don’t know, but we agreed, she would leave the show, keep the money, but she would get counseling. Then there was that post, about me hurting her, on her Instagram, and I don’t know why she’s doing it. Is it for money? For notoriety? Is it the pain that Marco feels that is making her do it? I’m furious, and sad, and overwhelmed, broken-hearted all at the same time, but I’m trying desperately to understand what she is doing.”
“We need to talk to her,” Vlad said.
“I’m not bullying her into—”
“Talk. Find out what is in her head. Help her if she needs it.”
Shit. He’d done it. In one sentence of pure understanding and support he’d made me lose my heart, I didn’t care if this relationship never stepped out of the closet, I had to tell him.
“I love you,” I clung to him and he rolled us so I was sprawled across his chest. He cradled my face and I braced my arms for him to say that it was too soon, or that it was impossible, and then he smiled that beautiful smile I knew so well.
“And I love you.”
This new love was a secret, something I held close in my heart, and I could let it out at my lowest points and know that I had Vlad in my corner. The Raptors were climbing the league, still out of the Cup race, but higher than last year. Only the last three games had been less than stellar.
Or in Colorado’s words, “this is the worst shit that has ever fucked up shit, in any shitty fucked-up arena ever”. He was off his game, prone to stalking around looking as if he wanted to blame someone for something, and I couldn’t help but think that his ire would turn on me after tonight’s mess-up, one point for an overtime loss in Tampa, no points for a loss in regulation time in Carolina, and now we were a goal down against freaking Dallas in their arena, and I ached in places I didn’t know could ache.
Because this was my first game back at my old team, they played a video of my highlights, the crowd had clapped, but it wasn’t real, none of it was. All the players in green were respectful apart from Marco, but then he appeared to have a lot to say in my ear every time we got close.
“What is he saying?” Vlad asked me as I slid along the bench ready for my next shift.
“Same shit, different day,” was all I had time to say before I got the tap to go over the boards and join a rush.
But Marco didn’t stop and even though I’d promised myself that I knew the story, his constant harassment was enough to rattle me. In the locker room after the second period with only one more twenty-minute session to go I was the center of attention, and not in a good way. Coach pulled out all the typical stuff, Xs, Os and everything in between. Our D was sloppy, our forwards were making too many mistakes, we weren’t playing Raptors Hockey, we needed to pull our heads out of our asses, oh and none of us were to rise to the Dallas bullshit.
He was staring right at me when he said that. I met his gaze steadily, and I saw a glimpse of disappointment when I said nothing, but I didn’t have the words.
Vlad was quiet through the reaming, staring down at his skates. He didn’t add anything apart from leading by example, first back onto the ice, determination in every stride.
And then it was game on.
And the gloves were off in seconds, Vlad and Marco going at it like two bulls rutting, Marco was a smaller guy but wiry and young, Vlad was a towering beast who had a point to make. I knew it was Vlad’s role to get his team energized, but he wasn’t going for Marco with anything other than a blazing need to take the man down. They were shouting and both fell to the ice at the same time, to be split by the officials, both in the bin with penalties, the Dallas crowd roaring their approval.
That left both teams one man down. And if there was one thing I knew well it was four-on-four hockey, and the passes between Sam, Henry and me were perfect, and in the time served we’d scored a goal and leveled the game.
Back to full strength, the