“I wish I could spend all day with you,” she says, crawling back on the bed to throw her fully dressed body on top of my naked one.
After last night, I’m in full agreement. I just want to keep the high going. Stay naked with her forever, but she has a championship game to play.
“I need to get to the rink,” she says reluctantly. “And my parents’ flight lands soon.”
I offered to pick them up, but Hannah said they’re fine taking a cab. I suspect Garrett just didn’t want me as his chauffeur because he hates me.
But there’s nothing I can do about it now, nothing to change the way I feel about his daughter and the way she feels about me. She’s mine and I’m hers, and he’ll have to deal with it eventually.
After Gigi is gone, I shower and dress, then reluctantly leave the hotel to meet the Grahams for lunch. Garrett and Wyatt talk to each other the whole time, while Hannah and I have our own side conversation. I anticipate quite a lot of this in my future.
I’m drowning in relief when it’s finally time to head for the arena, where we have excellent seats directly behind the Briar bench. The game is being televised, so cameras are everywhere. Flashbulbs going off. A hum of excitement travels through the rink and it’s contagious. I rub my hands together as we settle in our seats. My gaze seeks out Gigi, landing on the back of her jersey. #44. Her long dark ponytail is sticking out of her helmet.
The game is fast paced from the get-go, but it’s exactly what you’d expect from the championship. The best female college players are on that ice right now.
Halfway through the first period, Gigi twists around to grin at us from behind her visor. She’s just heaved herself onto the bench after scoring a goal that sent the entire rink into a deafening frenzy.
“She looks feral,” Wyatt remarks. “You guys raised a feral child.”
I snicker.
“Hey, blame him,” Hannah says, jerking a thumb at her husband. “He’s the one with the hockey gene.”
I’m fully on board for this matchup. On the edge of my seat the entire time. It’s like a seesaw. First Briar has all the momentum, leading Ohio State around by their noses. Then a sudden momentum shift, and Ohio is wiping the ice with Briar. Then another abrupt shift, and Whitney Cormac is on a breakaway. She doesn’t score, but Briar’s on the attack. They’re going hard—Whitney, Gigi, and Camila Martinez shooting bullets at the net like a trio of snipers.
I’ve never experienced more pride than when I see Gigi pivoting behind the net like a fucking professional. Distracting the goalie, creating an opportunity for Camila to get a shot in the back door.
2–1, Briar.
The second period is much of the same, although I notice a couple of the Ohio girls starting to get more physical than they should. Sometimes it’s just incidental contact. Sometimes it’s a surreptitious check cloaked in incidental contact. It usually depends on the refs whether they’ll call it or not.
The opposing center, #28, is taking a lot of liberties, though. The chick’s at least five-nine, so a decent bit taller than Gigi. But my woman holds her own. Angling her body with ease, winning every face-off against #28. And yet the chick is relentless.
At one point Garrett jumps to his feet, shouting at the refs. “The hell are you doing down there! Use your eyes! That was clearly checking!”
His outburst draws attention. Several pairs of eyes widen in recognition.
Hannah yanks him back to his seat. “Garrett, sit down. I didn’t bring your fake beard and glasses.”
Wyatt laughs.
As he resettles in his seat, Garrett exchanges a look with me. I can’t deny I’m also a bit annoyed.
“This chick is too rough,” I tell him.
He nods. “Those refs better start paying more attention.”
Luckily, it’s as if #28 realizes how close she is to earning herself a lifelong vendetta from Garrett Graham. She backs off. They’re tied 2–2 now, after a goal courtesy of an Ohio winger.
Christ, this game is a nail-biter. I lean forward with my forearms on my knees, my eyes glued to the action below.
Gigi’s got the puck and is crossing the blue line. She dumps it; then she and Whitney give chase, tangling behind the net with an Ohio defenseman. #28 throws herself into the mix and I’m instantly on guard. So is Garrett. Our hawklike gazes focus on the net.
“Get it out,” Garrett is murmuring. “It’s too dangerous back there with number twenty-eight.”
I agree. Normally I’d want Gigi to hold her ground, but I don’t like this girl. I breathe a sigh of relief when Gigi snaps the puck into the boards and skates toward the bench when Adley calls for a substitution.
She’s trying to make the line change, but #28 is breathing down her neck, not letting her get off. Fucking asshole. I understand wanting to put pressure on your opponent, but come on. There’s still honor amongst hockey players.
Two new forwards pop on, one of them coming to Gigi’s aid against the boards. The Briar player wins the battle for the puck and careens off while Gigi gets in position in the slot. She’s shouting something. The puck snaps out and lands on her stick at the same time she collides with #28.
It’s a total accident. Even I, who now has a personal blood feud against #28, can tell she didn’t mean to do it. Her stick breaks, knocking her off balance. And the abrupt shift in body weight sends her slamming into Gigi’s back.
We all watch in horror as Gigi flies forward. My panicked eyes track the blurry streak of #44 as Gigi slams headfirst into the boards, helmet flying off.
She goes sprawling onto her stomach, one hand still gripping her stick, the other one outstretched on the ice near her discarded helmet. We’re all on our feet. At first, the crowd continues screaming because they don’t realize what’s going on. Then the entire rink goes deathly silent when the fans realize she’s not getting back up.
My heart stops. Just quits beating in my chest, a useless, motionless mass of pure fear.
“She’s just winded,” Wyatt says, his green eyes glued to the ice. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “She’s fine—”
Before he even finishes speaking, I’m racing down the aisle. Pushing through people without excusing myself, Gigi’s dad hot on my heels.
We practically vault over the wall below to the walkway between the bleachers and the plexiglass.
“Let me through,” Garrett snaps at the staff member in front of the door to the bench. “That’s my daughter.”
I’m frantically peering at the ice, my heart still not beating because she’s still not moving. There’s a ref bent over her, as well as Coach Adley and some of her teammates. Finally, I’ve had enough of the man at the door. I step forward and attempt to shove him to the side. I think it’s one of the Briar assistant coaches, but I don’t give a shit about being polite.
“You can’t go out there,” he insists, getting in my face again.
A fucking stampede wouldn’t be able to stop me from getting to Gigi.
“Like hell I can’t,” I growl. And then I give him another firm shove, forcibly moving him out of my way. “That’s my wife out there.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE