As I tried to remember where I’d left my phone, anxiety sped through my veins like a runaway freight train. I needed to catch my breath but couldn’t. A wave of dizziness hit. I bent over and brought my hands to my thighs to balance myself. Blood was roaring in my ears, drowning out every sound as the room began to spin. My vision turned fuzzy. A face swam in front of mine, but my thoughts were too distorted to focus. Zoe was saying something but fuck me if I could make sense of it. Her words were muffled and garbled. She grabbed my arm in an attempt to guide me to the sofa. My steps were clumsy. Zoe took the full brunt of my large frame as I leaned heavily against her for support. A blissful darkness descended over me and carried me away from the hellish nightmare which had become my life.
Zoe
“Ki!” I shouted as he slipped from my grasp and slumped to the floor. “Damn it.”
He fell face down. It took all my energy to roll him over. I placed a pillow under his head, covered him with a blanket, and fumbled for my phone. But who was I going to call? If the media got wind of this, they’d have a field day. I felt his pulse. Elevated but steady. Thank goodness, that meant I could skip 911 and risk public exposure. I rang the team doctor instead. The call went to voicemail. Damn it. My own anxiety started to bubble. Now what was I going to do? I couldn’t handle Ki by myself. I needed someone with a bit of muscle. Someone who knew and understood his condition. I groaned as I realized there was only one solution—unless I wanted to call my father, which I really didn’t. My hands were shaking so badly it was hard to place the next call. I found Flynn’s number and pressed it. Thank god he answered on the first ring.
Before he could give me as much as a hello, I began rattling. “Flynn, it’s Zoe. I need your help. It’s Ki. He passed out. I think he had an anxiety attack. How fast can you get here?” I waited for a response but all I heard was breathing at the other end of the line. “What the fuck, Flynn, I need your help. Now!”
“Why should he help you?” a female voice responded.
Shit, it’s Jesse. She was the last thing I needed right now.
“Look, I know you hate me, but this is not about us. It’s about Ki. If you can put aside your hostility for a minute, I would appreciate it.”
My desperation for Flynn’s help outweighed my dislike of Jesse Ward.
“Call 911. Flynn is not Ki’s BFF anymore, Zoe. Stop calling him or you’ll regret it.”
“I would call 911 but your little media stunt has made that pretty much impossible. Now shut up and put Flynn on the phone because I don’t have time for more of your bullshit. Ki’s lying on the floor and I can’t move him.”
The strain in my voice finally got through. I heard muffled voices and Flynn answered.
“Zo, what happened?”
My pent-up emotions spilled into my voice. Tears flowed down my face. “Ki passed out. I need help with him.” It was all I managed to spit out.
“Hang tight, we’ll be there in a few, Zo. Don’t worry, everything will be alright.”
Flynn ended the call. His words should have reassured me. Instead, I’m shaky with unease. He mentioned ‘we’ll’ be there. Shit! Was Jesse coming with him? She was the last person I wanted to see after that backstabbing bitch aided and abetted Ki’s mother to end our relationship.
A mixture of anger and fear mobilized me. I’d better change out of Ki’s shirt before Jesse accused me of luring Flynn away from her, again. Not one of my finer moments, admittedly. When we dated, Flynn and I were like oil and water. He had a chip on his shoulder paired with epic jealousy fits while I was withdrawn and bitter during our time together. There hadn’t been a more dysfunctional couple than us. It was a miracle we were still on speaking terms given our messed-up history. Ki was right, we were a Dr. Phil show waiting to happen. A sad truth.
I quickly changed into a pair of black skinny jeans and an oversized sweater. I skipped the bra just to be spiteful. I ran a brush through my hair and pulled it up into a messy bun. I looked at my reflection. My eyes were bright and clear, and I’d scrubbed off last night’s make-up—more like sweated it off. We’d been fucking like rabbits. Not that I was complaining. Ki and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other despite the truth we were kissing cousins. I winced. Just thinking about our relation knotted up my insides. Technically, we could legally marry since the State of California didn’t view first cousins marrying as unlawful. I was more concerned about the press.
