Deep in his own zone, Gage was in a scrum with two Arizona players, trying to fish out the puck trapped against the boards while T.J. banged away at one of the Arizona guys. The puck squirted free, and another Arizona player corralled it. As he was teeing it up to fire on the Blizzard net, Quinn made a beautiful poke check and stole it. An Arizona defenseman stood him up at his own blue line, but Quinn executed a fleet sidestep and blew past him. As he raced through the neutral zone toward Arizona’s net, two opposing players hot on his heels, the remaining Arizona defenseman skated out to confront him. Sarah interlaced her fingers with Lily’s and squeezed. In a thrilling move, Quinn deked, skating a half-circle around the D-man before lifting a perfect shot over the goalie’s right shoulder that found the back of the net.
Lily, Sarah, and Daisy leapt into the air, screaming for joy, while on the ice Quinn’s teammates mobbed him against the glass.
“Oh, what a win for the Blizzard!” the announcer enthused. “That’s Quinn Hadley’s fourth game winner of the playoffs, folks! Number eighteen has found an extra gear and has become the team’s clutch player. What a post-season for the left-winger!”
Lily shook her hands in the air. “Oh my God! I haven’t seen Gage in two months, and now I only have to wait a few more days! I have to book my flight! Our flights! You in?”
Caught up in the moment and breathless from watching Quinn, Sarah didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”
Quinn nursed his fourth beer in the sports bar—the only bar in the hotel where they were allowed to hang out tonight—where he shared a table with a few straggling teammates after their big win. Most of them had already turned in, but with a few days off, he figured he could kick back and enjoy the glow of victory—and avoid facing the same four walls of his room alone.
Nelson had just left, leaving him with Grims, Wyatt, and Hunter.
“So what do you boys think of the crowd noise they’re piping into the empty arena?” Wyatt asked.
“I think they’re getting more creative as we go. I hear cheering when T.J. hands out a bone-crushing check or the rare time Wyatt flashes the glove,” Hunter laughed.
“Better than the crickets the rare time you take a shot, asshole,” Wyatt groused.
These two jokers were the odd couple. Just as Quinn was debating which was Oscar and which was Felix, they got up to flirt with a bartender, leaving Quinn alone with Grimson.
Quinn began to ramble. “On the IR at playoffs again, Grims. That’s some bad luck. This year, a broken hand in the quarter finals. Last year … Oh shit.” Now Quinn had stepped in it. What was he thinking? He wasn’t. What an idiot!
Grims shot him a dagger-filled look. “What are you getting at, Hads?”
“Sorry,” Quinn mumbled. “We weren’t supposed to know about the doping last year—”
“But you found out. How?”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Nicole passed it on to the other SOs.”
Grims’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck? First off, she’s not an SO. Not anymore. Second, when did she supposedly do this?”
“Right before the season started last October. At least, that’s when I heard about it.” Guilt and a modicum of sadness pulsed inside Quinn. Despite Grims’s epic mistake that could’ve tainted the entire team, he liked the guy. He was a fearless, no-nonsense D-man you wanted at your back when you went into battle. A fierce, quiet warrior—no flash, more show than tell—and damn effective. He might be out of the lineup with his broken hand, but his presence in the locker room brought a rock-solid steadiness the team fed off of.
Grims leaned back hard and blew out a breath. “She dumps me because she was ‘so embarrassed’”—this he said in a falsetto—“I got caught. Like it tarnished her reputation somehow. But instead of keeping it to herself, she comes back and tells everyone? That’s bullshit!”
“Sorry, man. I thought you knew.”
“No, and had I known—”
“Hi!” A cute blond in pigtails, short shorts, a tight T-shirt, and knee socks—the establishment’s uniform—bounced on the balls of her feet at their table. “Your waitress just clocked out, and I’m taking over her shift. Can I get you anything?” She looked from Grims to Quinn and stopped. “Quinn? Oh my God! I was hoping I’d run into you!”
Quinn glanced up, took in her big blue eyes and the rack filling her T-shirt, and recognition dawned. One of his Canadian hookups from last year. “Oh hey, Whitney. Haven’t seen you in a while,” he drawled. “How’ve you been?”
She did the hip jut thing with the parked fist, looked him up and down, and smiled wolfishly. His neck heated, and he felt like a bug on display. A piece of meat in a butcher’s case being evaluated for consumption. He squirmed inside.
Back in the day, he’d have pulled out the big guns and flashed her a dimpled smile, and he’d have had at least one hand on her by now. One singular purpose, spurred by one body part. Everything had been one-dimensional. Now the thought made him recoil. His old life? No, thanks. The memory simply deepened the pang for Sarah.
They exchanged a few words, ending with her letting him know she’d be happy to stop by his room when her shift was over so they could “catch up.” She was, she pointed out helpfully, in the bubble too. He deflected, introducing her to Grimson. Maybe she’d turn her attention on him. Dude looked like he could use a good time, especially after finding out his ex had dumped on him—twice. But Whitney wasn’t going for it, so Quinn asked her to close out his tab. Hanging in his room alone was gaining appeal.
Grims watched her swaying ass as she strutted away from the table, the shorts not fully covering her cheeks.
