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Me: Well, not yet. But it could be coming. Strike that. It is coming.
Lincoln: Who exactly are you planning on murdering?
Me: Who do you fucking think? I thought Soto was bad to play against...but I swear, I'm about to throw nunchucks at him.
Lincoln: You own nunchucks?
Me: ...
Me: Ok, so you still haven't answered the question. Accessory to murder...or no?
Lincoln: Where are we burying him?
I set the phone down, staring at Blake’s sleeping form. At least she was in my house now. Safe.
I’d just have to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.
CHAPTER17
ARI
It was a few days before the big showdown against Dallas, the first of three times we would play my old team. And…I was nervous. An emotion that had become way too familiar in my new life in L.A. I'd always been all about the swagger and confidence, and it hadn’t been a front—I was, in fact, a badass. Since I’d moved, however, more often than not, anxiety was gnawing at me like a squirrel after a hidden stash of acorns.
Dallas was home. It's where I'd signed my rookie contract, won the Stanley Cup…became the hockey sensation I was today. I didn’t think I could take it if I showed up and the fans who’d once screamed my name were now booing me.
I pulled up the stats for Dallas’s game last night. Cas Peters had taken my spot on the team and I’d been stalking his numbers like a madman. I didn’t feel bad at all about hoping the poor guy sucked ass all season though. I needed him to suck so I could get re-signed.
And he was sucking. I smiled when I pulled up an article about the game and some reporter called his play “sloppy” and “lackadaisical.” Just what I liked to see.
Dallas was still doing well though. Because of Lincoln, of course. When you had the undisputed king of forwards in the NHL, you had an edge. Teamwork was dreamwork but his skills were otherworldly, and his work ethic was unyielding. He’d only gotten better since Monroe had come into the picture—Lincoln had always been a show-off, and he was definitely showing off for her.
I was so damn proud of my buddy.
But I really missed playing with him.
That desire would never go away—I wanted to step onto that familiar ice, hear the crowd roar, feel the rush of adrenaline. Sure, I'd played in arenas all over the country, but Dallas was special. It was where I had some of my greatest moments, both as a player and as a human being.
I decided to text Lincoln, as one does when they have the bestest best friend in the world.
Me: Next week is going to be weird.
Lincoln: I know…like what if you accidentally pass it to me instead of Soto.
Me: You’re mocking me.
Lincoln: I would never.
Me: That’s it. I’m going to send Monroe a million of my jerseys.
Lincoln: Lol.
Me: Lol? That’s all I get?
Lincoln: If you think I don’t have my packages and all my mail monitored…
Me: Does Monroe know you’re a little obsessed?
Lincoln: …
