Faceoff

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Yeah.” The teen nodded and handed Zane the stick in his hand. “You can use mine.”

  Zane hefted it in his hands as if weighing it. “That’s a nice one. Good job, kid. What’s your name?”

  “Tyler.”

  “Awesome. Tyler, I’m going to use this to play with my crew, then I’ll sign this for you and leave it in your locker. What’s your number?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Zane groaned. “Aww, man. Dicey! The kid’s in your old locker, dude!”

  Clint shook his head as they all skated over to the teens, picking out their sticks and making small talk for a few minutes.

  “Do you . . . want us to wait around?” the other kid asked, looking at Jax in confusion. “To get the lights and lock up? Coach Hal left us in charge.”

  Jax put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Nah, we’ve got this. Trust me, we’ve had to lock up a time or two in this place, and that isn’t something you forget.”

  The teens nodded and skated off the ice, looking over their shoulders and talking softly to each other as they did so.

  Clint chuckled and looked at his former teammates. “You enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

  Zane shrugged without any concern whatsoever. “One of the perks. I like being a big deal. Now come on, Fido, let’s see what kind of skills they taught you in the Marines.” He gave Clint a playful shrug before skating over to the far side of the rink, pointedly icing the net. “Hey, Diesel! Come sit in your pocket!”

  “How I haven’t managed to kill that knucklehead yet is beyond me,” Trane muttered as he followed at a more leisurely pace, tapping the hockey stick against the ice rhythmically as he went.

  “This feels so weird,” Jax murmured to Clint as they moved to center ice.

  Clint nodded his agreement. “So what are we going to do about the club?”

  “No idea.”

  Rocco came over to them, joining in the conversation. “Did you see their jerseys? Cheap quality and well used. Didn’t we get new ones every year?”

  “At least every other, for sure.” Clint exhaled slowly. “We’ve gotta figure something out, though. This place can’t go under.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Hey!” Zane yelled from his zone. “Are we going to play, or are we going to talk about it? Come on, I got things to do before I get old and gray!”

  Jax grinned reluctantly and nudged Clint in the shoulder. “Still remember how to do Humpty Dumpty?”

  Clint laughed once and nodded, digging his blades into the ice a bit. “Oh yeah. Might be out of practice, but I got it.”

  “Excellent . . . ” Rocco bobbed his head to some silent beat in his head, smiling at them both. “Zamboni hated that one. I bet he can’t stop it now any more than he could stop it then.”

  “Dice might catch on,” Clint warned, eyeing the other defender. “He’s smarter.”

  “Nah.” Jax shook his head and started for his spot to the left. “I got Dice. Let’s show ’em what the Power Line still has.”

  Now Clint threw his head back, laughing effortlessly and without any hesitation. “Were we really that pumped up about ourselves?”

  “Were?” Rocco gave him a superior look. “I still am. Come on, Fido, hit ’em hard.”

  Clint looked down the ice, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him. He looked around the seats of the rink, once filled with family and friends, all fans decked out in green and white, screaming at the top of their lungs. Echoes of that same energy lived in the rafters, and if he listened, he could hear the Sabercat fans with their chants.

  Dang, he’d loved this place.

  “Fido?”

  Clint glanced over at Rocco, giving him a crooked grin. “Ready?”

  The Italian grinned back and lowered himself into faceoff position. “Ready.”

  He looked at Jax, who was already set, and nodded with a wide smile of his own.

  “Come on, chickens, the defense is snoring over here!”

  Clint lowered himself into the set position, his eyes fixed on Zane as the guy practically bounced on his feet. He exhaled softly, his grin never wavering.

  Payback was going to be a glorious thing.

  “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than on TV!”

  Bree laughed and looked at Penny and Amy, standing beside her as they cheered for the beginning of the third period of the Hawks game. “How’s that? We can’t see them as well up here.”

  “But the sounds, Bree!” Penny gushed, spreading her hands out. “The energy!”

  Well, Penny wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t exactly what Bree wanted from coming to Clint’s game.

  He’d just gotten back from Chicago last night, he was playing in this game now, and she hadn’t been able to do more than talk with him on the phone while they’d been apart.

  Today she’d had class all day, and she had never been more tempted to completely skip class in her entire life.

  Three days. That was the entire length of time they had been apart. The most time they’d been apart since they had started seeing each other, and she’d felt like she needed to claw her way out of her own skin that entire time.

  She still felt a bit of an itch and burn in her palms and the tops of her feet.

  The only way to get rid of it, she knew, was to see Clint. To be with Clint.

  To define something with Clint.

  What, she didn’t know.

  But it was definitely something.

  She watched as Clint slipped over the edge of the box, racing out into the game with two other guys, strangely not Fig and Hotch tonight, and found herself cheering a little louder, her heart racing within her.

  He looked so powerful on that ice, so fast and so skilled. His endurance had to be incredible, given how often he went from end to end over the course of his shift.

  Bree smiled and nodded in pleasure. Penny had been quizzing her the past few days, bringing up other hockey games on TV to help explain her point, not to mention some online. She still didn’t quite understand all of the penalties, but at least her terminology was correct.

