Crack In The Ice - Chapter 44: Chapter 44

I feel a little restless in the box.
In a way I never felt before. Takes me back to that day I dragged myself from Montreal to Calgary to watch Eli play. That game before it all went to shit a little bit.
But this is so much different from that time. The difference is almost dizzying, actually.
Back then I felt protected by the anonymity of the crowd. No one had the slightest idea who I was. Eli didn't even know I was watching him.
He does today, though. And the other people - strangers - in the family box know me too. I think they do. They probably saw Eli kiss me. Or they saw the videos and photos circling around. They might have read the tweets, and the Instagram comments.
Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. Sometimes people look. I'm sure all the WAGs are acquainted with each other. I'm a new face.
I didn't come to the first game the day we arrived because we thought it best if Eli went alone. So I stayed home. As in, Eli's home. When he came back, he came alone, saying Dean was hanging out with some of the guys. Though Eli didn't say, I assumed he did it to give us time to ourselves in the apartment.
I tried not to ask too many questions. Mostly because old habits die hard, I think. I'm used to having limited questions with Eli. Each question must be handled carefully. If it's too personal at the wrong time, it can make him shut down and pull away completely.
But also, he told me he was going to make the effort to talk more. And I'm trying to trust him.
He wasn't exactly a chatter box the day after that first playoffs home game. I can't really expect him to change overnight. But he did mention most of his teammates seemed to be fine. And that he liked that he was allowed back on the ice.
He also asked me to be at the second home game.
At the time, I was happy he asked. But now that I'm here I'm nervous.
We've both tried to stay off social media. But that was harder for me than Eli. And I think I now have a new appreciation for what he has felt over the years. Because I never felt this need to look over my shoulder or second guess a glance from a stranger before.
I'm distracted during the game. But it's not like I know enough about hockey to understand much of what's happening even if I wasn't.
I can see when Eli blocks an impressive play from one of the other team's players, though. And feel the tension that follows too. Except now, in the light of my newly unlocked anxieties, I wonder if it's just the normal tension between two opponents on an important game or something else.
"Your man's doing well down there."
I jump.
Like.
I actually jump.
The dark-haired woman that came up next to me shows me her hands in surrender. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh. It's fine."
I don't know her. But she's probably one of the other players' wives.
"That is your man, right?" She asks, slowly. "Blake? I think I assumed, but maybe I shouldn't..."
"No, uh," I clear my throat. "Yeah."
She smiles. "I'm Luna. That one's mine." She points down at the rink, but I don't know who she's pointing. "The goalie?" She offers.
"Right."
She sounds friendly enough, but I don't have it in me to socialize. Because apparently I'm not just restless today. I'm actually, fucking jumpy.
Eli has a confrontation on the ice with another player - or maybe the same one he blocked earlier - and I stand up. The other player puts his hands on his chest and pushes him, but Eli only stumbles slightly backward. He doesn't seem to be rising to the provocation.
I see Dean skate to him and put a hand on his shoulder to pull him away, while the ref sends the other player to the penalty box. Then I realize I'm digging my short nails into the inside of my fisted hands.
Shit.
From my seat, Eli looks completely cool. He always looks like that when he's playing. He's mentioned before how playing hockey is one of the few things that makes him feel in full possession of his own emotions. But watching him now in light of everything that happened, and everything he said to me...
Fuck, I love him.
The game carries on without a hitch.
Until it doesn't.
Now I'm pretty sure it's the same player he blocked before. It plays out like just another in-game confrontation. A forward from the opposite team making a play while Eli comes to block him. Except the forward manages to push him off this time.
I stand up when I see Eli hit the boards, but I expect him to stand back up and keep playing. Cool and collected as he has so far.
But he doesn't.
Instead, Dean skates over to him and helps him up. And I see he's clutching his shoulder.
"That doesn't look good," the dark-haired woman says next to me, and I realized she stood up too. "Definitely deserves the penalty box."
I think another woman says something in agreement, but I'm not listening anymore. Because Eli is talking to his coach, and he's not letting go of his shoulder. And then I see Dean helping him off the ice.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Where are they taking him? Can I see him?" I ask to no one in particular.
