Dump and Chase (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 1)

“Pressure! Pressure!”

From beside me, Wes lowers his bottle. “What kind of dogs will be there?”

“Where?”

“The calendar thing.”

“Puppies?” I answer before squirting the water into my mouth. I then grab the Gatorade, doing the same.

“You think there will be Boxers? I love Boxers.”

I shrug, not the least bit worried about dogs and more worried about tying this game. “I don’t know. Ask Shelli.”

“Maybe there will be German shepherds,” Boon says from beside me. “We’re meeting at the Adlers’ house, right? Man, that’s gonna be awesome. Will there be food?”

I blink, unsure what the hell is happening here. “I don’t know. Ask Shelli.”

Wes gives me a look. “We all know you know, dude.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means we know,” Wes says, waggling his brows, and praise God, our line is called. We all three go over the boards, and thankfully, the guys are in game mode once their skates hit the ice. I go to center ice, waiting for Tampa to carry the puck in. I have my stick out, ready to block the pass, but they go the other way, wanting to hit their forward. But Wes is there, breaking the pass and passing it toward me. I rush after it into the zone, and I realize I’m on a breakaway.

Awesome.

I corral the puck and rush toward the net. The goalie sets, his eyes on me, and mine are on the back of the net. I deke left, but he doesn’t follow, so I cross quickly, but I feel the defense coming up on me. I drop the puck behind me, skating over it before moving my stick between my legs back to the puck, where I wrist it up and over the goalie’s shoulder.

Goal.

The red light goes off, and I swear, even Tampa fans are cheering. I turn, throwing my hands up as my teammates skate toward me, yelling and hollering as we wrap up in a tight hug. That was probably the sickest goal of my career, and damn, I hope Shelli saw it.

She’ll be so damn proud.

We end up going into overtime and winning twenty-seven seconds in with a crazy slapper from Paxton. It was amazing and a great win. It feels good to be going home on a high note, especially when we only have nineteen games until the play-offs start. The three-week-long road trip was successful, only losing three games, but one thing is for sure… I’m ready to go home. I’m tired of living out of a suitcase, and I miss Shelli. So damn much.

While things have been great for me on the ice and even on the phone with Shelli, I haven’t spoken to Asher in weeks. I’m still livid with him, and I can’t bring myself to call him. I had to swear my family to secrecy, which means my mom is hardly talking to Elli. I told Shelli it was under control, and they promised they wouldn’t tell. I feel like we need to tell Shelli’s family, but at the same time, I like how we are right now. I don’t know what to do. All I know is that Asher caused some shit for me. He’s texted and even called a few times, but I have nothing to say. Even if he was trying to push me to feel things, he did it in a shitty, crybaby way. I’m not ready to forgive him. I will because I love the idiot, but not right now. Right now, I want to play hockey and spend time with Shelli. That’s all. Everything and everyone else just need to leave me the hell alone.

“Yes, I saw it, you big dork. That was the best part of the game.”

I lean back in my seat on my phone with a shit-eating grin on my face as Wes plays on his phone beside me. “It was a pretty badass shot.”

“It was, but my favorite part was your face. You couldn’t believe it went in.”

“I’ve legit been practicing that for months. I’m stoked.”

“You should be. It was awesome.”

“Thanks. Too bad you weren’t here to see it live.”

“Right? Can you please do cool shit like that in our arena?”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” she says, and I can hear the grin in her voice. “When will y’all be in?”

“I think around midnight. Wanna meet me at my place?”

“I can’t. I have to sleep and be ready for tomorrow morning. The crew is coming at seven to be ready for y’all at ten. I have to make sure nothing gets fucked up.”

“My little lady boss,” I tease, and she scoffs.

“There is nothing little about me.”

“Eh, you’re short.”

“And I could still kick your ass.”

I grin as my heart soars in my chest. “What are you wearing?”

“Footie Harry Potter PJs.”

I choke on my laughter. “No way.”

When my phone rings with a FaceTime call, I switch over to see her, in fact, wearing what she said she was. As I put my earbuds in, I say, “I’m so jealous.”