Page 32 of Tough Call

Eventually, the captain skated away, probably after being threatened with a delay of game or unsportsmanlike penalty, and the power play and penalty kill set up. While fans around me voiced their support for their respective teams, my gaze kept drifting away from the action and on to him.

I saw refs and linesmen every damn time I played, and I never thought twice about them. Seeing Connor in that role, though? His confidence? His competence? His effortless skating and laser focus? It all did something to my head that I couldn’t explain or ignore.

Or maybe my distraction was just left over from everything he’d done to me in his hotel room and from the way we’d kissed in that alley.

I shivered, squirming in my seat.

I always savored tournaments and big competitions like this, but I couldn’t lie—I couldn’t wait for the Games to end because then I could hook up with Connor again.

I wanted to spend my entire flight back to Genève feeling everything we’d done together.

I shivered.

Were these damn Games over yet?

Hours later, my legs were shaking a little as I stepped into the showers. Thank God I was done for the day, because if I even tried to put on my skates again, my body would just give up. The game had been a grind that went into double overtime. Another five minutes and our poor goalie probably would’ve needed medical attention.

We’d won, though. Germany put up a hell of a fight, and their goalie—a star NAL player—had been a brick wall. After almost fifty shots on goal, we’d ultimately won 2-1. What a fucking grind.

The next game promised to be tough too. Though Switzerland wasn’t favored to win the entire tournament, everyone was betting on them at least making it to the quarterfinals. And I regularly played either with or against half the men on that team; I knew exactly what we were up against, and it was going to be a battle.

Did I think we were going to lose? No. I was sure we could win. It was just going to be a much harder game than today’s.

At least if we got eliminated, it wouldn’t be after zero wins. Somebody always had to be eliminated first in a tournament, and somebody always went down without a single win. I’d been there. It fucking stung.

Not this time, though. We’d won multiple games already against strong contenders. If Latvia went down, we’d go down swinging.

By the time I’d finished in the shower, I was steadier on my feet, though I could definitely feel the extra thirty-seven minutes of play. I’d spent almost twenty of that on the ice, and I could feel every second of it.

Worth it, though. Definitely worth it.

I was on my way up from ice level, gaze on my phone as I responded to some congratulatory texts from my parents and teammates, when a voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Madars Kulda?” The man was white, probably in his late forties, wearing a baseball cap with the Kingfishers logo.

The Vancouver NAL team.

“Uh.” I shoved my phone into my jacket pocket. “Yes, that’s me.”

He extended his hand. “Todd Williams. Scout for the Vancouver Kingfishers.”

My stomach somersaulted, and I was almost instantly unable to speak just from nerves. “Oh. Uh.” I cleared my throat. “It’s… nice to meet you.” I had no idea what else to say.

“I wanted to introduce myself. Maybe we can have a chat later in the Games, but while I have you…” He inclined his head. “Would you be interested in playing in the NAL again?”

My pulse skyrocketed. “Interested? Absolutely!”

He nodded with what seemed like approval, and he clapped my shoulder. “Good. Excellent. We’ll talk more after the Games, but you looked great out there today, kid. Really great.”

My mouth had gone dry, but I nodded and croaked, “Uh, thanks! Yeah, let’s definitely talk!”

“How about I send you a message on WhatsApp?” He took out his phone. “Once things quiet down a little with”—he gestured around us—“I’ll text you.”

I fumbled with my phone and prayed he didn’t notice, and then we exchanged contact information. He left me with a card, too, and after another handshake, he disappeared into the crowd. I stood there for a moment, reeling from our brief interaction. My head spun. If he was heading me off now and wanted to talk later, maybe that meant there were others sniffing around for me and he wanted to get to me first.

Or maybe it meant he wanted to let me know how high the stakes were so he could see how I played under serious pressure.

Whatever the case, I was on an NAL team’s radar.