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Fuck. I hope they’re here. It’ll kill Cooper if his brothers don’t make it tonight.

Unable to stop myself, I balance my beer on my knee and pull my cell free.

Garrett: Good luck tonight. I’ll be rooting for you, and I know your brothers will be bursting with pride. Go Vipers.

A heavy sigh passes my lips as I immediately put my cell back to sleep. I’m not expecting him to read it, let alone reply.

Thankfully, I’m so late that we dive straight into the action, and the Detroit starting lineup is announced to thunderous applause from their fans.

The excitement is infectious, and it pushes aside some of my melancholy. And it only gets better when our green and white jerseys shoot out onto the ice.

I scream along with my fellow Vipers’ fans, for a moment, forgetting that I’m meant to be discreet.

Lowering my ass back down, I take a sip of beer to shut myself up.

Cooper is out there, and one look at me could mess everything up.

There’s a very small, twisted part of me that wants that to happen. It would mean that he’s affected by us being apart just as much as I am. But the biggest part of me knows that I’d feel guilty as hell if I were the reason my team lost tonight.

63

GARRETT

Cooper is different tonight. It’s like watching him play back before we connected.

He doesn’t look up at the crowd. Not even once.

To start with, I figure it’s because it’s an away game and he knows I’m not going to be in the stands. But then, I remember his brothers. Surely, he’d search for them if he knew they were here? The game is tough. Detroit is playing like they have something to prove—which, to be fair, they do—and we’re matching them move for move.

Going into the second period, we’re tied two each, and the tension is definitely rising.

An early penalty, thanks to Linc cross-checking one of the Detroit players, puts us at a disadvantage, and we go a goal down for the first time in the game.

But as we begin our fight to tie things up, the game begins to change down on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?” I bellow as Monroe collides with the boards, the guy at his back still shoving him.

Monroe isn’t a fighter. His secret weapon to being a fantastic D-man is speed, not aggression.

Donnelly comes racing over, ripping the player away from his partner and throwing him to the ice, as players from both teams begin to move closer, either ready to get involved in what’s brewing or preparing to pull it apart.

The chanting around me gets louder, everyone more than ready for the fight that’s threatening.

Much to their disappointment, the fight fades into nothing, and play continues with us stealing the puck and shooting straight toward Detroit’s goal. It’s denied, but there’s still plenty of time to get this done. I’m not worried.

I soon discover that I really should be, though.

My heart lurches as Coach calls for a shift change and Cooper hops over the boards, quickly followed by Rovvy.

The second period is coming to an end, and we’re still a goal down. We're running out of time to get that equalizer.

The Vipers’ fans are on the edge of their seats as Sanderson, our second-line center, loses the puck drop.

My heart is racing as I watch Detroit’s center pass the puck to his left winger. Rovvy is all over him, though, stopping him from getting close enough to make a shot.

The winger twists around as if he’s about to take it around the back of the net, deking Rovvy out. The puck sails past Rovvy’s stick and heads straight to the right winger.

“Come on, baby,” I mutter under my breath as I watch Cooper battle with the winger, fighting to get the puck away.