Rebound (Seattle Steelheads #1)(51)

And now my pre-game jitters were a distant memory. I was literally about to be sick (again) thanks to some nerves I hadn’t expected tonight. Nathan was here. He was in the stadium. What the fuck was I supposed to do about it?

Coach didn’t allow us access to phones, TVs, or anything after warm-ups had started. Not even during intermissions. He had for a while, but then players had started getting too into political shit on social media, and it was distracting us all. So phones were forbidden until the game was over. In fact, we were on a complete blackout from the outside world unless it was an emergency (all our families knew who to call if they urgently needed to reach us). Anything happened outside the locker room or the rink, we wouldn’t know about it until the game was over.

He was too heated for me to ask for an exception this time, so I hoped like hell this was a better to beg forgiveness than ask permission situation. Under the pretense of getting my water bottle out of my locker, I surreptitiously reached in and picked up my phone.

I checked to make sure Coach wasn’t looking, then turned around, tucked my glove under my arm, and shakily texted Geoff: He’s here. What do I do?

I glanced over my shoulder. There was a timer that let us know how long we had until the first period started, and we still had several minutes, but they were ticking down fast.

C’mon, Geoff. C’mon, c’mon. Please have your phone handy.

Christ, I felt so helpless and ridiculous. So what if Nathan was in his seat? A violation of Geoff’s warning to stay away from me—maybe? Technically? But either way it wasn’t like he could get to me. He could screw with my head and get under my skin, but he couldn’t touch me. Not without getting through stadium security, many of whom were off-duty cops. I was rattled, but I was safe. Right? So at what point did I suck it up, ignore him, and go on with my life?

Probably not tonight.

C’mon, Geoff. Please have your—

My phone vibrated, and I whispered “Thank God” as I opened the message.

Where is he? What seat?

4K.

Ok. Sit tight. I’ll take care of it.

That was all I needed.

Thanks.

All too soon, my team and I were back on the ice for the faceoff. My ex was still there, and the split second I spent acknowledging that gave the opposing center the chance to get the puck, and we were off and running. Thank God hockey moved way too fast for me to think about anything else.

Or, well, it was most of the time. For the entire first period, my focus was divided between where it needed to be— my team, the ice, the puck, and the net—and my ex sitting in seat 4K. I didn’t dare look up at him. My concentration was already fucked, and I couldn’t afford to let him steal more of it. And it wasn’t like I needed to look. I knew he was there. I could feel his presence like a not-quite-healed injury. I could still move, I could still play, but there was something undeniably there that would either distract me if I fixated on it or hobble me if I ignored it too long.

As I came off the ice, panting and sweating, Coach got right in my face. “What the fuck is going on out there, Crowe? Did I miss the memo that this is Pond Hockey Night?”

“No, Coach. I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “Pull your head together, or so help me, you’ll be a healthy scratch for the next ten games. Minimum.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Will do, Coach.”

Shaking, pissed off, and wondering if I really was going to puke again, I headed up the chute toward the locker room.

Please hurry, Geoff…





Chapter 13


Geoff




Laura and I hung back in an office while management issued a benign-sounding page for Nathan. I was grateful for that approach. There would probably be a confrontation, and we didn’t need to do it out in the open. Not when it would draw too much attention to Nathan, and by extension Asher.

But I also hated crowds. There was a reason I never volunteered for stadium or crowd control detail—not even for something like Hempfest and sure as shit not for Mardi Gras—and my captain knew it wasn’t negotiable. Indoor events like this were especially bad. Too many people with too few escape routes. Too much noise. Too many ways a situation could go to shit in a hurry. Intellectually I knew the odds of someone getting a weapon or explosive in here were slim to none, but an agitated, intoxicated crowd could be turned into a weapon of its own. Create a panic. Create choke points. Let the chaos do the rest.

I’ll stay in here, thank you very much.

On a screen in the office, I stared at the timer, watching the numbers count down the remaining seconds of the period.

The buzzer went off.

“He’ll probably come up now,” Kyle, a member of the stadium’s security staff, told us. “Crowd’s going to be moving to concessions and the restrooms, though, so it might take him a minute.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “Can we at least get eyes on him and verify he’s moving?”

Kyle nodded and radioed another security guard. The woman on the other end confirmed that Nathan had left his seat and was making his way out of the stands.

Laura and I exchanged glances. I’d half expected her to protest handling this call. We were well within our jurisdiction here, but theoretically, stadium security could address it. Especially since there were plenty of off-and on-duty cops here. But as soon as I’d gotten the text from him, she’d flipped a U-turn and headed straight for the stadium. No questions asked.