Page 238 of Risking the Pucking Defense

Assuming they’re about to stitch me up and send me back out there, of course.

Their voices float around me, but I struggle to register much of it. The second I hear Eddie confirm that the cut isn’t deep enough or serious enough to require a visit to surgery, I shut off.

I need to get back out there. If Hailee can see me back on my feet and doing my job, she’ll stop worrying.

As promised, a little over thirty minutes later, with fifteen stitches and a helmet with a full cage to protect Eddie’s handiwork, I’m back at the bench with my stick in hand, waiting to rejoin the game at the next shift change.

It hurts like a bitch, but I’m hoping I can use the pain to fuel me to help us win the fucking game.

We’re down by two goals, and there are five minutes left of the second period.

Rett and Linc clap me on the shoulder as I lower my ass between them.

“Looking hot, man. Your girl is gonna fucking love that.”

“Has anyone spoken to her?” I ask, hoping like hell one of them has reached out to let her know I’m okay.

“We tried, man. She didn’t answer.”

“Shit,” I hiss, my eyes on the players on the ice.

“Monroe, you good to go?” Coach asks.

“Yes, Coach.”

“Good. Get ready. Rett, you too.”

I jump the boards and get to work. We’re not leaving this arena without this win. I’m not losing that much blood on the ice and losing the game as well. It’s just not happening.

Sweat drips from me as I intercept a pass and send it toward Linc. We managed to even the score by the time the third period ended, but the last thing I needed was overtime. My face is aching like a motherfucker, and all I want to do is call Hailee. But I can’t until we get this job done.

We’ve already had three scoring chances, but we can’t find the back of the net. We’re doing better than the Blaze, though, because they’re struggling with even getting a shot on goal.

Rett and I are on fire, even if I do say so myself.

He glances over at me and winks when our eyes connect for the briefest moment.

Fuck. Ignoring the obvious, this has been such an incredible game.

I just wish my girl were here to see it in person.

It’s gonna kill me, waiting hours to get home tonight to see her.

We clear the puck and watch as Fletch collects it and heads the other way. He skates around the back of our opponent’s goal before winding up for a shot that flies just above their goalie’s shoulder and into the back of the net.

Our fans who have traveled to the game erupt as we all pile on Fletch.

The rest of our team rushes onto the ice, celebrating as music booms from the speakers.

It takes a minute or two to get back to my feet. Thankfully, the adrenaline is still pumping, which I’m sure is numbing the pain in my face. I can only imagine what it’s gonna feel like once I’ve calmed down.

I spin around to skate off the ice, and the second I look up, my eyes collide with a pair I wasn’t expecting to see.

“Hails,” I breathe.

She looks…beautiful, of course. She always does to me. But…fuck. Her skin is pale, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are wild.

What is she doing here?