Grabbing my water bottle, I squirt it in my mouth and accept the congrats of my team. But I tilt my head, and my gaze finds my girlfriend’s. Shea’s in the stands behind us, swimming a jersey with my name on it. Her fingers cover her mouth, but her eyes shine as she nods. I’ve known Shea since she was twelve, and she doesn’t need to say anything for me to know exactly what she’s thinking.
She’s proud and loves me. Contentment washes through me as I nod back, touching my temple in a salute, before refocusing on the game.
Play progresses, and we stay tied until the last two minutes of the second period. But the winger on the left fumbles the puck, and our center picks it up. There’s a breakaway, three-on-one, toward our goal. The center pulls off an amazing deke and buries the puck in our net.
Our stands go wild. Our bench gets to our feet, all smacking the butt ends of our sticks against the boards in front of us. As the center skates past, he fist-bumps us.
We hold the lead as the last seconds tick off. The bench empties, and we skate over to scrum around Mark. Lining up, we bump fists with the other team. Back at the bench, I grab my second stick and skate off the ice.
Shea stands at the bottom of the bleachers. She’s thrown her coat on over my jersey, tucking her hands in her pockets. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulders, and she’s wearing boots that appear impossibly high. I seriously do not know how she walks in shoes like that, but she’s not a tall girl and she likes the height they give her. Now, she steps down next to me, and I fold her against me. Even in the tall boots, she doesn’t reach my chin.
“Hey, Tiny,” I say, reveling in the soft feel of her against me.
“Hey.” She leans out of my grip. “You don’t smell good.”
I shrug an arm. “Nope, probably not.” I can’t be sure. I’m pretty much immune to my stench after playing hockey for so many years.
She steps away from me, and the grin she gives me is everything. I’ve known Shea since middle school, when I became best friends with her twin brother, Colt. I’ve been in love with her almost that long but kept my distance. She’s my best friend’s sister. It violated every bro-code. Thank God all of that is in the past. I can’t imagine my life without Shea.
“I’m glad you could come,” I say, because spilling all that on the way to the locker room is cheesy, especially with the rest of my teammates walking behind me.
“I’m glad the semester’s over, so I have time to see your games.” Shea just finished her first semester of graduate school at Boston College. Since they signed me to the Boston Gladiators, she attended a college near me in hopes we’d be close enough. Right now, while I’m in Providence on their AHL team, she’s staying on campus. It sucks living apart right now, but we’re not too far away. Less than an hour on a good day. Right now, she’s staying with me during her semester break.
We stand there staring at each other like idiots when she jumps. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, her brow wrinkles. “What’s up?” I ask.
“It’s Penny.” She puts the phone to her ear. I should go in and shower, but right after this we’re heading to Chesterboro, Pennsylvania, for our friends’ Cord and Hannah’s wedding. Penny Hampshire has been in Chesterboro since the end of her law school semester, helping with the preparations.
Shea’s face is grim when she disconnects. “Cord and Griff are in Chicago.”
“Yeah…”
“And flights are already being canceled and postponed. I saw that it’s already snowing in Boston.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. She’s worried they aren’t going to make it.”
I swipe my sweaty hair out of my eyes. “Is it that bad already?”
“Ice, up north.”
I nod. “We should get going then. We need to pick up Declan and Ivy in New York on our way by.” Declan Mitchell is on the New York AHL team, and his girlfriend, Ivy, choreographs music videos. They live in Manhattan, and neither has a need for a car, so we offered to drive them.
“Shower fast.” Shea skims through her phone. “I’m going to see if I can get a hold of the family’s pilot. Maybe he can help us out.” She waves me toward the locker room as her call connects. I blink as she walks away. Shea and her brother are so down-to-earth. Sometimes I forget their parents own and run Carmichael Enterprises, a multi-billion-dollar property development company.
She pauses, though, before she gets too far and turns back to me, putting her hand over the phone. “Hey, Linc?”
I grin at her, and I don’t care how smitten I look right now. “Yeah, Tiny?”
She smiles. “I love you.”
I shuffle to the side and get as close to her as I can. But I stay on the rubber walkway, so I don’t mess up my blades. She scurries back to the edge of the bleachers. The phone still in hand, she leans up to kiss me, and I linger on her lips. Finally, she pushes me, giggling. “Go. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
As I head down the tunnel toward the locker room, a few fans call out to me. We don’t get the enormous crowds that the NHL team gets, but the stands were still pretty full today. I wave and smack a few hands as I pass, but I don’t linger.
Shea’s waiting for me.
Declan Mitchell