The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3) - Odette Stone Page 0,88

that, I felt my blood pressure go up. I tried to work my way through this. I tried to imagine her with a pregnant body, curved and so fucking vulnerable with a child inside of her, and my entire body broke into a cold sweat.

I can’t handle this.

My fear might be irrational, but it felt real and powerful and made me incapable of making any intelligent decisions. I knew I should go back and talk to her. I knew we needed to sort this out, but I couldn’t face this.

This is my fault.

I had done this to her. Because of my careless fucking reckless behavior. My fear morphed into a deep-seated rage against myself.

My phone rang. It was Ryan.

“Where you at, buddy?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Need some company?”

I remained silent.

“Charlie phoned Zoey. She seems pretty upset. Wanna talk?”

“I’m at Spanish Banks.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

He pulled up beside me and then got in my passenger seat. He handed me a water but didn’t speak.

I finally found the words to articulate my nightmare.

“You know how I feel about having kids.”

“Yup.”

“I knocked her up.”

“Figured as much.”

I looked at him, feeling anguish. “I did this.”

“That’s usually how it works.”

We sat together for another bout of silence.

Finally, he asked, “So do you just hate kids?”

“I love kids.”

“You think you’d be a bad dad?”

I felt my throat begin to close. I could barely make myself say the words. “It’s the pregnancy part of things.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

More silence.

Then he asked, “You not into that kind of thing? Because it only lasts nine months.”

I gripped my steering wheel. “I’m scared.”

“You’re scared for Charlie?”

I nodded, and for a moment I thought I might cry. Which both shocked me and horrified me. I hadn’t cried since I was ten. That is how much emotion I had coursing through my body. I couldn’t seem to get a grip on myself. It’s like some part of me had been ripped open, and everything inside I had worked to numb was now thawing and throbbing with excruciating pain.

“You need to talk to Charlie about this. She is freaking out.”

“I know.” The words came out of me, but I knew I was light years away from dealing with her.

“You going to be able to play tonight?”

I nodded. I needed hockey. It had been my savior all these years. The rink was the one place in this world where everything made sense.

I didn’t go home before the game. I went straight to the stadium. I felt like I was on autopilot as I suited up for our pre-game warmup. Ryan stayed close to me. I could feel him keeping a watchful eye on me, but we didn’t talk.

The opposing team was rough. Two minutes into the game, we were in a four-player fight. Everything went downhill from there. There were jabbing sticks, not-so-subtle punches to the head, hard poundings into the boards, so many infractions that the refs were letting most of them go, otherwise, there wouldn’t be any players left on the ice.

Hockey failed me. It failed to bring me back to equilibrium. It didn’t calm me, and it didn’t clear my mind.

Coach stuck his face in mine and screamed, “Get your head in the fucking game, Petrov.”

My next shift, I went back on the ice, trying to focus, but it felt like I was in a fog. The game was moving around me at a speed with which I couldn’t keep up. I knew I was fucking up, but it felt like I was skating in quicksand.

And then a big bruiser of a player cruised by my goalie while he was still in the crease. In slow motion, I watched as he clipped him with his shoulder, knocking him off his feet.

I saw red.

Goalies were off-limits. No one with any sense of self-preservation, went after the goalie. The guy didn’t see my first hit to the head, but he got into the fight within seconds. We clung to each other’s jerseys to gain leverage. He gave as good as he got, and I took some serious shots to the face before I hooked him in the mouth. Two of his teeth flew out, and he went down hard. Someone else punched me in the back of the head. I turned and found myself in a second brawl. The second guy was a better fighter, and it was a savage fight that seemed to last a lifetime.

It felt good. To hit and get hit. I swung with my fear; I punched with my anger; I hit