The dark-haired woman's concerned face comes into my line of sight. "They're probably taking him to be seen by the medics first. Then the locker room."
"Can I see him?" I repeat.
Her face melts into an expression of pity. Or maybe just compassion. "Come with me," she says.
I follow her because it's my only available plan. But I don't quite register where she takes me. We reach a closed door somewhere and a man I think must be an assistant coach, based on how he's dressed. My dark-haired helper talks to him and the man gives me a once-over.
"It's fine. He's with me," a strong female voice says from behind me.
I look over my shoulder to see a woman in a hot pink pant suit. I don't know her, but the assistant coach seems to.
"I'll take him to the locker room," she says.
If she does that, I don't care who she is, she's my new best friend.
"Whatever. He's your responsibility, Vasquez," the assistant coach says.
The dark-haired WAG - Luna, I think - smiles at me and takes off back to where we came from.
Hot-Pink Blazer looks me up and down. "I'm Zoey."
"The agent."
She gives me a lop-sided smile. "You've heard of me. Good. No need to introduce yourself. Your the newest pain in my ass."
I don't have it in me to look apologetic. "You told that guy you could take me to Eli."
She rolls her eyes. "He's in the locker room. The medics can't do shit for him. Same injury from the end of last season acting up again."
She takes me through the closed door and then down a clear hallway with nothing but an energy drink vending machine and some framed promo pics of the players on the walls.
"Through there." She shows me the door to the locker room. "We'll be with you once the game's over, but for now he's all yours."
I'm already closing the door as she finishes that sentence.
The locker room is nothing like the one back in the Astor Ice Arenas. This one reeks of big money. Like, pro leagues money.
I can't really bring myself to give a shit about the fancy lockers, though, because I'm too focused on the shirtless hockey player sitting on one of the benches.
"Hey."
Eli's head whips up. "How'd you get in here?"
"Your agent smuggled me in, I think."
Eli smiles.
I bite my lip. "Can I see it?"
He rolls his shoulder stiffly. "It's just bruising."
"Plus all the internal shit, right?" I say, walking up to him.
Eli stands and doesn't flinch away when I touch the skin that's clearly starting to bruise. Fast.
"This is an old injury. Your agent said so. Why would you play with an injury?"
He lets out an impatient breath, but he doesn't evade my touch. "You can't tell me you wouldn't skate through a minor injury too."
"You're right," I say. "But I don't get body slammed when I'm skating. Not if I'm doing it right."
He doesn't meet my eye.
"Eli."
Now his hazel-grey eyes find mine. "Don't."
I let my hand fall away, looking at him. "How can I not? This is..." My voice fails me a little. "The only reason that player did that was because-"
"Because he's an asshole," he cuts me off. "And this is a rough game. The only reason my shoulder's been sore is because I got slammed into the boards at the end of last season too. Long before anyone knew shit."
I hear him, but it doesn't sink in. Not the way he wants it too.
Eli warned me this is what was waiting for him if he came out. And then he did it because I was walking away. Because I couldn't wait anymore.
"Don't look at me like that," Eli whispers.
I look down at the floor instead. "How am I looking at you?"
Eli tucks a finger under my jaw to make me look back up at him. "Like you're feeling guilty about something that isn't your fault."
I bite my lip.
With his free hand, Eli takes mine. "You're the good part of all of this, Liam," he whispers, then he kisses my hand.
That heart problem I'd been having acts up again, and the little shit goes haywire in my chest. I smile despite myself. "I love you."
Eli smiles. "I love you too."
I glance at his shoulder. "Can I make it better?"
"Not really."
Still, I lean down to drop a kiss on his bruising skin.
Eli snorts. "Actually. Maybe that works. Try it again."
I smile, dropping another kiss on his shoulder, feather light. Then his collarbone. His neck. His cheek.
"Definitely better," he says.
"I should probably do a lot more of this when we get home, then."
"Probably."
We both grin like idiots.
Footsteps and voices have us pull away from each other. Just in time for his teammates to come in. Some of them glance my way with interest, but most of them are too engrossed in their post-game bro play to bother.
