Page 223 of Risking the Pucking Defense

“Fucking cunt,” Kodie bellows as he blows into the room, having been caught by Harry the second he stepped off the ice.

It’s not a secret that he and Cooper Nash have history. I’ve witnessed more than a few fights between them, both as a Viper and from watching games prior to me being signed here. But despite doing a little Google search, I haven’t managed to figure out the reason for it. Kodie keeps his private life as hidden as possible, and it seems his past with Nash is included in that.

We’re still waiting for news on Killer’s condition, but he’s already been whisked off to the hospital, and that’s never a good sign.

Kodie paces back and forth across the room as others emerge from the showers. His fists clench and unclench at his sides as he mutters something under his breath.

“We all know he’s a prick,” Linc states. “You should be glad it wasn’t you. You’re usually the one he’s gunning for.”

“I wish it were,” Kodie growls. “Killer has nothing to do with—” He cuts himself off and stops moving. “I fucking hate him.” He begins pulling his equipment off, throwing it to the floor at his feet like a toddler having a tantrum. It’s only Coach stepping into the room that forces him to sit his ass down and rein it in.

“Fantastic work out there tonight,” he starts, but it’s really hard to find much positive about the sixty minutes we spent out on that ice when one of our most vital teammates is in the hospital, his future up in the air.

Coach finishes his speech by promising to keep us informed of Killer’s condition, and after making eye contact with each of us and requesting Fletch and Linc’s presence at post-game press, he disappears.

“This is bullshit,” Kodie barks before marching toward the showers.

“Well, Casey is in for one hell of a night,” Rett deadpans.

A ripple of laughter flows around the room, but none of us really feels it.

The atmosphere isn’t that much better when I get up to the friends and family suite to meet my parents.

“Hey, how is he?” Mom asks the second she pulls me in for a hug.

“We don’t know yet,” I say sadly before turning to greet Dad.

“Good game tonight, son,” he says, sending a rush of warmth through me.

“Thanks. It was a great game until the end, huh?”

“Incredible. Can I get you a drink?” Dad offers before heading to the bar to grab me a beer. I could really use something a little stronger, but now that the season has started, there are more important things to focus on than numbing pain with alcohol.

“Are we still going to dinner?” Mom asks.

“Uh…” I think of how much work Killer’s injury is going to put on Hailee. “Yeah, of course. I’m not sure if Hailee will make it, though. She’s going to be fire-fighting all this.”

Mom reaches out and takes my hand, able to see the sadness in my eyes as I explain that. I was so looking forward to introducing her to them. They’re going to love her, I know they are.

“That’s totally understandable. There will be another time.”

I force a smile as Dad reappears and hands me a bottle of beer that I immediately lift to my lips. But it doesn’t matter how cold or fizzy it is; it’s not enough to squash any of the unease bubbling inside me.

Killer’s injury ignites questions about my own place here. If he’s out for the season, who will replace him? Something tells me that Brody is probably already writing his acceptance speech so that he can attempt to look humble to Coach. But while he might think he’s ready, I’m not in agreement. Putting Brody on the first line would be a mistake. I just hope Coach agrees.

We hang around for almost an hour. My dad is always in his element when he gets to come to games. He loves fanboying my teammates. I probably should be embarrassed, but honestly, I just love seeing him happy. Mom always seems to enjoy it too, but for very different reasons, and the less I think about what they are, the better. I once overheard her talking about our warmups, and if I never hear her speak another word about enjoying them, I’ll be more than happy.

I’m yet to see Hailee—she’s busy somewhere in the building—but she’s messaged me to let me know that she’ll be a while yet and to head to the restaurant without her.

I’m reluctant to leave her here, but I’m also powerless to follow her orders.

“Hailee’s going to meet us there when she can,” I tell my parents as we get ready to head out.

“Please tell her we understand, and that she needs to take care of business first.”

I reply to her with Mom’s words as we head toward the parking garage, and follow Dad’s directions toward the restaurant Mom’s chosen.

She sent me links to more places than I can remember before they made this trip. She’s turning into a bit of a foodie, it seems. Not that I’m complaining; I’m happy to try everything.