So I stayed in my lane down the center until I saw the forward looking for an open teammate. Wipf was open—until I checked her and reclaimed the puck.
My sprint across the ice earned me another hit, not from Wipf this time. But checking me just sent the puck to Nils and he took a shot.
Defended. No goal.
I zipped around to the corner and Wipf crashed me into the boards from the other side. I elbowed her hard in the gut, flipped the puck to the WC right wing. He was covered on both sides, sticks smacked and scuffled and then the EC center had the puck again.
We gave chase. When the EC center missed the shot on goal, I saw our forwards hanging behind the net, which meant shift change.
I wasn’t tired but I breathed hard as I hopped the barricade onto the bench.
Nils panted, “Chick on other team. A friend?”
“No. I have better taste in friends than assholes like her.”
He did a spit-take.
Our team had ramped up their aggression and they’d kept team EC on defense rather than offense.
Seemed by the time I caught my breath my line returned to the ice.
Wipf tried to welcome me back with a sneaky high stick, but I stiff-armed her.
While we were in our little skirmish, Wipf’s brother Gerard passed her the puck but it sailed past her. Nils got it and took off toward the goal, with Wipf’s brother hot on his heels and Asswipf on mine. Nils’s shot was blocked. I rebounded and skated back to pass it to Knight. He didn’t hesitate. A quick wrister and he lit the lamp.
A group hug, high fives down the line and we were in the face-off circle.
Me against Wipf.
“Gonna stuff you, Welsher.”
I said, “Eat a bag of dicks,” before I shoved my mouth guard in.
But that motherfucking smug bitch got me to jump and kicked out of the face-off.
Knight lost the face-off and we chased after the defenseman.
Or should I say, one moment I was eating up the ice and the next thing I knew, I was facedown and skidding on my belly across it.
The refs weren’t looking at me, so they didn’t see Wipf hook my skate with her stick and send me sprawling.
No matter. I popped up fast and rejoined the game. As much as I wanted to beat the fuck out of her, I couldn’t let her distract me.
Even when she slammed me into the plexiglass hard enough to rattle my bones, I didn’t retaliate.
The hits kept coming—not just from her. And these were big goddamned guys. By all rights I should’ve been lying on the ice clutching my cracked pride.
But I refused to give anyone that satisfaction.
After team EC scored on a freak breakaway and we were down to the last minute before the break, I zeroed in on Wipf as she cleared the backside of the net. I bodychecked her with enough force to knock her on her ass.
She sputtered at the refs about unnecessary roughness, but they’d moved on.
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the first half.
In the locker room I did some deep stretches. There wasn’t much discussion on strategy—mostly the guys talked among themselves about the players they knew on team EC.
Jax sat next to me as I checked the tape on my stick. “So Wipf really has it in for you.”
“And vice versa.”
“What’s the story between you two?”
I ran my finger over the tape lines on my blade. “Different philosophies. She’s a dirty player and she pushes that hockey style on her teammates, regardless if it’s on the Canadian national stage or on a women’s team. She injured a teammate of mine, knocked her out cold during a semifinal game . . . but there’s no checking in women’s hockey, right? So she wasn’t penalized at all. Plus when she is in the media spotlight, she never says anything positive about the sport, it’s pure negativity about the opposing team. The final straw for me was last year when all of us on the Women’s National Team threatened to boycott the World Cup if USA Hockey didn’t provide us with better compensation, health insurance and per diem. Amelie spouted off to the Toronto Star about whiny American players believing they deserved more and acting like bratty children until we got it.” I ground my teeth together. “She could’ve kept her mouth shut. Even that little sound bite she provided cast doubt about our intentions. But she just kept blathering, pretending to be the spokesmodel for female hockey players.”
“Yeah, I can see that. When Griz introduced me to her before you arrived, she reminded me of the type of women Nolan used to date.”
I snorted. I could see a leggy, vapid blond like her on his arm.
Type. Wait. Jax had said type. That was a very specific word choice.
I looked up. “Nolan told you about that?”
“I didn’t give him a choice. I could see you were upset with him about something—you flipped him off during the eight-year-old skills practice, Gabi. That’s not like you.”
“Sorry.” I picked at the tape. “When did he tell you?”
“The day after the Full Tilt pre-party. He indicated he’d apologized and you two mended fences. I was relieved to hear it.”
“Do you and Nolan tell each other everything?”
He laughed. “Not on your life.”
Whew.
“I’m just here to suggest, as team captain, if you wanted to give Asswipf a taste of her own medicine, don’t be stealthy.” He walked away.
Huh. First time I’d ever been encouraged to stir some shit.
Guess that’s what the hockey stick was for.
Rexall moved to address us. “You all looked good out there, but not great. Let’s give these fans a show. I wanna see a faster pace, more aggressive playing and some hotdoggin’.”
I leaned toward MM and whispered, “Is that even a term applied to hockey players?”
“Nope. Like most coaches, he pulled something out of his ass and hoped it’d be inspirational to us.”
