Page 19 of Over the Line

“No. In fact it was friendly fire.”

His lips parted. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “I was screening the goal during a power play. We were cycling the puck, and one of the guys at the point—I guess he saw an opening and went for a one-timer. It just came up a bit higher than he expected, and I wasn’t ready for it, and…” I gestured at my face.

Garrett grimaced. “Bet he felt like shit after that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, he was helping me off the ice while I was bleeding like a stuck pig, and he’s all, ‘I would’ve scored if you’d gotten out of the way.’”

Garrett snorted. “Oh my God. Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. Asshole even got the equipment managers to save the puck for me.”

The laugh that burst out of Garrett echoed off the cinderblock walls and made my toes curl inside my dress shoes. “Yeah, that sounds like a hockey player.” Gesturing at the locker room door, he added, “Chris told me he accidentally high-sticked one of his teammates’ faces during his rookie season in the minors. Gave the guy a bloody nose and split his lip.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Little shit offered to give the kid his stick as a souvenir.”

I barked a laugh. “Well, did he take the stick?”

“He did, on the condition that Chris write ‘sorry about your face’ and autograph it.”

“Smart,” I said, still laughing. “Could be worth something someday.”

“I know, right?”

We kept shooting the shit. Talking about injuries we’d witnessed or ones Chris or I had experienced. Or, in some cases, inflicted. Chris had bloodied that one teammate’s lip and nose. I still felt awful for that one nasty collision in Boston a few years ago; a defenseman and I had slammed into each other, then fallen, and our legs had tangled on the way down. I’d skated away just fine, but he’d torn his MCL. Apparently Chris had a similar experience in his youth days; he’d taken a tripping penalty because even accidental tripping counted, but he’d felt terrible because the way the guy had fallen had put him on LTIR for weeks.

What could I say? Hockey was not a gentle sport.

We were so lost in conversation that I barely noticed the various spouses and kids trickling in through the door. I had no idea how much time had passed at all until the locker room door swung open, and we both turned to see Chris stepping out, dressed in his suit with his phone in his hand.

“Oh, there you are,” he said to Garrett before turning a curious look on me.

“We figured we’d wait out here,” I told him. “Let the press and everyone else clear out.”

He cocked his head. “They’ve been gone for a while.” Gesturing over his shoulder, he added, “Everyone’s finishing up eating right now.” To his dad, he said, “Ready to go?”

“When you are.” Garrett smiled. “Great game tonight.”

Chris smiled a bit sheepishly. “Could’ve done without that turnover in the second.”

“Don’t do that to yourself.” I clapped his arm. “We all have turnovers, and sometimes they turn into goals against. Shake it off.”

He studied me, then nodded and rolled his shoulders. “I will. I’ll probably be thinking about it all night tonight, but… I will.”

“I’d be lying if I told you my turnovers and shit didn’t still keep me up at night.”

His eyes widened. “They do?”

“Are you kidding? Every time I turn over the puck, half of hockey media posts about how I’m clearly done and need to retire.” I rolled my eyes.

Chris huffed a laugh. “Right. You lead the team in goals and points every season, but one turnover means it’s over.”

“Exactly. It’ll always be more of a disaster in your head—and on social media—than in reality.”

That seemed to ease some of the tension in his back and shoulders, and he nodded. “Thanks.”

Beside Chris, Garrett relaxed, too, a subtle smile playing at his lips, which made my spine tingle. I’d only been talking Chris down because I was the captain and that was what I was supposed to do, not because it would earn me any points with his smoking hot dad.

But I wouldn’t bitch about that little smile.