Skater (Seattle Sharks 6)

I scanned the area around the stage—yards of chain length fence to separate the festival from the crew ensuring it ran smoothly. Henry Jenkins among them.

Shouting would be pointless with the band now playing, the speakers so close the vibrations rattled my brain. I tried a wave, but it was swallowed by the bodies fist-pumping the air around me.

I chewed on the corner of my lip.

All I needed was a few minutes with him—just long enough to learn about his inspiration for the festival, to ask the tough questions no one had the nerve to ask—like if his upbringing had anything to do with his desire to help heal the world. He’d been in and out of foster care as a child, though he rarely spoke on the subject. I knew if I could bring the two concepts together, I could create an uplifting article that would hopefully inspire others in the system to hope.

The words were practically writing themselves in my mind as I hooked one foot in the fence, then the other, my hands gripping the railing as I tugged myself upward. A few more feet and I could throw my leg over, drop to the ground, flash my press pass, and beg an audience.

The band switched to a new song, this one a fast-paced thriller that shook the entire crowd into a frenzy. Screams pierced the air right alongside the thumping bass and thrilling guitar, the lead singer’s sardonic voice busting out lyrics that everyone seemed to know.

I kept moving, lifting my leg to throw over the top, thanking the rock gods for the lack of bouncer in this area. They were focused on center stage where the lead singer currently gyrated across it.

Another swell of screams roared at the same time as the crowd rushed like a tidal wave toward the stage…toward me. Hands outstretched and bodies crushing against one another as they jumped up and down. I spared a glance, panic creeping up my spine as the crowd got closer and closer.

Another singer had come on stage, shoulder to shoulder with the original. A cameo, a surprise guest to get the crowd to go wild.

Mission accomplished.

I gripped the railing that now shook from the pressure of bodies that had now suddenly crashed against it. The fence wobbled, jerking back and forth from the force. I lost my grip, and barely had enough time to gasp before I fell backward with nothing but the clear sky in my eyesight.

My scream was swallowed by the music blaring around me.

And I braced myself for the impact of crashing down to the ground far below.

Thump!

The air whooshed out of my lungs as a pair of arms caught me. Stopped me from breaking my spine on the ground.

Once I caught my breath, I unpeeled my eyelids, ready to thank the person who had been kind enough for saving me.

Instead, I found Connor’s dark eyes staring wide and disapproving at me as our noses almost touched. He cradled me against that strong chest—the same one I’d imagined beating my fists against too many times to count.

His body was warm against mine, which shook from the adrenaline of the fall. I gripped the back of his neck, steadying myself as I found my breath, the air dripping with his scent.

God, he smelled good.

Felt good.

Holding me tightly against him like he could do it all day and not break a sweat.

Our faces were so close, I’d never noticed how strong of a jawline he had. The light stubble dusting it would tickle if I turned my head an inch to the left and—

“What the hell are you doing, Ivy?”

The tone was enough to shake me from my momentary slip down boy-crush lane. I wriggled in his embrace, and he sat me on my feet.

“I’m working,” I snapped, adjusting my shirt. “Why did you follow me?”

“I came to apologize—” he stopped short, shaking his head. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, sneering at him. I spun around, stomping my foot as I watched Henry Jenkins climb into the back of a giant black SUV and drive off. “Damn it!” I raked my hands through my hair, taking in a huge breath, trying like hell to calm the adrenaline shaking my limbs. It wasn’t until a full minute had passed that I realized how close I’d come to being seriously injured.

I slowly turned around, prepared to tell Connor I was sorry…

But he had already disappeared into the crowd.

“Aspiring reporter falls for a Shark?” Zach said in my ear, and I only partially jolted this time.

“What?”

“Our story headline.” He laughed, and I shook my head.

“Not likely.”

“Seriously, though, you okay?”

I was only slightly shaken. “Yes,” I said.

“I was too far away.” He pointed toward the edge of the fence on the other side. “Was trying to find a way in that didn’t involve climbing and falling to my death in a sea of people.”

“Smart.” I kept searching the crowd for Connor. I wasn’t really sure why.

To say sorry?

To say thank you?

To shake him and ask him how he could hate me one second and be kind to me the next?

Infuriating. That’s what the man was.

I took a deep breath, letting the music fill me until I found my focus again.

Henry Jenkins may be gone, but the festival wouldn’t stop until well beyond sundown.

And I wasn’t leaving until I found a story.

Apologizing to Connor would simply have to wait.

Maybe a lifetime if he didn’t stop treating me like an enemy.

Chapter 5

Connor

Third period. Game five of the first round. We were on home ice and a penalty kill since Porter had another minute twenty left in the box for roughing.

Not the guy from Calgary hadn’t deserved it for that shit move he’d pulled on Lukas. We were lucky the ref had only slapped him with a minor since Porter had only gotten one shot off before Gage interfered. Otherwise, we’d no doubt be dealing with a major penalty for fighting, and with the scoreboard showing us tied with four minutes left in the game, we couldn’t afford to be down the man, not if we wanted to shut the door on this series and move on to the next round.

My body rocked on its own accord as I sat on the bench, sweat dripping down my neck, adrenaline flowing, anticipating the line change. I glanced back to where the doc ran concussion protocol on Lukas, making sure that cheap shot the refs had turned a blind eye to hadn’t rattled Lukas’s brain.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“Sit your ass there and finish the exam!” Coach snapped.

I gave Porter the nod through the glass, letting him know I wasn’t the least bit pissed about where we were.

Sure, there was something to be said for keeping your temper in check, but a little bit of retribution was satisfying in a way that turning the other cheek never would be. Plus, Porter had sent a message: he may have been recently traded from our number one rival: Ontario, but he was here now and ready to bleed Shark blood.

The crowd roared as Warren sent the puck sailing out of our zone and into Calgary’s. Coach called for a line change, and I was on the ice in seconds.

I flew toward the Calgary forwards, noting that Gage did the same on the right. He was the one you wanted on the ice when seconds and experience mattered. I was the one needed when it was time to put it on the scoreboard, and it was time to get to work.

The crowd counted down the last five seconds of Porter’s penalty as I knocked the puck loose from the Calgary player, sending it toward Gage.

He crossed the blue line before Calgary hit him with a two on one and stole the puck, racing into our zone.

Fucking penalty kills.

“FULL STRENGTH!” the crowd yelled along with the announcer.

Porter bolted from the penalty box and joined Noble on defense just as I reached the zone.

Noble cut across the goal—the guy was a rookie, but he always had Eric’s back—to take on the opposing forward as I ripped right to shake the opposing defender currently riding my ass. Noble was the best offensive defe

nseman to come out of last year’s draft, and all he needed was a break—

Which he got, as Porter checked the Calgary skater into the boards with a satisfying crunch.

Within milliseconds, Noble had the puck, deftly evading the opposition as he brought it up dead center. As another white jersey came at him from the left, Noble shot the puck forward.

It made contact with my stick.

My world narrowed to the feel of the ice under my feet, the pressure of the puck against my stick, the sound of my own breath in my ears, and the two hulking defenders who knew just as well as I did that there were less than two minutes left on the clock.

If I didn’t want to play a game six against these guys, now was the moment.

The defensemen split, one coming up at me.

Big mistake.

I outskated him, leaving him struggling, and failing, to keep up as I faced the last defender.