Best Of Both Worlds (Colorado Black Diamonds #4)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

GRAHAM

“ Y ou’re calling that a penalty?” Coach Andrews yells at the ref. “If that’s high sticking, I don’t know what a high stick actually is!”

Boos are raining down on us as Coach is yelling at the refs. Bode is being escorted into the sin bin. His anger can be felt from here.

Since the start of the game with Boston, it’s been nothing but a fight. We’re skating hard. Have good control of the puck. But no matter what we seem to be doing, they’re ahead of us. They have a split second on us from where we’ll be and are recovering the puck from our zone that much faster.

It shows in the score too. They’re up 3-0.

It fucking sucks.

“Fisher. You’re up. Don’t let them score on another power play.”

Hopping over the bench, I head onto the ice as the puck is dropped to start play again. Noah is there, grabbing the puck from Jasper, but before he can do anything with it, he’s slammed into the boards and Boston takes over.

Fuck.

We’ve been on the defensive the entire game and can’t seem to make our own attack. Skating hard, I slide my stick out to intercept the puck, but again, he’s already gone.

“Damn it!”

Dax is there, but another Boston player is blocking him before they send the puck flying into the back of our net.

The crowd erupts around us as Bode leaves the penalty box. He’s pounding his fist into his helmet, visibly upset.

With the score now 4-0 late in the second period, we’re going to have to fight to get any kind of ground in this game.

Morale is low in the locker room, no matter how much Coach and Marcus try to pep us up during the intermission.

An early goal from Marcus in the third period closes the gap, but when they answer a few minutes later with a goal of their own, our collective bubble pops.

After that, we can’t seem to do anything right. It’s like the entire team forgot how to play.

And we end up having our worst loss of the season, 6-2.

Fuck.

“This sucks,” Noah tells me as the two of us head off the ice.

“I can’t tell you the last time a loss felt this terrible.”

Back in the early days when I started playing for the Knights, it seemed like all we could do was lose in spectacular fashion. Now that we’ve all had a taste of how good winning feels, of seeing where we can go, it’s hard.

Each loss feels worse when we know what we’re capable of. Sure, Boston is a good team, but they aren’t the best team in the league right now.

Which makes this loss a tougher pill to swallow.

“I thought we had a chance when Marcus scored,” Jasper tells us as we drop down onto our seats in the visitors’ locker room.

The cold, dark gray of the room doesn’t do much to improve the low morale. Everyone is feeling this loss keenly.

“Tonight was a tough one, men,” Coach Andrews tells us. “I’m not going to lie, I thought we could turn things around in the third period. But we can’t win them all, no matter how much we want to.”

“It’s going to be a long ride home,” Dax groans from next to me.

“I know it will,” Coach answers. “But we’re going to take tonight. And then tomorrow, once we’re home, we’re going to study the film, find the mistakes, and then work on cleaning them up. Learn from this game to make sure we don’t have a repeat performance.”

His gaze looks around the entire locker room, studying each man in here. “This team has grit. We have determination. I know what everyone said when they fired Boyd halfway through the season and brought me in. It sucks. But I know we can be the kind of team people fear playing because they know we’re that good. We have potential. Don’t let this loss convince you otherwise.”

This is why I love playing for Coach Andrews. He’s worlds better than our old coach. Boyd didn’t seem to have the charisma that Andrews has to lead a team.

Even though we lost, he makes it seem like it isn’t the end of the world. When it really isn’t. It’s just a game.

Stripping out of my gear, I hit the showers and change into my suit to leave the arena. A few of the guys are talking to the press. Thank God I don’t have to.

Even though I played well, I don’t feel like I’d have much to comment about it tonight.

“You ready?”

Noah grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder as I stand, grabbing mine too.

“Ready to get home.”

“It feels like we’ve been gone for months,” Noah tells me.

“Feels like it,” Marcus agrees as he walks out with us. “I hate the long road stretches.”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed,” I whine. “I hate road hotel rooms.”

“Do you think Boston knows where we stay and changes out the mattresses to make them the worst in the entire world?” Dax jogs up to us as the cold night air greets us as we head outside.

“Wouldn’t put it past ’em.” Noah nods in thanks to the security guy as fans are lining up around the barricades.

A few Nashville fans are in attendance as guys sign autographs for them. The downside? Drunk Boston fans are also lining up to sling insults our way.

“Too bad you couldn’t pull off the win. The Knights suck!” someone throws out. “Bet you wish you were still playing for Colorado, Fields!”

“What a dick,” I mutter under my breath as I give a Sharpie back to someone after signing their jersey.

“Just ignore them,” Noah whispers to me.

“Aww. Crying to your boyfriend? I don’t think he can make this feel better for you.”

“Nice one, bro.”

I stop dead in my tracks and turn toward the voices. The men, looking to be in their late fifties based on their appearance, are high-fiving one another.

“Keep walking. They’re just being dickheads.”

Jasper pushes me forward, but the gut feeling that sinks in my stomach is a hard one to swallow.

I move toward the bus in a fog. Listening to their words on repeat.

Crying to your boyfriend?

Honestly? I have no idea what Noah and I are to each other. It feels like more than just a friends-with-benefits situation. If this thing were to end tomorrow, I don’t know if I’d want to be with anyone but Noah.

But does that mean I’m ready to be out to the world? Based on that guy’s comments, I don’t know if I could take it. One well-timed insult has my head spinning.

“You know they didn’t mean anything by that, right?” Noah tells me as he takes his seat next to me on the bus.

“Right.”

They might not have meant anything by it, but it feels like something to me. I’m sure Noah has heard it all before. It doesn’t make it okay.

Noah pats my leg as the bus pulls out of the arena and heads toward the airport. Pulling out my headphones, I pop them into my ears and crank a noisy playlist.

I need to get lost in something other than my thoughts. I’m not quite sure how to handle what that guy said.

If Noah and I were together for real, the comments would be even worse than that. Is that something I’m ready for? Is that something I can handle?

I don’t know if I’m at that point yet. Does that mean this thing with Noah has to end? I’m not sure if I’m ready for that either.

Fuck me. I have no idea what I’m ready for, and it’s all because of one drunk-ass fan.