Unbreakable(65)

“I wish I hadn’t told him I had feelings for him. Because when I told him, he almost looked like…” I shake my head at the memory. There had been so much anguish on his face that it had stolen my breath.

“Like what?” Violet asks gently.

“Like he was in pain,” I admit. “What does that mean, Vi? That he can’t stand the thought of me falling for him?” I push a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Ugh, I can’t think about it any more right now.”

John Breaker, the first-line center for the Wolverines, prepares to take the face-off against an Ottawa player at center ice.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Peyton juggling popcorn and a tray with two beers as she brushes past the college guys at the end of our row. She sinks into the chair next to me and hands Violet her popcorn.

“I thought you could use this,” she says, smiling as she hands me the other beer. “Might help calm your nerves.”

At this moment, she’s just Peyton—she’s not hiding behind teasing words or a wall of false bravado. And as much as I want to believe that Violet’s overreacting about Peyton’s recent behavior, I can’t anymore.

For the first time, I notice the dark circles she’s trying to hide with concealer and the slight strain lines around her lovely green eyes.

I take the beer and give her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Have I told you lately that I love you and that you’re a wonderful friend?”

I can almost see her protective walls slide back into place as she rolls her eyes at me. “It’s just a beer, babe. Not a million-dollar cash prize. Though the prices in this damned place are astronomical.” She takes a big swig of beer. “What did I miss?”

I gesture at the Jumbotron. “It just started, so nothing.”

Despite being my friend forever and surrounded by hockey players like Sully and Will, Peyton knows absolutely nothing about hockey. She hates all sports and usually avoids any professional sporting event like the plague. The only reasons she’s here tonight are to support Will and because she knows it’s important to me.

Not even five minutes go by, and she’s firing questions at me.

“Why did they blow the whistle again?” she complains. “They’ve already had three whistles, and this thing has barely even started. It’s going to take forever to get through this game.”

“Because the play was offside,” Violet says, leaning over to grab Peyton’s beer. She takes a big drink and hands it back to her.

“What does that mean?” asks Peyton.

“The Wolverines are trying to score, and their forward crossed the blue line into Ottawa’s zone before the puck did,” I explain. ‘The puck has to cross first.”

She gives me a pained look. “Yeah, I’m going to need more beer to get through this game.”

Violet grabs my arm. “Will’s taking his first shift!”

My heart leaps into my throat as his skates hit the ice. My palms begin to sweat as I lean against the glass. I crane my neck to follow his progress as he enters Ottawa’s zone.

I can’t even begin to imagine the emotions he’s feeling right now, but his face gives away absolutely nothing. He flies down the ice, every powerful stride he takes exuding pure confidence.

I’ve seen Will play many times before, but this is different. It’s like getting a peek at what his life will be like in a year or two, because I know he’ll make it to this league full-time.

He’s not only talented; he’s got vision. Hockey’s a fast game, but Will’s mind is like a machine, reading plays and people faster than most of his teammates. Every single shift, he tries to create opportunities on the ice for himself and his teammates to score, and that’s something that every team values.

Will gets into a wicked battle for the puck along the boards, but manages to steal it away. He sends it behind the net to his center.

“Is that Lilly?” Peyton asks, leaning forward and peering a few rows down from us.

“What?” I glance away from the game and look around, distracted.

Peyton points to the next section on our left.

Sure enough, there she is, wearing skin-tight jeans, ridiculously high-heeled boots, and a Wolverines jersey just like mine, with Will’s name and number on the back. Her straight black hair is pulled away from her face into a sleek, high ponytail.

“How the hell did she find out Will’s playing tonight?” I snap. “Did you guys tell her? Because I really can’t see her reading the hockey news sites to find that out.”

Violet shakes her head. “No way. I haven’t talked to her since that night at the cottage. Have you, Pey?”

“Of course not. I don’t want this one killing me,” Peyton says, hooking a thumb in my direction.

I glance back out at the ice only to discover that Will’s shift has ended. Ugh! That girl ruins everything. I don’t want to miss one second of action tonight.

I take a long sip of my beer and try to keep my mind on the game, but seeing her wearing his jersey makes me want to punch walls. The more time that passes, the more steamed I get. Even when Will gets two more shifts, I have trouble concentrating.

Why won’t she give up?

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Check it out—she has his number painted on the opposite cheek,” Peyton says, palming her face as Lilly turns in our direction to talk to a girl sitting in the seat next to her.