Hockey Series Books Novels & Stories

Game night Friday. The Black Ice team of Michigan rolled into Providence early. The arena was loud enough to shake the glass. He could feel it beneath his skates as he stepped onto the ice for warmups. Division One hockey always drew attention, but conference games brought something different. They had come to Providence, and the stands were packed with students, alumni, parents, and scouts. Every mistake would be seen, and every goal remembered.

But Hockey is a beast of a game, and I f*ckin love it. But after my marriage, I stopped watching and even checking live scores. I stopped everything that would remind me of Cicero, deleting him everywhere around me. … We were already seated in a row right across the Islanders' bench before the game started. Papa is seated comfortably with Lugo, Cicero's best friend. They are having a deep conversation that they didn't want me to listen to. So, I focus my attention on the ice, biting down on my lips. Papa is wearing a jersey with Cicero's name and even offered me one before we left the house, but I turned him down.

He didn’t try again. Damian’s voice cut through the noise only when it needed to—low, precise, absolute. Every time he skated past me the air shifted. Once his glove settled at the small of my back for less than a second, correcting the angle of my body on a breakout. The contact was professional. The heat it left under my jersey was not. After the final whistle the team cleared in stages. I stayed longer than necessary, collecting pucks that didn’t need collecting, using the simple motion to keep from standing still. The building emptied until only the low mechanical hum of the dehumidifiers remained.