Page 10 of Over the Line

The montage ended and the music changed. I gazed down as the Phantoms—including Chris—skated back out while the announcer kept hyping up the crowd. We stood for the national anthem, and I didn’t let myself so much as glance at Liam.

No matter how much I wanted to.

No matter how much I wished there was a snowball’s chance in hell that I could do more than fantasize about him.

Liam was miles and miles out of my league.

He was Chris’s teammate. His team captain.

He was off-limits, and that was final.

“Come on, come on…” Liam stared down at the ice, brow furrowed and jaw working as if he thought he could will the puck into the other team’s net. “Set it up, set it up…”

We were both on the edges of our seats, watching Pittsburgh’s power play unit cycle the puck. They had thirty seconds left, and the penalty killers were getting tired.

“Shoot it,” Liam growled. “Come on, shoot.”

The crowd had the same idea—shouts of “shoot! shoot!” echoed through the arena—but the players kept on cycling.

I wasn’t joining in with the chants or shouts, but someone needed to fucking shoot. Fifteen seconds left on the man advantage, two minutes left in the second period, and Pittsburgh was down 3-2. Someone needed to shoot already.

Driscoll held the puck briefly, poised like he was about to take a shot, but then he passed the puck to Temo, and Liam groaned. Like me, he probably saw that they were about to cycle it yet again, and⁠—

Temo whipped it on net.

The ping of the puck banking off the crossbar registered all the way up here, and the whole building had a split second for an exasperated groan before⁠—

“Holy shit!” Liam cried in the same instant Chris fired the rebound right through the five-hole. We were both on our feet, joining the thunderous cheers as my son pumped his fist in celebration. Liam and I high-fived as if we’d had something to do with the last-second power play goal.

“This is your first time seeing him play here, isn’t it?” Liam shouted over the noise.

I wanted to be embarrassed by that, but I was too excited and proud. “Yep!”

“And you got to see him score!” He grinned and clapped my shoulder. “Maybe you’re his good luck charm!”

My brain blanked for a split second, both from the remark about being my son’s good luck charm and from⁠—

Touch me again.

Liam lifted his hand away, unaware of my stupid thoughts.

No, really. Touch me again.

As we took our seats, my heart was going absolutely wild. The game far below us. Chris’s power play goal.

The painfully hot man who’d just casually touched me.

Focus on the game, Garrett.

Focus on the game your son is playing.

Focus on your son.

I would, and I did. It was a momentary distraction, and lucky for me, hockey was fast and intense. It pulled my attention and sharpened my concentration on not-Liam.

It didn’t hurt that the action had intensified since the power play. Now the game was tied, and Chris’s goal had infused both teams with new energy. Detroit was pissed, Pittsburgh had a second wind, and with under two minutes to go before intermission, the battle was on.

Pittsburgh managed to get Detroit into their own end, and they quickly set up. Unfortunately, Craws fanned on a pass, and one of Detroit’s forwards took full advantage. He snatched the puck and whipped it to a defenseman, and suddenly they had a breakaway.