Dammit. Did my players think the same thing about my pep talks before they played?
“Let’s get a move on, people. One minute to ice time.”
We had two minutes to warm up and the first line faced off.
Wipf kept coming for me and I kept pushing back.
EC responded to our speed and pressure just the way we’d wanted them to: Gerard SanSimeon got called for tripping and we had the first power play of the game.
Jax sent a beautiful slap shot right into the back corner of the net.
With three minutes to go and after an icing call, the second lines faced off.
And Wipf’s mouth started running.
“Your sister couldn’t beat me in a face-off during the Olympics, remember?”
“All I remember was the light reflecting off all of those gold medals from Team USA. Oh, and you bawling and acting like a bratty kid with your silver. Embarrassing for you, Asswipf.”
“At least I made the Olympic team representing my country. Wait, you were your sister’s coach. No wonder she didn’t do anything memorable during the games. Must run in the family.”
I lunged at her, knocking her on her back. We slid out of the face-off circle with me on top of her, my gloves thrown behind me so I could rip her helmet off and punch her stupid face.
She shrieked after my first punch landed. Then she reached up and yanked my helmet off; her fingers clutching the wires of my face guard allowed her to smack me in the face. With my own goddamned helmet.
My helmet went flying and she threw an elbow into my mouth. I felt that popping gush of blood on my bottom lip, courtesy of my teeth breaking the skin. She followed that up with a head-butt that knocked me onto the ice.
I saw red. Not just the blood pouring out of my mouth. But the color of rage because this bitch was clearly winning this fight.
Then we were each hauled upright as th
e refs tried to break it up and separated us.
That gave me the chance I needed. I jerked free of the ref’s hold and swung at her, my fist connecting with her jaw.
She went down.
I pounced on her.
She got one more good elbow shot to my cheekbone before she curled into a ball on the ice, her arms attempting to protect her head from further blows from me.
This time when the refs separated us, they kept a much tighter grip on our jerseys.
The head ref spoke into his headset and it connected with the stadium loudspeaker system.
“Players Welk and SanSimeon-Wipf are ejected from the game for unsportsmanlike conduct.”
Cheers rang out.
We didn’t have the luxury of escaping to opposite ends of the arena. But I’d be damned if I’d go first. I didn’t trust her not to attack me from behind.
She bumped her shoulder into mine as she strolled past. I lunged for her, determined she wouldn’t get the last jab in.
My captain held me back. “Easy,” Jax said in my ear. “Let her go.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk later.”
I left the ice to chants of “fight, fight, fight, fight.”
Margene met me in the doorway to the locker room with a wet towel. “Gabi, what am I gonna do with you?
“Point me toward the shower and get me an ice pack.”
Despite the adrenaline rushing through me, I slumped back against the wall and attempted to calm down. Time passed in a pulsing blur as my injuries began to throb. I’d just yanked my jersey over my head when I heard a familiar voice yell, “Margene! Where is she?”
Fuck. I did not need this right now.
Nolan stormed around the corner and stopped.
“Jesus Christ, Gabriella, what the hell were you thinking?” As soon as he loomed over me, he seemed to take a moment to compose himself. He gently curled his hand below my jaw, tilting my head to inspect the damage. “Does it hurt?”
I snorted. “Ya think?” Then my gaze narrowed on his mouth. “What the hell happened to your lip?”
“Bar fight.” He snagged the towel from me and started blotting my face.
“What? Since when do you—”
“You’re not the only one who can take a punch when you’re pissed off, Welk,” he said with annoyance. “Hold still.”
I jerked away from him. “Stop poking me.”
He didn’t. He kept wiping the spots of blood on my neck.
“What are you doing here?”
Nolan grabbed my hand and cleaned the blood off of there too. “Jax gave me a ticket to the game, only telling me he was part of some NHL Hockey Legends pregame exhibition. When I got here, I saw you were on the player roster.” He paused in his fussing over me. “Why?”
“Why what?” I sidestepped him and sat on the bench. Bending over to undo my skates hurt my damn ribs and I sucked in a loud breath.
Nolan tossed the towel aside and crouched down, batting my hands away to loosen my laces himself. “Why would you agree to play in an exhibition hockey game tonight, of all nights, when you have”—he briefly glanced over his shoulder, looking for Margene—“the interview tomorrow?”
I lowered my voice. “What was I supposed to say to my boss when he gave me this opportunity? Sorry. No can do. It conflicts with my new job interview?”
“Fine. I’ll give you that. But how long had you known about this exhibition?”
“Jax told me last night. I didn’t even consider saying no. It’s a huge deal for me, Nolan.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why are you so furious?”
“Because you’re bleeding.”
“You didn’t fuss this much over Mimi when she lost a tooth and was bleeding,” I pointed out.
Those fiery blue eyes connected with mine. “This. With you and me? Not even fucking close to the same situation. Tell me you understand that.”
Yikes.
I nodded.
Muttering, he pulled my skates off and set them aside.