  It was a start.

  And a start was better than nothing.

  “Come on, come on, come on . . . ” she hissed as Clint went flying up the ice, weaving around other players, the puck flying from his stick to his teammates’ and back again with a dizzying speed.

  Someone took a shot on the goal, but the goalie caught it easily and dropped it around the back of the net to one of his own teammates, who sent it up the ice to safety, forcing Clint and his line to race back.

  Bree glanced up at the scoreboard, where the numbers read a tied score at two points apiece.

  “SLASH!” Penny suddenly bellowed with the rest of the enraged crowd.

  “What did I miss?” Bree asked, trying to figure out what had happened and why play hadn’t stopped when it did.

  Penny sputtered in irritation, gesturing to the ice. “Twenty-three over there decides to hook Farraday like he’s being yanked off a stage while Farraday is making a press, and the blind ref doesn’t think it’s a slash!”

  Bree stared at her roommate, then looked further at Amy, who was smiling in reluctant amusement. “It’s like she’s trying to speak English, isn’t it?”

  “Kinda, yeah.”

  Penny grumbled and waved it off. “Never mind. Suffice it to say, that should have been a foul. Stick to arm, no bueno.”

  “Got it.” Bree returned her attention to the ice, where Clint and his line were hopping back into the team box and a fresh line, clearly fired up by the bad call, flew into action.

  The puck went this way and that, more like a pinball in a machine than anything she’d seen yet, and she could barely keep up with it. One of the Hawks suddenly sent it around the boards behind the goal, only for another Hawk player to pick it up, dart forward, and . . .

  “GOAL!” Bree, Penny, and Amy shouted at the same time the buzzer sounded.

  The crowd around them erupted with them, c
hanting for the Hawks, banners, towels, and team jerseys waving above heads while certain sections jumped up and down in the stands like a student section at a college basketball game.

  Clint and the others in the box were on their feet cheering, banging their hands against the walls of the box, thumping their sticks on the floor beneath them.

  Bree, for one, felt herself breathing just a little bit easier.

  She wouldn’t mind seeing Clint no matter what the circumstances, but after how she had been feeling, she would much rather have it be after a win.

  On the other hand, he might need some consolation after a loss . . .

  Her face flamed, and she took the opportunity to sit down, fanning her face.

  “You okay, Bree?”

  She nodded at Penny’s question and smiled up at her for effect. “Overheated. Lots of people and energy . . . ”

  Penny nodded sagely, and maybe with a little pity. “Water bottle under the seat. Have at it.”

  Bree nodded and started chugging it, dripped a little on her fingers, and ran those fingers behind her ears and across her brow.

  It didn’t do much, but at least she felt better.

  Distraction. All she needed was some distraction.

  “Heyoo, there’s our boyfriend!”

  Bree sprang up, burning face and all, almost gasping in her enthusiasm, which was borderline ridiculous as far as reactions went. She was at Clint’s game. She had seen Clint play before. None of this was new.

  It didn’t matter. She had to watch, had to see, to make sure he played well, didn’t get hurt . . . What if he did something spectacular? What if something horrible happened?

  She’d never felt so drawn to watching anything in her life.

  Great, now she was obsessed.

  Low point.

  But watching him, seeing him in action, didn’t feel like a low point. She was thrilled watching him. Being here and knowing how she felt about him while watching him do something he loved and was so good at . . .

  Wait, how did she feel about him?

  How did one describe a compulsion towards obsession with one she still imagined randomly crossing a table and kissing?

  Bree blinked and shook away the deep thoughts that gave her anxiety.

  Clint was on the ice, and her focus needed to be there too.

  “Come on, babe,” she murmured as he scuffled with another player against the boards, fighting over the puck.

  When had she started calling him babe anyway? She’d never called anyone any sort of endearments in her life, apart from calling her brother all sorts of things. This was some new and random instinct, but she liked it.

  Really liked it.

  Clint broke free, the puck now with his teammate, and then, suddenly, it was back to him. He seemed to just flick the end of his stick, firing the puck towards the goal. The goalie reached for it, but the puck sailed into the top-right corner of the net, out of reach.

  The arena let loose with an explosion of sound, and so did the Hawks’ box, whooping for Clint as he punched gloves with his teammates on the ice, grinning.

  “Way to go, Fido!” Penny bellowed before putting her fingers to her mouth and ripping a shrill whistle that blended perfectly with the other sounds of the place.

  Bree could only smile and applaud, her cheeks aching from smiling, the warmth in her face now in the center of her chest and spreading to the tips of her fingers.

  Clint was amazing.

  And it felt amazing to like him as much as she did.

  He needed to know that.

  The rest of the game, what was left of it, was uneventful, and the crowd, as diehard as it had been, started to thin out before the final buzzer, now that their team was ahead by two. Sure enough, when the clock ran out, the score was still four to two.

  Penny and Amy left after a few minutes, telling Bree to congratulate their boyfriend for them, and they gave her eerily identical smiles of mischief that embarrassed her to no end.

  She really needed to get over that.

