bad to worse lately and she wasn’t particularly appreciative of it.
CHAPTER NINE
Heath
“This is a motherfucking shitshow,” Jax commented in a leisurely fashion as Heath and he came to a stop during a slight lull in the game.
The scoreboard read 2–2, Shovelers versus Predators, and the small crowd was so amped up that any little thing could set them off. Heath, however, was sort of okay with everything. The fact that he hadn’t been able to get a moment away with Sable for a few days again was weighing on his mind, but he knew it was for a good enough reason.
Just have to win this. Then we’ll be able to get together again, he reminded himself.
“Can’t argue with that,” Heath agreed, looking at the too-small jersey Jax was still wearing and the fact that he himself had brought one of his own hockey sticks.
Their supply team—or Jake as he could currently be called, as the team consisted of one guy who couldn’t possibly be expected to handle everything—wasn’t exactly on the ball yet. Heath couldn’t help but think that if Sable was doing this job on her own, everything would be ship-shape. But then again, just about every thought he had recently was about Sable, so that was hardly surprising.
“You’re damn serene for a guy who’s getting his ass kicked on live television,” Jax snorted as the ref got in place again and the game was about to go on.
“Fuck you, man,” Heath scoffed with a grin, shoving his mouthguard back into place and skating up front past the first line of defenders on the Predators’ side.
It wasn’t like Jax wasn’t right, though. The Lynderly twins had been on him like a bad cold since the faceoff and Heath was starting to wonder if perhaps the brothers didn’t want to date him more eagerly than Sable did. He’d commented about it to Caleb and Heath had been surprised that the guy’s eyeballs didn’t pop out of their sockets for how pissed off he got.
More fuel to the fire. An angry player is a player who makes mistakes—a mantra that had been repeated to Heath time and time again.
So far, Heath had been on his best behavior. He’d barely even decked anyone. His mood was just too damn good, thinking of what was likely to follow after he got off the ice that day and could pull Sable into his arms and properly kiss her again. Maybe even show her what he could do on a vertical space, say a bed, instead of cooped up in a closet or in a car. He couldn’t wait.
Heath grinned to himself as the puck was passed to him by Memphis, the big defender slicking it across the ice with a smooth wrist shot. Heath caught it on the stick and forced it down on the ice, keeping it in front of him as he burst into action. He weaved between the Predators’ defenders, faking past one of them to come face-to-face with the goalie, his old friend and the guy standing between him and Sable as far as Heath was currently concerned.
He was lining up the shot when suddenly he felt like he got hit by a semi-truck. Heath was slammed down on the ground full force from behind, sliding past the goal and colliding with the partition with a loud thud. He could distantly hear the gasps from the crowd as he scrambled to get on his feet, his head ringing, but as soon as he could get on his knees he got punched in the face by someone he couldn’t quite make out.
“Motherfucker,” Heath hissed, hopping back up in earnest now to see Cayman and Caleb staring at him with wide, mocking grins.
“Can’t take a little tough love, huh?” Caleb asked.
Heath glanced at the rest of his teammates, who were getting into scuffles with the Predators when they were trying to make it over to him. The ref was trying to tear apart Memphis and Remy, which was a daring feat considering the size of those two. But what it meant was that Heath was left to fend for himself against the Lynderly twins and no help was immediately forthcoming.
He shucked off his gloves as the Lynderlys did the same, dropping
CHAPTER NINE
Heath
“This is a motherfucking shitshow,” Jax commented in a leisurely fashion as Heath and he came to a stop during a slight lull in the game.
The scoreboard read 2–2, Shovelers versus Predators, and the small crowd was so amped up that any little thing could set them off. Heath, however, was sort of okay with everything. The fact that he hadn’t been able to get a moment away with Sable for a few days again was weighing on his mind, but he knew it was for a good enough reason.
Just have to win this. Then we’ll be able to get together again, he reminded himself.
“Can’t argue with that,” Heath agreed, looking at the too-small jersey Jax was still wearing and the fact that he himself had brought one of his own hockey sticks.
Their supply team—or Jake as he could currently be called, as the team consisted of one guy who couldn’t possibly be expected to handle everything—wasn’t exactly on the ball yet. Heath couldn’t help but think that if Sable was doing this job on her own, everything would be ship-shape. But then again, just about every thought he had recently was about Sable, so that was hardly surprising.
“You’re damn serene for a guy who’s getting his ass kicked on live television,” Jax snorted as the ref got in place again and the game was about to go on.
“Fuck you, man,” Heath scoffed with a grin, shoving his mouthguard back into place and skating up front past the first line of defenders on the Predators’ side.
It wasn’t like Jax wasn’t right, though. The Lynderly twins had been on him like a bad cold since the faceoff and Heath was starting to wonder if perhaps the brothers didn’t want to date him more eagerly than Sable did. He’d commented about it to Caleb and Heath had been surprised that the guy’s eyeballs didn’t pop out of their sockets for how pissed off he got.
More fuel to the fire. An angry player is a player who makes mistakes—a mantra that had been repeated to Heath time and time again.
So far, Heath had been on his best behavior. He’d barely even decked anyone. His mood was just too damn good, thinking of what was likely to follow after he got off the ice that day and could pull Sable into his arms and properly kiss her again. Maybe even show her what he could do on a vertical space, say a bed, instead of cooped up in a closet or in a car. He couldn’t wait.
Heath grinned to himself as the puck was passed to him by Memphis, the big defender slicking it across the ice with a smooth wrist shot. Heath caught it on the stick and forced it down on the ice, keeping it in front of him as he burst into action. He weaved between the Predators’ defenders, faking past one of them to come face-to-face with the goalie, his old friend and the guy standing between him and Sable as far as Heath was currently concerned.
He was lining up the shot when suddenly he felt like he got hit by a semi-truck. Heath was slammed down on the ground full force from behind, sliding past the goal and colliding with the partition with a loud thud. He could distantly hear the gasps from the crowd as he scrambled to get on his feet, his head ringing, but as soon as he could get on his knees he got punched in the face by someone he couldn’t quite make out.
“Motherfucker,” Heath hissed, hopping back up in earnest now to see Cayman and Caleb staring at him with wide, mocking grins.
“Can’t take a little tough love, huh?” Caleb asked.
Heath glanced at the rest of his teammates, who were getting into scuffles with the Predators when they were trying to make it over to him. The ref was trying to tear apart Memphis and Remy, which was a daring feat considering the size of those two. But what it meant was that Heath was left to fend for himself against the Lynderly twins and no help was immediately forthcoming.
He shucked off his gloves as the Lynderlys did the same, dropping
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