I stood on the mat. When he pushed to his feet, the top of my head barely grazed his chin.
“And the fight?” He ran the backs of his fingers across my swollen cheek and jaw, studying me with such intensity that I shivered. “Did you consider saying no to getting involved with that?”
His touch was so soft it took all of my willpower not to lean into it and purr.
Okay, so maybe I did angle in a little.
“Gabriella?”
“No regrets about the fight. That’s been a long time coming between her and me.” I started to peel off my padding when Margene returned.
“Uh, Gabi, maybe Nolan oughta go while you get undressed.”
“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.” I made a rowr sound. “Right, tiger?”
He rolled his eyes. “Deflect. Distract. I’m telling you those won’t work. We will finish this discussion.” He spun on his heel and disappeared.
“Shower is warmed up for you. It’s the only private one in this locker room so maybe you wanna get a move on before the team gets off the ice and tries to commandeer it.”
I stripped and wrapped a towel around myself.
Margene walked with me to the shower. She held up a baggie of ice. “Nolan got this for you and said to use it.”
Bossy man.
“I’m supposed to tell you from Jax to skip the jersey for the photo op. Wear street clothes instead. The fans will have some kind of sign to hold up that gives the event info, since none of your names are visible on the front of the jerseys anyway.”
After stepping into the cubicle, the warm water hit me like a lover’s caress, and I groaned.
“Everything all right?” Margene asked.
“Great. Except I didn’t bring a bit of makeup with me and I have to stand in front of those bright lights for the photo ops. All you’ll see on my face are bruises after I get the blood washed off.”
“Nolan got you mostly cleaned up.” Margene paused. “Why did he come down here?”
He hadn’t considered how people might find it odd that he’d rushed to check on me. I found that unsettling and a tiny bit thrilling. Still, I had to deflect. “Probably my sister sent him.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Anyway, I’ve got face powder. That’s it.”
“That’ll work.” I stood on my tiptoes and grinned at her over the top of the door. Fuck. Smiling hurt. “Thanks, Margene, you’re a lifesaver.”
Seventeen
NOLAN
Talk about losing your shit.
I’d lost mine in a big way when I watched Gabi pounce on the other player and start pummeling her.
It wasn’t the fighting that got to me; I’d attended hundreds of hockey games and understood anger could overtake common sense in competitive situations.
But when I saw the blood spurt from Gabi’s lip like some slow-motion horror movie, rage and terror consumed me in equal parts.
Everyone in the skybox jumped to their feet when the fight broke out. Behind me Gabi’s friends yelled, “Go, go, go,” and beside me my mother said, “Oh dear,” but any other reactions didn’t register as the blood rushing in my ears blocked everything else out.
The fight seemed to go on and on.
Even after both women had gotten to their feet, Gabi was on the receiving end of a haymaker that only caught her off guard for a millisecond before she retaliated.
The crowd went nuts.
Fucking vultures.
Before Gabi even left the ice, I’d bailed out of the skybox.
The elevator would take forever, so I flashed my all-access pass to the security guard and hoofed it down six flights of stairs. Then I hustled to the backside of the arena and took the stairs down to locker room level.
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Of course upon seeing me, Gabi had acted more annoyed than injured.
As she bled.
While attempting to give her the TLC she deserved, I matched her brusque attitude and made it appear my concern for her was really admonishment for how busted up she’d be for tomorrow’s big interview.
Such a fucking lie.
What I’d really wanted to do instead of taking her skates off was to sit in the corner of the locker room with her curled into me, holding her until she stopped shaking.
Instead I’d filled a bag with ice and passed it to Margene after she’d kicked me out.
Now here I was, lurking outside the locker room. Listening to her male teammates—including my damn brother—giving her kudos for getting tossed from her first NHL game.
There’s something to be proud of.
But maybe for her . . . it would be.
Jax barreled out of the locker room and almost mowed me over.
“Nolan? What are you doing down here?”
As far as Jax knew, Gabi and I had declared a tentative truce after I’d apologized for the Buddy’s incident. I couldn’t tell him why I was concerned, so I picked a plausible reason for my presence. “Mimi saw the fight and the blood, and she asked if I’d come down and check on Gabi.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Because I just got a text from Mimi asking if Gabi could teach her to fight like that because it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.”
Jesus.
“So you wanna try again?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him my slickest smile. “Actually, no, I don’t. See you upstairs.” I strode off.
The perks of the skybox were comped food and drink, but I needed a shot to calm down before I returned.
Standing in line at the scotch bar, scanning the options of the twenty different varieties they offered, I heard, “Nolan?” from somewhere behind me. I turned and a brunette with big brown eyes smiled at me.
She sauntered closer; her two-sizes-too-tight GO WILD! T-shirt left the strip of skin above the waist of her skinny jeans completely bare. “I thought that was you.” She gave me a once-over, from my Hermès tie to my royal-blue custom-tailored suit jacket and pants to my Tom Ford loafers and back up to meet my eyes. “You look good, but you don’t look much like a Wild fan.”
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