When the lights in the arena darken and they begin introducing the Fire Cats players through the loudspeaker, I breathe a sigh of relief. The darkness makes me feel hidden and safe from the judgement of me and Chadwick’s families.
When Chadwick is announced, everyone around me stands and cheers. A spotlight beams onto our row, blinding me for a few seconds. Everyone in our row is standing and waving, and the emcee is saying something about how Chadwick’s loved ones came to support his first game back after his injury.
Not wanting to stick out and make this even more awkward, I stand, too, but that’s a colossal mistake. The spotlight zeroes in on me, and then the crowd boos loudly.
I blink in shock, then look down and remember I’m wearing Penn’s Lions jersey in Fire Cat territory. I’m frozen inplace, wanting to die of mortification from all the unwelcome attention, until the spotlight finally leaves me in a blanket of darkness.
“It was very disrespectful of you to wear that jersey tonight,” My father’s voice draws my attention to my left. “And after Chadwick paid all this money for us to be here.” He shakes his head in dismay.
I’ve never been especially close to my father. He always worked a lot, and I knew him as the man who provided for us but wasn’t really a nurturer. One consistency from him, though, is his disappointment. Especially when I applied to graduate school instead of going to work for the family business.
“I didn’t know about any of this,” I tell him. “I thought my boyfriend sent me the ticket, so I wore his jersey. Chadwick and I might not be together anymore, but I’m not trying to be cruel.” I blow out an annoyed breath. “Maybe Chadwick should’ve communicated that he was the one who sent me the ticket.”
And apparently booked us a romantic overnight getaway when he knows I’m taken, the jerk.
“He’s trying to make things up to you, Hazel. You should hear him out,” Dad says.
I shake my head. “I don’t owe Chadwick anything. And if I’d known he bought the ticket, I would’ve stayed home.”
Dad groans, but the game starts, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
I focus on the game, my eyes scouring the ice for Penn…I spy number eighty-two flying by our section, and it feels like a tiny beacon of hope on this chaotic day. Penn is focused on the game but just knowing he’s in the same building as me has me relaxing in my seat.
CHAPTER 32
PENN
From the momentwe hit the ice tonight, there was an energy in the air at the Fire Cats arena that indicated both the teams, and their fans, were out for blood.
I might’ve heckled Chad-dick a few days back about a Lions win being a sure thing tonight, but in reality, our teams are pretty evenly matched. We both have similar records for the season so far, currently sitting at second and third in our division. Really, it’s anyone’s game.
We’ve been fortunate to beat the Fire Cats in our last two match ups, but tonight they’re on home ice with Weatherby finally back on their roster. From the first minute of the game it’s damn clear they want the W badly…and will stop at nothing to get it.
“Watch it, you moron!” Fisher screams at a Fire Cats defensemen as he takes a slash at his ankles, not even pretending to try to go for the puck. Dick.
I look up, expecting to see the referee blowing his whistle, but the guy clearly took that cheap shot at Fisher when he knew the ref was looking the other way. It’s a dirty style of play that I hate—but one I should expect from these assholes, given how Weatherby’s always played.
I skate forward, driving my shoulder into the Fire Cats player and shoving him away from Fisher, who snags the puck. Another player is immediately on him, grappling for possession of the puck. Fisher dumps it behind the net, and we both skate to the edge of the ice to change lines.
“Go get ‘em,” I say to Noah before he hops over the wall for his shift on the ice. The first period is almost over, and nobody has scored yet for either team—but Noah’s a pro at finding the space he needs to score when the pressure is on.
“Puck me!” Fisher exclaims as he sinks down on the bench, mopping the sweat from his brow. “Those guys are playing like a bunch of animals tonight.”
I flop down next to him and grab my Gatorade. “You okay? That was a dirty hit.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Fisher smirks. “Just fuels my fire to hand their asses to them.”
“Tell me about it.” As I squirt Gatorade into my mouth, I glance over at the other team’s bench and find Chadwick’s eyes boring holes into meagain. I haven’t been on the ice at the same time as him tonight just yet, but I keep catching him watching me like a creep.