Then there was Ki’s outburst accusing me of being the reason he was the prime suspect of my kidnapping. I couldn’t wrap my brain around what the hell he had been talking about. How was that possible? There was no way Ki was capable of pulling off such a terrible crime. He didn’t have a vengeful bone in his body. Sure, he was aggressive on the ice, but it was part of being a hockey player. I heard he’d gotten into a few scrapes when he played for the Steels, but he told me he’d sought counseling for his increasing aggression and had dealt with it. What frightened me most was when he’d raised his voice to me. I had never experienced that with Ki before. And I didn’t know why he was so angry with me. It hurt and saddened me he thought I would do something like that to him.
Tears filled my eyes. How did things go wrong so quickly? I needed to stop my wandering thoughts. It was only making the situation worse. I sat down next to Ki and held a vigil. I placed my hand on his temple. It was cool to the touch—and his breathing was deep and even. He had described how the onset of these attacks occurred. He told me rule one, don’t panic. I held my hand out. It was shaking, badly. I was an epic failure. The only thing keeping me sane was my anger at Jesse. If I could hold onto that, I could keep all the other shit from flooding my mind.
I heard ping of the elevator door opening. Thank god, Flynn was here. I got up and swung the door open. His expression filled with concern. Flynn pulled me into a hug and whispered, “I’ve got you, Zo. Ki will be fine. Trust me.”
I stepped away with a sob lodged in my throat. Jesse was glaring at me with her usual disgust plastered on perfectly made up face. She had gone through the trouble of putting on dark eyeliner, mascara, and red lipstick. A flawless match for her skintight, black leggings and crimson top. Gone was my ex best friend only to be replaced by a vindictive ho. There was no other word to describe her. She had never worn that much war paint or skintight clothing in her life. And she made it clear she was at war with me. Bring it on bitch.
Flynn scowled at her. It was obvious they had been arguing. About what, who knew. I had no time for her antics. Flynn followed me to where Ki was lying on the floor.
He knelt and spoke, “Ki, buddy, can you hear me?” Flynn shook him gently.
Ki moaned when Flynn shook him again. The latter looked up at me. “Zo, get me a cold compress.”
I went into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth. When I approached Flynn and Jesse, it was obvious they were in the middle of a heated discussion. Jesse was throwing daggers in my direction. I handed Flynn the washcloth and gave Jesse a smirk and a fuck you look.
“He’s stirring,” Flynn announced.
Ki’s eyes fluttered opened. He tried to rise with some trouble.
“Hold on, buddy, take it easy. That’s it.” Flynn eased him onto the couch.
“What happened?” Ki asked, looking confused. His eyes settled on me. His furrowed brow spoke volumes. I knew that condemning look of his.
“You had an anxiety attack and passed out. I called Flynn, so he could help move you. I couldn’t…” My voice trailed off. Guilt racked me since I didn’t have a better response.
Jesse piped up.
“So, Ki, why is it your girlfriend keeps running back to her ex every time she has a crisis? Can you answer that for me? Because, honestly, I’m tired of sharing Flynn with her. Unless, of course, she is now into threesomes. That I can understand.” Jesse winked and nodded in my direction—triumph written all over her face.
“That’s enough, Jess,” Flynn snapped.
“Fuck you! You backstabbing whore!”
I lost it. Two large strides closed the distance between us. I slapped her as hard as I could, leaving a distinct, red mark on her cheek. Angry tears filled her eyes.
My nostrils flared, and my breathing became erratic. Ki and Flynn stared at me with a look of utter disbelief on their faces. An adrenalin rush surged throughout my body. My heart raced. The aftermath of my outburst rendered me speechless. I knew one thing—I wasn’t sorry, not by a long shot. The bitch had it coming after all the shit she pulled three years ago.
“Zoe,” Ki spoke.
My eyes met his, but it wasn’t the look of love. Mirrored in those silver depths were betrayal and disappointment aimed directly at me. I didn’t want to be where I obviously was no longer wanted. I pivoted on my heel and turned away. I grabbed my purse and keys and left. Problem solved. The only problem was, I had nowhere to go.
