Hooking - Kristine Allen Page 0,57

if I’d been so big-headed with them that I hadn’t seen it.

We sat watching the action until it was time for us to switch out again. We piled over the wall like cockroaches when the lights came on. Determination drove me as we jumped into the game.

I didn’t see it coming, because Nicholson came at me from behind. He slammed me into the boards so hard my teeth rattled. When I shoved him off me and fought my way out of the corner, he shoved me and muttered something about fucking my girl since I was gone.

Temper already short, I lost it. Not because he was fucking Brandy. We hadn’t been serious in the least. Like I said, I didn’t do relationships. We’d been a convenience for each other. No, my lack of control was a combination of everything.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I asked him as I shoulder-checked him. He grabbed my jersey and swung me around.

It was on.

I grabbed him and waylaid his ass. He fought back but I was pissed by then. It wasn’t long before the gloves came off. Nailing him over and over, I took all my frustration out on his dumb ass. We hit the ice, and his helmet flew off, skidding across the ice.

At the first drop of blood to the ice, the refs came in and broke it up. As I skated to the box, Halvorson called out to me. I glanced his way, and he tossed me my glove I’d abandoned.

He had a big grin on his face and gave me an approving chin lift.

Damn.

Halvorson scored again, and everyone briefly celebrated on the ice. I yelled from the penalty box and shot Nicholson a wide grin next to me. Fucker. What I really wanted to do was flip him off.

Once our five minutes was up, I hopped back on the ice, ignoring Nicholson and his douche bag comments.

The period ended, and we all headed to the locker room.

“Kosinski! What the actual fuck was that out there? I’d expect that shit from Papadopoulos, but not you,” Coach shouted at me. I simply gritted my teeth and held my tongue. “You’re goddamn lucky you weren’t ejected from the game for that crap.”

We both knew he was full of shit. It was only my first major penalty of the game. Then again, they still could’ve done it. And Papadopoulos had been earning a reputation as a brawler, but he was a decent guy and a strong player. It was unlike me to fight.

“Nicholson had it coming. He’s been riding Kosinski all goddamn period,” argued Halvorson. Coach and I both turned our gazes his way. Mine full of wary disbelief, Coach’s full of disgruntled satisfaction.

The rest of the break was a bit more upbeat and directed toward motivation. The fight might have gotten my ass in a sling, but it seemed to allow me to chill out a bit. That edge was still there, but at least it wasn’t as sharp.

The second period had them tying up the game. We were 2 and 2 by then. It wasn’t until the third period that we pulled our heads out of our asses and scored the point that won us the game.

We were happy but subdued. At least I was.

“Thank fucking God. We needed to win that one,” McGregor sighed as he laid his aching body down on the bed that night. We were all sore and tired as fuck.

“Amen,” I moaned from my bed. I’d called Sydney while he was in the shower.

During the rest of the four-game stretch, I called Sydney when I could. Hell, as often as I could. She’d become my island. Talking with her each morning and night calmed me—grounded me.

It was also a shock to admit that I missed her. She’d moved into her own apartment from her parents and I hadn’t been there to help. It kind of blew. Sure, her family had helped her, but it didn’t stop me from wishing I’d been there. I’d asked my brother and his club to help, but she thanked me before telling me they had it under control so I told him never mind.

By the time the road trip was over, I was ready to go home. It had been a ridiculously long week that had ended in two wins and two losses. We’d held it together better after the second loss since it was a close game and they only scored the winning goal in overtime.

Driving home Sunday morning, I