Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

“I’m serious,” Gabe said.

“I know. That’s what’s so funny. That and the fact that I’m not marrying anyone.”

Their seats were on the end of the row, and as they sat, the lights dimmed. Colored spotlights roamed the ice, and the announcer introduced the Rough Riders. The crowd went wild, buzzers sounded, smoke shot from the ceiling, and the team filed out of a hallway beneath the stands directly across the ice from Eden’s and Gabe’s seats. The opposing team also came out onto the ice, each warming up at opposite ends of the rink.

The lights came up, the crowd quieted down, and music played over the speakers as the players took shots, passed, and generally loosened up.

Eden searched for Beckett, but the players all looked the same, so she scanned for his number—twenty-two. She found him slapping the puck into the net. He swung behind the goal, then turned and skated backward in a big loop.

His ease and grace and fluidity took Eden’s breath. His movements looked effortless and elegant, unlike anything she’d expected. Unlike anything she’d seen in those clips she’d watched. There, his skills had been sharp and choppy and brutal.

Eden felt like they’d only been on the ice moments before they returned to the locker room and the announcer distracted fans with promotional presentations and Rough Riders player statistics on the Jumbotron. Gabe picked up on one of the announcer’s threads about the roster and went off on a tangent about players and starters and strings that Eden wasn’t interested in following. She was still in awe of how quickly the seats had filled with blue.

So many fans.

Gabe had explained that this stadium was also used by another local NHL team, the Capitals. In the off-season, this was the home court for Washington’s local professional basketball team and often hosted major musical headliners.

Gabe said something about Beckett, and Eden cued in to her coworker’s dialogue. Turning to him, she said, “What?”

Gabe let out a breath, his lids lowered with a frustrated look. “You said you wanted to learn. If you don’t, that’s fine. I’ll shut up and enjoy the game.”

“I do. I’m sorry. This is a little overwhelming.”

“I was telling you that this is an important year for Beckett. His contract with the Rough Riders is up at the end of the season. He’ll become an unrestricted free agent—”

Eden shook her head and held her hands palms up.

“That means,” Gabe went on, “that if he kills it this season, he’ll be prime meat, up for grabs come July first. He’s getting pretty good money now, but that would set him up for big money. I’ve seen teams get in bidding wars over defensemen like him. He’ll be able to name his terms for the next four to eight years of his life, which is important at his age. And everyone agrees this has been his best season yet. They’re talking about him getting chosen for the men’s Olympic team.”

“Wow.” Eden tried to sound adequately impressed, but she’d already reached awestruck saturation. She also didn’t want to admit she hadn’t even realized there was a US Olympic ice hockey team. “What do you mean his age? He’s still so young.”

“Not for hockey. If these guys haven’t been written out of contracts or gone out with an injury by their early thirties, they start retiring. There are very few players in the game in their late thirties. Only a handful in their forties. Beckett’s headed into the last phase of his career, and he’ll want to go out on top.”

She wasn’t sure why that made tension pull across her shoulders. Something about the connection between his success and increased violence on the ice wasn’t sitting right.

Eden purposely pulled in a breath and cleared her mind of the irrational mental connections. She was really annoyed at how they kept popping up. How deeply they’d been ingrained. How hard it was to reprogram her brain.

Glancing at the clock on the Jumbotron, she was glad there was less than a minute until the first period started.

When her gaze returned to the ice, a group passing her on the steps caught her eye. It was hard not to notice a woman herding three young girls five rows closer to the ice—all four of them with Croft emblazoned from shoulder to shoulder.

A smile automatically tipped her lips up, but a pang stirred in her gut and dragged her happiness away. Eden pressed her hands to the discomfort in her belly and pulled her gaze from the group. She let the therapy and practiced responses take her mind from the painful memories.

The stadium filled with buzzers and sirens and lights. The announcer welcomed the Rough Riders into the rink once again, and Eden sought out Beckett’s jersey, then kept her eyes on him as the two teams set up for their face-off.

Even though Eden had played a variety of sports during grade school and high school, she couldn’t keep track of anything that was happening—it all happened so damn fast. Half the time, she couldn’t even find Beckett.

Gabe’s tutoring only confused her more. He spoke a language she didn’t know. The referees called penalties she didn’t understand. The players had an etiquette she couldn’t comprehend. The one that especially puzzled her was the way they all pushed and shoved and elbowed and tripped with what seemed like absolute detachment. The way one would slam the other against the wall, then both men would turn and race after the puck again, emotionless, as if the encounter never happened.

Her mind drifted back to that day at the Y and the way Tate and Andre had jockeyed for berries in a rough but good-natured way. Eden wasn’t sure if she should be encouraged or disturbed.

Beside her, Gabe was absorbed, cheering plays, commenting on strategy, and trying to explain it all to Eden. But the players and the puck all moved so damn fast, Eden found herself constantly lost, wondering what the hell everyone was cheering or booing.

She’d lost track of Beckett again when the stadium exploded in applause and noise and lights. Everyone around her jumped to their feet, and Eden couldn’t see anything. She glanced up at Gabe, who was clapping and saying something to her, but the buzzers and sirens were so loud, she couldn’t hear him.

He finally sat back down and grabbed her arm, his face bright with excitement. “Beckett scored! Man, what a shot.”

People sitting toward the middle of the row came toward the aisle, and she and Gabe stood to allow them to pass. Which made Eden look around. She found everyone squeezing out of the rows and flooding up the stairs. By the time she looked at the ice again, the players were gone. “What’s this?”