"How's the shoulder?" A big man I'm pretty sure is Eli's coach asks, no pleasantries, no beating around the bush.
"Nothing ice and a little physio can't fix," Eli says.
"I've heard that before," the man says.
Dean and Zoey stand behind him, the first with a look of concern, the second with a look of someone who's more likely to learn how to grown wings and fly before she believes Eli's bullshit.
"Look," Zoey says. "You've made your point. And it was one hell of a point. Really. Seeing you play this last game and a half reminded me why I begged the agency to take you two. But you're no good to anyone with a ruined shoulder. Just sit the rest of the play-offs out. Heal. And come back stronger next season. After some player dates some Hollywood A-lister and dilutes the attention."
Eli huffs. "This isn't about making a point. We're having one of the best playoffs the team's ever had in years. I want to see this to the end."
"If he doesn't play, I don't play," Dean says.
Zoey rolls her eyes. "Yeah, we get it. Settle down." She looks straight at Eli. "Come on, Eli. Be reasonable."
"Be reasonable?" Eli's voice sounds more vulnerable than I expected it.
We're attracting some of the other players' attention now, but most of them are doing a good job at acting like they're not listening. The only one I see openly staring gets one look from the coach and goes back to analyzing the fabric of his jersey with clinical interest.
"You know what? Fine. Maybe there is a point I'm trying to make," Eli says. "So let me make it. You think the guy who got sent to the penalty box twice today wasn't trying to make a point too?" He looks between his coach and Zoey. "Please. I want to play. If you're worried about my shoulder, play me less time. But let me be on that rink until our time is over. Even if it is just to make a point."
I look over at Zoey and realize I expected her to argue back. She doesn't.
But Dean does open his mouth.
The coach cuts him off before he can form a full word, though. "I can't really say no, can I?" He sounds irritated. "Not with Miller threatening to go on strike for you every fucking chance he gets."
Dean grins and there are some chuckles around the locker room. I'm surprised to see Zoey is also biting back a smile.
The coach sighs. "I'll let you play on one condition."
"Name it."
"Miller stops the tantrum and plays when I fucking tell him to, with or without you," the coach says. "I won't play you as much time, but that's no reason for him to take a vacation."
"But-"
Eli reaches over to set a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Done," he says.
"Until the rest of the playoffs," Dean rushes to add. "Then we're back to strictly being a duo. Non-negotiable."
The coach lets a kind of outraged grunt. But he doesn't argue. I think I can hear him say something about 'damn kid' and 'thinks he's still in kindergarten' but might be just my imagination.
I catch Eli grinning at me and I can't help smiling too. I want to kiss him.
But someone puts a hand on my shoulder.
It's Zoey.
"We're leaving too. The boys want to change," she says.
I shoot Eli one last disappointed look and let Zoey drag me away to wait for Eli.
He comes out soon after, on his own.
"Dean's still in the locker room," he tells me, beanie over his damp hair, cheeks flushed, and black hoodie zipped up to his chin. "He's going out with some of the guys."
I smile. "Should we go home?"
"Please," he says.
We walk to the subway station in silence. On our way, a guy who can't be much younger than us stops Eli.
"Uhm, sorry." He scratches the back of his neck. "I just. I saw you and I, uh, thought maybe I could ask for an autograph?"
I see the guy's eyes glance my way just before they focus back on Eli a little sheepishly.
Eli's eyebrows arch up. "Uhm. Yeah. Sure."
The guy smiles. He reaches into his bag for a beat-up copy of One Last Stop and a pen. "Uhm, sorry. It's this or my Sociology notes."
"It's fine," Eli says.
"You can sign it to Jared, please," he says, blushing slightly. "I'm actually an Oilers fan, but, uh." I see him glance my way again. And then I notice the pink, yellow and blue stripes of his bracelet.
Eli notices it too, when he hands him the book and the pen back.
"Thanks," the guy says, before running back to a group of friends.
Still a little unsure, due to our public setting, I wrap a hand around Eli's arm. He doesn't flinch away, but snaps back to me.
I smile. "Home?"
He nods. "Home."