The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(45)

I blinked at her. “I was starting to like hockey.”

“Hockey is fun, but the fighting never gets easier to watch.”

I curled up on my side of the couch, feeling completely traumatized. “Do you think he’s hurt?”

The camera zoomed in on Mica. A trainer crouched beside him, taping his cheek. He was indifferent to the ministrations and was lipping off at the other guy through the Plexiglas.

“I’m thinking he’s okay.”

I stayed silent, cursing the camera when it focused back on the game.

She spoke again. “Mica’s tough. He can handle a lot.”

Except emotion. “Don’t tell him I freaked.”

She studied me for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

I stood up, unwilling to finish watching the game. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

“Have a good sleep.”





*



I woke up from a dead sleep to the sound of bells. Sitting up, I realized the doorbell was ringing. Repeatedly.

In the dark, Zoey and I came together in the kitchen. Neither of us had turned on a light.

“What time is it?” she whispered.

“Three in the morning.”

We stared at each other.

“It could be a neighbor or someone?”

She silently opened a drawer and pulled out a large knife. Together, we crept to the door. I disengaged the alarm and swung the door open.

There was no one there. We stepped out onto the front stoop and looked around. The street was empty.

We didn’t speak until I had relocked the door and engaged the alarm.

“Someone’s trying to scare you,” she said.

“They’re doing a good job.”





Chapter 14





MICA





Ryan laced up his skates and asked me casually, “Did Charlie tell you about the doorbell?”

“No. What’s happened?”

“Zoey said the last few nights, someone’s been ringing the doorbell in the middle of the night. When they open the door, no one is there.”

I grabbed my phone, stood up on my skates, and walked across the locker room. I dialed Charlie’s number. I was low-key pissed she hadn’t told me. We had chatted or texted briefly every night, but not once had she mentioned it.

“Mica!” She answered the phone by saying my name.

“Tell me about the doorbell.”

“Who told you?”

“Ryan. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed. “You have enough to worry about.”

“My job is to worry about you. What’s going on?”

“Someone rings the doorbell in the middle of the night. Anywhere between two and three. When we look outside, there is no one there.”

It was crushing me that someone was scaring her and I wasn’t there. “You need to stop opening the door.”

“We stopped.”

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t speak for a moment. “I’m glad Zoey is here. This would be way scarier alone.”

I mentally started to form a list of people I could bribe, pay, or force to stay with Charlie for all my away games this season.

I heard laughter in the background. “Where are you?”

“At home. Zoey and Andrew are cooking an early dinner.”

I gritted my teeth. “Oh yeah?”

“Andrew went to the Fisherman’s Wharf this afternoon and came back with way too much sidestripe shrimp, so he offered to cook for us.”

“That’s nice of him.” My words were the opposite of my less-than-impressed tone.

She sounded breathless. “I thought so.”

“The guy knows you’re married, right?”

“It’s not like that,” she rushed. “He’s just being a friend.”

A long pause hung between us, highlighting the discomfort both of us felt about talking about Andrew. I trusted Charlie. I just didn’t trust Andrew. And the blatant way he was making himself at home, in my life with my wife, didn’t sit well with me.

“Are you and Zoey watching the game tonight?”

“Yes.” She brightened. “Andrew is a hockey fanatic.”

Fucking Andrew. I winced at the ceiling, working to keep my tone measured. “That’s great.”

She started to speak but stopped herself.

“What?” I pushed.

“I hope you don’t get into a fight tonight.”

For the first time since this conversation started, I smiled. “Why’s that?”

“You were bleeding!”

“You worried about me?” I was putting us on dangerous territory talking like this, but I didn’t care.

She huffed. “I don’t like violence.”

Players were standing up, ready to head into pre-game warmup. “I gotta go.”

“Be safe,” she added.

“I’ll call you later.”





*



After eight long days on the road, I was ready to get home. Usually, away games were a lot of fun, but this trip, I had counted down the days until I got home.