  Slowly, she made her way back up to the concourse, her jacket over one arm, slinging her crossbody bag over one shoulder. She had a pretty good idea where the players came out, since some of them signed autographs after games, so she headed in that direction.

  Maybe she should text him . . . It was entirely possible he had already made plans for after the game with some of his teammates, or that he would just want to go sleep. He had been traveling, after all, and had just finished an intense game.

  He might not want to see her.

  That seemed unlikely, even to her, and Clint would never say that, but in a completely impersonal way, he might just want to be alone and go home.

  Crap, what if he didn’t want her to wait for him?

  And when had she become such an insecure mess?

  Feeling more than a little ashamed of herself, Bree lifted her chin and continued down to the players’ exit, opting to stand out of the way of the fans wanting autographs but still in perfect view of the door. The players would have to come by her to get to their cars, so it would allow her to gauge the situation as needed.

  If nothing else, she could wave and give him a thumbs-up before heading out alone. They were friends, so why shouldn’t that be allowed?

  Something was better than nothing, she reminded herself.

  Or would nothing be less painful?

  The door to the team rooms opened, and Bree watched as a few players she didn’t know came out, some of them signing autographs, others just waving. One or two took the time to take pictures with whoever wanted them, much to the amusement of the security guys hanging around. It was clear they were used to this scene, and for some reason that made Bree happy.

  Ryker and the rest of the Six Pack had always made an effort for fans—thought it was really important to give them time—and the public loved them for it.

  This was something to be proud of.

  Bree smiled as a familiar face came around the barrier towards the parking lot, right in her direction.

  “Well, hi there, Miss Stone!”

  “Hey, Mario. Good game.”

  Mario shrugged nonchalantly. “It was all right. Pulled out the win, so that’s fine. Looking for Fido?”

  Bree blushed a little. “Is it that obvious?”

  The tall Canadian grinned at her. “Well, nobody would assume you were here for me, pet. Hang tight.” He leaned closer to whisper, “Don’t tell him I said so, but Fido isn’t the fastest person out of the showers. Not the slowest, but definitely not the fastest.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Bree laughed as she relaxed against the wall behind her. “I’m not in a hurry.”

  “That’s good, cuz you won’t be hurrying any time soon.” He winked and waved, walking past her out to the parking lot.

  She wouldn’t mind waiting around for Clint, however long it would take. Ryker was painfully slow in getting ready, always had been, and she’d grown up just dealing with that. After games, it was even worse. She’d always joked that Ryker was more high-maintenance than she was, but as they’d gotten older, it had become less and less of a joke.

  Just a fact of life.

  That was fine—she didn’t care. And if Clint didn’t feel like hurrying, that was also fine.

  A few other players came out, most of whom she didn’t know, and then, finally, there was Clint.

  He didn’t see her at first, but he was getting a decent amount of attention. New to the team or not, Clint McCarthy was making his mark, and the fans were noticing.

  Bree watched as he signed autographs, took a few pictures, and talked to some kids at the barriers. He was so good with them, smiling and taking the time to engage with each one brave enough to talk with him.

  For someone who didn’t want much by way of attention, he sure did a good job in handling it.

  After taking one last picture, Clint smiled and waved at the fans, then headed in her direction, his head down.

  At this rate,
he’d walk right past her without any idea she was there and had been waiting.

  He looked up and stopped, staring at her for a moment, his expression as close to stunned as she’d ever seen him look.

  “Hey,” she said softly, straightening up and slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Nerves all over her body began to tingle in anticipation, a blend of good and bad. She shifted her weight to try and release some of the tension coiling in the pit of her stomach, but all it did was flare it up more.

  It was ridiculous how good he looked this close.

  “You’re here,” Clint finally said, his mouth curving into a crooked smile.

  Bree exhaled a gust of relief and smiled back. “Yep. I’m here.”

  Clint’s bag was dropped, and he marched over to her, shaking his head. “It is insane how much I missed you.”

  Her feet were moving before she meant for them to be, and she found herself jumping into his open arms, pulling him close and thrilling at how clenched Clint’s hold around her was.

  This is perfect.

  “Why does it feel like you were gone forever?” Bree asked, burying her face into Clint’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” he growled. He exhaled into her hair, which she had left down that day and might never put up again if he kept this up. “I don’t know, but I didn’t realize how hard that was until I saw you just now.”

  Bree hummed a laugh and let herself be lowered down, but she stayed close to Clint, linking her hands behind his neck. “You were so great tonight. That play in the second period was amazing, and when you and Fig teamed up to get the defender in the boards? So good.”

  Clint chuckled and touched his brow to Bree’s, cupping her cheek with one hand. “Look who’s picked up some hockey lingo.”

  She punched him lightly in the stomach. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m from a baseball family. I’m trying here.”

  “I know you are,” he assured her, still laughing. “And it’s ridiculously cute. Means a lot, Bree.”

  She smiled, sighing a little. “I figured if I’m going to hang around here more, I should probably figure out what’s going on. Penny and Amy have been teaching me, and when we got our tickets tonight . . . ”