Chapter 10
Ki
Coach Burrell had benched me. I watched in frustration as my teammates zipped past me, outskating my old team, the Steels. It didn’t really matter at this point. We were down two to four and it was the last period with five minutes left on the clock. They were kicking our asses left, right, and center. The ref called icing on Flynn twice in the last period which Lanski, my former teammate, scored right after each faceoff. He was one goal short of a hattrick. With how Lanski had been bragging to the press about his prowess with his stick, he was the epitome of a bad dick joke gone wrong with a personality to match. The guy had always had a chip on his shoulder. He skated by me with a fuck you smirk and flipped me the bird. I glowered. Lanski had been an asshole when I played for the Steels, and he was one now. Some things never changed. I took the better part of me not to crawl over the rink wall and smash that smug face of his. Nothing had been able to take the edge off my dark mood, not even the antidepressant I had popped before the game. Everything led me back to Zoe, but I pushed those thoughts away. There was no use in torturing myself further.
I followed Flynn’s movements on the ice. The way he controlled the puck and outflanked Lanski with a fake pass was pure poetry in motion. Flynn fended off Lanski, who was hot on his tail, then veered off to the left. He pulled back his stick and powered through with a sniper shot, perfectly aligned with the net. The puck flew across the ice right between Dano’s legs dead center into the net. The fucker never saw it coming. The fans roared. The Steels’ goalie ended up doing the skate of shame, flipping his visor back, chirping up a storm, gesturing wildly with his arms, and skating in an agitated manner around the net. I could hear him cussing from here. The loud horn blasted through speakers above signaling an Otters goal. The sound reverberated throughout the arena. The fans went crazy, banging against the plexiglass chanting Otters, Otters, Otters. The game was in reach. My team became energized from the fan frenzy. Following the goal, the ref blew his whistle to stop the game. Coach Burrell motioned for time and gestured for our players to huddle around the bench as the time-out clock ticked down.
Flynn flipped up his visor and pushed back his helmet before dousing himself with water. His eyes met mine. He gave me a thumbs up. I nodded in turn. My attention turned back to the coach who was giving last minute instructions to the players. The ref blew his whistle again to begin the faceoff at center ice. The players lined up for the ref to initiate play and drop the puck. Landers, our center, sparred with Allen for control as their sticks slammed against one another, fighting to gain command of the puck. Landers maneuvered the puck with a beautiful backdrop play to our right wing, Taylor, who skimmed along the boards toward the Steels’ goaltender. Radnor, the Steels’ bruiser and self-proclaimed ‘pain master’, body-checked Taylor. The smaller, slenderer Taylor proved no match for him. He slammed into the board while the hulking Radnor stole the puck from him. Taylor shook his head to rid himself of the shock, then engaged the pursuit. Radnor might have been three times his body weight, all that extra muscle came at the cost of his speed. Our guy caught up to him and intercepted Radnor’s pass to his left wing, Diamond.
Taylor regained control of the puck, cradling it then breaking away from the pack of Steels players hot on his heels. Our players swarmed around Taylor as they all passed the biscuit back and forth trying to line up a shot. But the Steels defense were not about to allow our guys to infiltrate the goal.
Dano was skirting the Steels’ net on his knees, possessively defending the crease surrounding the net. A cluster of Otters and Steels players clashed bodies. Sticks slammed each other into the boards. I looked up at the clock. Less than two minutes until the end of the final period. We needed to score a goal to tie the game and go into overtime. Lanski fucked up by committing a foul interfering with our guy Travers who tried to score a goal with a clear shot. The official blew his whistle, stopping the clock and calling for a penalty shot. The shot was set up and the game resumed. Travers pulled back his stick, connected with the puck and sent it with a forceful pitch to the left of Dano directly into the net, tying the score with the Steels. The fans went nuts. The horn blasted again, sending another ripple of Otter fever throughout the arena. Travers, Taylor, Landers, and the rest of our guys hugged and high-fived each other. Travers lifted his stick in the air and the fans cheered and whistled to salute the hero of the game. Travers flipped back his visor and waved back to the crowd. I smirked. I remembered the high from scoring a critical late game goal. There was nothing like it. The rest of the players filed into bench to quench their thirst and cool down before overtime. Skating around in our jerseys and all the gear made it hotter than hell even though the rink itself was always kept at twenty-four degrees to make sure excess water froze on impact. The guys were on a goal high. I worried they might get too cocky and not focus on their job at hand—to win.
