Page 64 of The Has-Been

When my eyes trail over her face, I see a warm glow radiating from her, and she looks like herself for the first time since I returned. I grin and murmur, “Yes, it is.”

But for some reason, I don’t mind that thought—maybe because Aubrey is sitting next to me, and I haven’t once felt regret for not being out there with them.

That, for the first time, I feel content.

The game begins, Brennan, facing off with Chadlington’s Tatum Hart. The puck drops, and the madness begins.

We are losing 3–2 as intermission between the second and third period comes to an end.

“Dude, what the fuck is going on with you?” I shout to Reid.

He ignores me, his leg shaking up and down as he throws back more water before he takes the ice again.

He’s practically glaring across the ice in Tatum’s direction.

The crowd is loving tonight’s energy, and I’m sure, as a spectator, it’s one hell of a game to watch. It’s been physically rough and back-and-forth, leaving the crowd hungry for more.

Reid is one goal away from breaking another university record.

Considering how locked in he is, and with his rival Tatum scoring a hat trick of his own, we’re definitely in for it next period.

The boys retake the ice, and Aubrey heaves a heavy sigh beside me. They’ve kept us busy tonight, as we expected. Thankfully, the injuries have been minor, Brennan getting the worst of a right hook meant for Reid in the first period. His nose is probably broken, but we got the bleeding stopped so he can keep playing.

Aubrey swears, and I forget how much she loves the games, having attended every home game even before the two of us got together. I watch as Chadlington’s Tatum breaks away, certain the score is about to go from 3–2 to 4–2—until Reid comes out of nowhere and dangerously checks Chadlington’s captain into the boards.

The crowd goes wild, but I shake my head, knowing it’ll earn him a penalty and time off the ice. And considering how close the game is, we really need him out there.

While it’s not uncommon for Reid to be a hothead, he’s usually better about reining it in, especially in a game this important.

I leave the bench and walk to the opposite side of the ice, toward the penalty box.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” I yell, loud enough for him to hear me as he sits his sorry ass down.

But he ignores me. And for the first time all night, someone other than Tatum Hart has his attention.

He’s staring up into the crowd, and I follow his line of sight as he clearly is searching someone out. “Is this about some girl?” I ask, thinking back to whoever he was so enthralled with the night he talked me into coming to the rink, about whoever he is looking for in the crowd every five seconds. And boy, when I say that, does it get his attention.

“She’s not some girl!” he throws off his helmet, throwing it against the glass—and thankfully, the referee doesn’t notice. “She has a name, you know.”

My head inclines, “Well, by all means, what is it?”

Reid doesn’t say a word, though.

I’m not sure who she is. But I don’t believe this could be about some girl he’ll fuck once and be done with. I’m just not buying it.

But his time is up, and he’s back on the ice, with only a quick glance back at me. A look that would kill me if it could.

Five minutes go by, Reid and his linemates are back on the ice when he checks Chadlington’s captain from behind. They exchange words. The refs are quick to make their way over, knowing it could quickly escalate since my dumbass friend is involved.

Aubrey stirs beside me as I make my way back to the bench. “What the fuck are they talking about?” she asks, her eyes wide as her hands rub up and down her thighs.

I can’t make out what they’re saying either—the crowd is far too loud—but I can see them having a heated exchange.

Chadlington’s captain, Tatum, skates off. He turns around and says something back in Reid’s direction.

I watch in stunned silence as Reid throws his gloves off—then his helmet. He skates toward Tatum like a fucking storm. Tatum rips off his own equipment, smiling proudly, as if he knew his words would provoke this exact reaction. The crowd roars as the pair trade a few swings before others join in.

Tatum goes down, and the refs break the two apart. One escorts Reid back to the penalty box, but not before Reid picks up Tatum’s helmet and hands it out. I look at Aubrey, and we let out a deep breath in unison.