Page 111 of Put a Rink on It

“You’re good at buying things for women. You know, your sister. Your fiancée. Your mom.”

“Oh.” I shrug, accepting the compliment even if it’s not the truth, though I buy Marina a lot of things and Kaity has taught me a lot over the years. “Okay. The mall in West Hartford?”

“They have food and drinks there?”

“You’re the one who’s lived here longer than me.”

A shade of red tinges his cheeks. “I don’t have much need for a mall. I mostly shop online but ran out of time this year.”

“Whatever, dude. I’m ready when you are. How about we drop my car off at home and we’ll take yours? My fight has me feisty and in need of libations.”

Novak smacks my back. “Seriously didn’t think you had it in you to fight. What got under your skin?”

The ending of my relationship with Marina and a negative pregnancy test. I can’t voice the comment aloud, not to a bunch of burly hockey players. The single ones won’t get it.

“He kept chirping about my trade and other shit, and I’d had enough,” I lie.

He reaches his hand out, but I swat it away. “You look good with a bruise on your jaw.”

“Am I an official hockey player now that I’ve started a fight?”

“Wait, was that your first instigated fight? Like ever?” he asks in disbelief.

I scratch my head. “Um, yeah?”

“Ever?” he repeats, stunned.

“It’s never been my thing.”

“Yet tonight it was,” Singeglasov pipes up.

“He got under my skin.”

“That’s bullshit. What else are you hiding?” Singeglasov narrows his eyes, roving them up and down my face, like a human lie detector. Then he snaps his fingers. “Trouble in paradise? I noticed Marina was absent from the WAGs box.”

Sweat pools at the back of my neck, but if I reach for it, they’ll see right through me. “She’s in Vermont visiting her family. I don’t expect her to come to every game.” I’d love if she could, but that’s an unreasonable expectation on my part, even for a hockey lover.

“So everything’s good there?” he affirms, not letting it go.

“Yep.” I glance at Schurbatski. “Are we doing this?”

“Waiting on you,” he replies.

“Then let’s go.”

I never thought I’d use going to the mall as an excuse to get away from my teammates, but tonight, I’m glad I have it.

We walk through the halls of the arena in silence. Once in the parking garage, he asks for my address and tells me he’ll meet me there.

I slip behind the wheel of my SUV, contemplating whether to call Marina. She hasn’t messaged, which is unusual when she’s not at a game. Sometimes she’ll send a play-by-play of her thoughts even though I never read it until after the game. After the way I played and got into a fight, I would think she’d have something to say.

It’s not like I’ve sent any texts today. Last night’s conversation was the last time we communicated. I hate it. I hate how so many things are on the line. I hate how it feels like there’s a chasm in our relationship and way more than a hundred miles separating us.

I hate that the one person I’d turn to in this situation is her.

My internal debate continues until the dash lights up with her name. I press the button to answer. “Hey.”

“You’re not okay. Is it all my fault?”