“Hey Ki, you gonna play?” Travers asked as he downed his drink. Travers was a first-year rookie making headlines. Not only was he an up-and-coming star, he had something of a reputation among the puck bunnies. His boy next door persona and good looks were popular among our female fans. He was taller than I, and lanky with shaggy, dark hair and blue eyes. Some of the other guys had been giving him a bad time about being featured in some tabloid that coined him as the hockey heartthrob. I just saw a decent kid who wanted to play hockey for the love of the game and nothing more. Unfortunately, none of us were immune to being thrust into the limelight with a trumped-up celebrity status and the seduction of the press. The downside of fame and fortune.
“I’m not sure.” I glanced over at our coach who was engaged in a heated discussion with Flynn. A few players observed the exchange in silence, secretly thankful they weren’t on the receiving end this time.
“We sure could use you out there, man.” Landers chimed in. He took a towel, wiped his brow, and threw it in a bin before plopping himself beside me. Landers reminded me of Gretzky. He had the same presence, skill set, and charisma on the ice. When he hit the ice, the fans went through the roof. They adored him. Off the ice, the man dressed like he had stepped out of a GQ advert. Class all the way.
Rutkowski sauntered past us, grunting like a caveman. He sat down on the other side of Travers. I often wondered if he had been raised by wolves and taken in by some unsuspecting family. The guy was an animal, no two ways about it. He ate like one and objectified women. Just watching him gulp down his energy drink made me sick. The bright blue liquid dripped down his chin, only to be wiped off with his sleeve. At least he was clean in one way. He had the best damn goalie record in the league. And that was the only reason any of us put up with his piggery.
“What are you staring at, Connery?” Rutkowski growled. “Look, boys. Coach’s pet is sitting on the bench.”
“It’s a good thing Burrell’s got his hands full with Austin, Rut, ‘cuz he would tear you a new one,” Taylor laughed. Everyone knew Rutkowski hated the nickname. A couple of the players chuckled. Rut stared them down.
“Shut up, Taylor. You have no room to talk. You’re no choir boy,” Rut huffed. Despite his crudeness, Rut could collect the women. Maybe it
was that tattoo or the bad boy biker vibe he projected, but if I were a woman, I would run screaming in the other direction.
“Never said I was,” Taylor levelled an annoying smile at Rut who just grunted.
“Ladies, I am so glad you find Rutkowski so fascinating, but we have a game to win or has this escaped your notice?” Coach Burrell barked. “Can we pull it in tight?”
We surrounded coach for a last-minute strategy. When we broke, he pulled me aside. “You’re up, Connery. Do what you do best and win us this game.”
“Yes, coach.” I tightened my helmet and pulled down my visor. Before I hit the ice, I noticed Coach staring at me. Did he just wink at me? What the fuck was that? I shrugged it off and did what I did best—win games.
Zoe
I watched from the darkened executive suite above the arena as Ki swept in. He overpowered the Steels’ Lanski and retrieved the puck effortlessly. He passed it back and forth with Flynn. The pair dominated the ice and the puck. They approached Dano as he moved sideways protecting the net. I could tell from his cocky behavior earlier he was now filled with determination and desperation to win the game. Ki derailed his plans with a wrist shot, sending the puck airborne right into the net. The game winning goal. The arena went insane. The noise was deafening with the horn blaring through the speakers and the cheers from the crowd. I was happy for Ki after being benched for three straight games. I had to hand it to him, he took it without uttering a single complaint. Normally, I would expect him to be in my office demanding a meeting with my father to be reinstated to playing status. But Ki was obviously evading me as much as I evaded him.
On Ice, A Hockey Romance Page 9