Her heart was still pounding in her chest when one of the Knights’ broadcasters went down to the ice near the Knights’ tunnel to announce the three stars of the game. By the time she called Zach Blackburn’s name, Fallon figured she and most of the fans would be hoarse in the morning.
He came back out on the ice without his helmet on, sweat making his face flush and his hair flop down in front of one eye. He shoved it out of his face, his gaze more on the ice under his skates than the reporter holding the mic.
“Tonight we saw a different Zach Blackburn,” the reporter said.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m hoping you see more of him.”
“Don’t suppose any of it has to do with your Lady Luck who was spotted in the stands tonight?”
Zach’s head snapped up, and he looked right at Fallon. A whole flock of unwanted and wildly inappropriate butterflies took off in her stomach. It had to be the effect of drinking a beer this close to the ice. There really was no other explanation.
“No comment,” he said in a tone that did not allow for follow-up questions.
The reporter’s smile faltered only for a moment. “With the plays that you made tonight, no need for one. Thanks, Zach.”
There was no missing the chatter about Lady Luck going on behind her, but even the weirdness of having strangers talk about her as if she really did add any smidge of luck wasn’t enough to dim the high of this moment. If Zach could play like that for the rest of the season, the playoffs weren’t just a dream. The Ice Knights could go all the way. Could tonight get any better? The answer to that was an all caps NO.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said to Tess. “Getting out of the parking lot is going to take forever.”
Together they hustled up the stairs and out onto the crowded concourse.
“Hey there, Lady Luck,” a man hollered, reaching out and grabbing her by the shoulder and jerking her around. “How about you give me some of that good stuff?”
The man was probably five-ten, two hundred pounds, and judging by how glassy his eyes were had imbibed more than a few beers. Everything in her body went cold as she assessed the situation. People streamed by them, too much in a hurry to beat the post-game traffic to notice what was going on. The guy’s fingers were eating into her shoulder, his grip harder than his slightly weaving stance promised. This wasn’t her first time having to deal with a handsy drunk, but normally there were at least a few orderlies around for help. God love Tess, but the woman wasn’t exactly Black Widow.
“Let go of me.” She shook the man’s hand from her shoulder.
“Why you gotta be like that,” he said, taking another step into her personal bubble, the nearly full beer in his hand wobbling, the liquid sloshing toward her and landing on her sweatshirt, soaking it. “I’m just being friendly. I bet your friend here is a little nicer.” He swayed a bit as he pivoted toward Tess. “I bet you’re lucky, too, honey. Tell me, if I rub you right will some of that luck of yours come off on me?”
Fallon didn’t think. She didn’t consider. She just went with her instincts and slammed her fist into the guy’s nose.
…
What in the hell had he gotten her into?
Zach, hair still damp from his post-game shower, had slipped on his joggers and grabbed his hoodie the second one of the reporters dropped the news about Lady Luck punching out some asshole who’d grabbed her and threatened her. However, Zach hadn’t bothered to throw the hoodie on before rushing out of the locker room. Instead, he’d stayed half naked as he made a beeline to the arena security office, zipping around the slow walkers and ignoring the curious looks of the Ice Knights’ front office staff. He’d made it to the office in time to see Fallon sitting on a desk in the middle of the room, her sweatshirt a wet pile next to her, arguing with a guard about who had the best skate skills in hockey history.
“If you don’t think the Jamil O’Rourke of last season couldn’t skate rings around Kellogg, then you really need to go back and watch the tape,” she said, giving the guard a you-know-it’s-true smirk. “The man skates like a god.”
Pulse pounding in his ears, Zach marched into the room and did a quick scan of Fallon from head to toe. Her long brown hair was out of the braid she’d had it in the other night. It fell down past her shoulders without a curl or a flip or a decorative highlight and didn’t look like any of it had been yanked out. Her makeup-free face didn’t show any sign of cuts or bruises or a swollen lip. Skimming over the Ice Knights tank top that did not bear his number, he didn’t notice any tears or bloodstains.
She didn’t look hurt. She looked good—more than good with that ornery something glinting in her eye that kind of reminded him of the look on his own face when he saw himself on the JumboTron while he sat in the penalty box. Unlike him, though, she wasn’t paid to take exception to when others got roughed up. She was a nurse for Christsake, one he’d pushed into coming tonight. He should have thought about the possible negative fan repercussions. He’d put her up to this, got her into something where she wasn’t aware of all the facts, just like his parents had done to him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, clutching his hoodie tight in his grasp.
She looked up at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You punched a guy.”
“I’m a nurse. I can positively swear that I’ll live.”
That got a quiet chuckle from the security guard sitting in the folding chair next to the desk. Zach—who wasn’t laughing because what Fallon had said wasn’t funny—glared at the older man before turning his attention back to the woman who was going to give him a heart attack before he was thirty.
“You could have gotten hurt.” The words came out slow because he was trying like hell to use that whole mindfulness thing the team’s yoga instructor was always going on about to use when the stress seemed overwhelming. He really needed that deep well of calm right now because it felt like he was about to come out of his skin. “That guy could have punched you back.”
Fallon rolled her eyes at him. “The asshole did take a swing.”
His vision dimmed a little around the edges, and he curled his hands into fists. “Tell. Me. Where. He. Is.”