Rohan joins him, ice spraying everywhere as he angles his blades to slow to a stop.
“You guys like your seats?” he asks, just as Theo rushes up, tapping on the glass and waving at us with a massive smile on his face. I can’t help but grin back at the cheerful goalie and his energetic welcome.
“Love the seats,” Irsia replies with a thumbs up.
“Good luck today,” I shout, hoping to be heard over the crowds that have filled the rows behind us. Rohan pushes his gloved fist against the glass for Irsia and I to bump before heading off toward the bench where their team is gathered. Theo does the same. When Cal repeats the gesture, Irsia is already occupied with her camera.
I lift my fist and press it against the glass as the rest of the world fades in our periphery. We hold still, the moment stretching past its time.
“Go,” I mouth, dropping my hand reluctantly. With the tiniest shake of his head, Cal skates backward—like he’s savoring one last look—before spinning around and joining his team.
It’s not until the game begins that I move on from that interaction. For the next two hours, Irsia alternates between teaching me about the rules of the game, and yelling at the referee about missed calls. The energy within the stadium makes this an incomparable experience. I don’t know how I’ll settle for watching hockey on a TV screen anymore if Rohan is able to get us seats to all the home games. Heck, I’ll pay my way in if I have to. It’s been a long time since I let myself enjoy the vitality of spirit present in a sports arena. The closer I get to it, be it through hockey or cricket, the more myself I’m starting to feel.
After the Ironhearts beat Minnesota in a 1-1 overtime shootout, Irsia and I are led by an employee to the back rooms for family and special guests.
“Mr. Moore said he’ll join you here,” the young man says. He’s wearing a badge which tells me he’s an intern, but the excitement on his face is clearly that of a fan.
“Good game,” Irsia mutters, scrolling through some of the pictures on her camera.
I’m about to respond, when I hear the last voice I ever expected to.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my dear wife.”
The little bubbles of energy that have kept me buzzing all evening pop instantly. When I turn, Namik is there, the stench of alcohol and his sneer telling me my night’s just taken a turn for the worse.
34
CALLUM
Running my fingers through my damp hair as I head out of the locker room, I’m thankful the media didn’t keep me occupied for too long. Novak falls into step with me, nudging me with his elbow.
“Gonna go talk to Alia now?” he asks, wagging his brows like he’s ready for some fresh gossip.
“She’s here. I’ve waited long enough.” I’m more nervous than I care to admit.
“Right. Right. But remember what I said,” Theo nags as we turn the corner. “Don’t let the sergeant come out to play.”
I’m about to respond with an idea of stuffing his own sergeant down his throat when I hear Alia’s distressed voice exclaim, “Rohan, no!”
My head whips up, tension shooting straight across my shoulders when I realize there is a small crowd creating a bottleneck near theexit the players normally use. Novak and I exchange looks, our pace quickening immediately. As we get closer, Moore’s red face comes into view as a man in a suit gesticulates at him. The flash of a purple wristband under the sleeve of the grey suit indicates he’s part of the corporate boxes.
“Listen to her. You won’t get as lucky as the last time,” he drawls.
Urgency shoots through me because that sounded like a threat. No one fucking threatens my friend. I hasten to reach them, ready to throw hands if necessary.
“I don’t fucking care, you asshole. If I see you harassing Alia again—” Moore tries to lunge for the guy, only for Vega, Irsia, and Alia to hold him back.
“Don’t, Moore!” our captain commands, his arms locked across Rohan’s chest. The look they exchange tells me there’s something to this entire confrontation to which I’m not privy.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, taking the chance to interrupt what is possibly devolving into a fistfight. I roll my wrist, subconsciously limbering myself up just in case.
“All good.” The suited asshole smirks, turning to look at me. “Just saying hi to my wife.”
“Ex-wife,“ Alia snaps.
Shit.Thisis the dumbass ex-husband who messed with Alia’s head? Whatever dislike I have for him increases exponentially.
“I’ve told you to stay away from me before,” she continues. “Don’t make me get a restraining order.”