Page 17 of Over the Line

He laughed, which made the whole stadium a couple of degrees brighter. And hotter. “I feel that.” He gestured down at the ice. “Craws was traded here from Los Angeles, and he said the traffic there made him want to claw out his own eyeballs.”

I snorted. “I don’t blame him. I’ve driven there a few times, and…” Grimacing, I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

“Could be worse.” He paused to sip his water. “I made the mistake of driving into Manhattan one day.”

“Oh my God. Why would you do that yourself?”

He muttered something I didn’t catch as he rolled his eyes. Then, “I swear I still have nightmares about being stuck on the George Washington Bridge and needing to take a leak.” He shuddered. “Longest two hours of my life.”

“Been there.”

He turned to me, eyebrows up, unaware of how those amazing eyes made my brain short out.

I got my thoughts back in order before I managed to embarrass myself, though, and said, “Coming into Chicago when there’s an accident. It’s always a nightmare anyway. Bonus round? With four hangry kids who have been done with this road trip for the past three hours.”

I might’ve liked the way he laughed a little too much.

“Better you than me,” he said as he shifted his gaze back to the ice below. “I’d just be Hangry Kid Number 5, if I’m honest.”

“You’d be getting out and walking,” I muttered.

He chuckled, glancing at me with again a wicked glint in his eyes. “See, now that would be fun. See how far I could push until you booted me out in the middle of the freeway.”

“I don’t think you want to play that game.” I paused. “Then again, you’re a hockey player. I shouldn’t put anything past you.”

Once again, he lit up the whole arena. Fucking hell, he was the most stunning man I’d ever⁠—

“Go! Go! Come on!” He was halfway out of his seat. “Go!”

I caught up, remembering there was, like, a hockey game going on, and I joined in with, “Come on! Shoot! Shoot!” The whole crowd was roaring as Craws barreled up the ice with the puck. There was a defenseman on his heels, closing fast. About the time Craws was in a position to make the shot, the defenseman checked him, separating him from the puck. They slammed into the boards behind the net and nearly fell into a heap.

Chris had been right behind them, and he got his stick on the puck. He whipped it on net, but it bounced weirdly and went a few inches wide. Craws snatched it an attempted a wraparound, but the goalie got his glove on it, and the whistle blew.

In unison, Liam and I exhaled and dropped back in our seats.

“Is it this stressful when you’re down there?” I gestured at the ice.

He rocked his head back and forth. “In a different way. Down there, it’s a ton of pressure, and I have to make decisions on the fly, try to predict what everyone else on the ice will do—that kind of thing. Up here?” He groaned as he reached for his water bottle. “There’s nothing I can do, so it’s… really stressful, but not in the same way.”

“At least it’s not just me,” I said.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. They’re in good hands.” He nodded toward the players, who were setting up for an offensive zone faceoff. “Chris is killing it, too.”

I couldn’t help beaming with pride as we watched Chris skate up to the dot. He gave a quick glance around at his teammates and gestured at one of them. The other player moved slightly to his right. Then Chris focused on the faceoff, which he won, and the action started. It would never get old, watching him play like this. He’d come so far since those early years when the little kids skated so slowly, it took three business days to get from one end of the ice to the other. That had been seriously cute, and my ex-wife and I still had millions of hours of video footage of it.

Then the kids had gotten faster and more precise, and Chris’s talent and hockey IQ had emerged. I’d had no idea, back in those slow-skating days, that he’d one day be a twelfth overall pick for a major league team. And yet, somehow it made perfect sense. He’d worked so hard, and he’d been so good—how else could his story have played out?

Probably a lot better if he hadn’t been distracted by his parents’ bullshit during one of those critical years.

The thought made me cringe. Guilt would be a constant companion for a long time. Chris had been resilient enough to still get picked that high despite the turmoil at home, but he shouldn’t have had to be that resilient. How much higher could he have been picked had he been able to have his whole head in the game?

As I watched him skate to the bench for a line change, I sighed.

And for the thousandth time this week, I vowed to do everything I could to make it up to him.

CHAPTER 6

LIAM