Push (Colorado Storm Hockey #3)

Chapter 18

18

HUX

The ice feels like a battlefield beneath my skates as I glide into position. We’re in overtime in game four against the Los Angeles Rebels—my former team. They’re on a power play after Wags got sent to the bin for a high stick on their captain. The score is tied 1-1, and the tension in the arena is thick enough to cut with a skate blade. If we win, we move on to the Western Conference Finals.

We barely squeaked by Vancouver to get to this series, but we found our groove again. Hawk has been unbeatable, and we’ve been able to handle L.A. pretty easily. Now they are fighting for their life.

The puck drops and we lose the faceoff. I immediately shadow their best scorer, trying to take away his time and space. My legs burn with the effort, but I push through the pain.

The Rebels move the puck around, looking for an opening. I can see the determination in their eyes, the hunger to win this game and not end their season. But we’re just as hungry, just as determined.

Suddenly, their defenseman makes a mistake, bobbling the puck at the blue line. Mac pounces on it like a lion. His stick is a blur as he knocks it loose and starts racing down the ice. I hear the roar from the crowd and I feel their energy surging through my veins.

I charge after him, my lungs burning as I push myself to keep up. The Rebels’ defensemen scramble to get back, but Mac is too fast, too skilled. He dekes around one, then another.

As Mac charges toward the goalie, time seems to slow down. His stick flexes as he winds up for the shot. The puck rockets off his blade, a blur of black against the white ice. The goalie reaches out, straining to block the shot, but it’s too late. The puck glides past and lands in the back of the net for a game winning shorty. The arena full of Colorado Storm fans erupts.

I’m the first one to reach Mac and I crush him in an embrace. Our celebratory screams are in time with the goal horn. The rest of the team piles on, a mass of sweaty bodies and gleaming smiles.

Through the tangle of limbs, I catch sight of Hawk. His mask pushed up on his head, his face split in a wide grin. I break free from the group and skate over to him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

“You held them to one goal, you magnificent bastard,” I shout over the cheers of the crowd.

Hawk just laughs, his eyes bright with adrenaline and joy. “That’s what I’m here for, Hux. To give you guys a chance to be the heroes.”

A small bit of humility from Hawk. I would never have guessed.

As we make our way off the ice, the excitement is palpable. We’re one step closer to winning the Cup.

But I know there’s still a long road ahead. We’ll have to get through Dallas in the Western Conference Finals. We’ll need to be at our absolute best. We can’t blow it now .

As I sit in my stall, unlacing my skates, my phone vibrates with an incoming text message. Glancing at the screen, I feel my chest tighten as I see Ada’s name. She must have been watching to time her message so perfectly. She must have seen our overtime win. This strikes a chord within me, something that feels similar to excitement, or maybe that’s nervousness. The joy I was feeling from the win has been replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I read what she says.

Adaline Khoury: Hey Nik, we need to meet up to sign the annulment papers ASAP.

I stare at the message, a lump forming in my throat. The memory of what happened between us comes rushing back, the guilt and regret hitting me like a physical blow. I know I should respond. At some point, I have to face the consequences of my actions, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not now. Not when we’re so close to our goal.

I slip the phone into my bag, trying to push the thought of Ada out of my head. I need to be focused. I can’t let my personal life interfere with my performance on the ice.

As I finish getting dressed, a few reporters with their microphones and recording devices move from Mac over to me. I take a deep breath, forcing a smile onto my face as I answer their questions. I talk about the team’s resilience and about the importance of taking it one game at a time. I sound normal, I think, but inside I’m a mess of emotions.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I’m able to escape the locker room and make my way to my Jeep. As I drive home, my mind is still racing about Ada. It’s amazing how one little text message can take tonight’s victory and toss it aside. I should be proud of my performance. Instead, I’m letting the guilt of what I did to Ada consume me.

When I arrive at my house, Max is there to greet me, his tail wagging with so much enthusiasm it makes me smile. “What’s up, boy? Did you watch the game or something?”

I kneel, burying my face in his fur, and it genuinely helps my dark mood.

As I sit on the couch, Max curled up at my feet, I glance at the unread message from Ada that’s still lingering on the screen. I know I handled things badly and hurt her in ways I can never fully atone for. And yeah, I’m digging myself into a deeper hole by being that guy , but I’m going to have to ignore her message. I need to compartmentalize and put all my energy into the games ahead. She will have to wait. The playoffs are no time for distractions.

The next morning, I’m jolted awake by the sound of Max barking frantically from the deck. My head is pounding from deep sleep and the lingering adrenaline from last night’s game. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s 9 AM. Who the hell could be here?

I stumble out of bed, pulling on a pair of pajama pants but leaving my hair down as I make my way to the bedroom window. Peering outside, I’m shocked to see Ada getting back into her car, frightened by Max’s barking.

“What the hell?” I mutter to myself, trying to process the fact that she’s actually here, at my house in the mountains.

I quickly make my way out onto the deck, barefoot. Max is still barking, but I command him to heel next to me. I call out to Ada, “It’s okay, he won’t attack.”

She hesitates for a few seconds and then opens her car door. She steps out, the morning sun casting a warm glow around her. She’s wearing jeans that accentuate her hips, and a billowy white top with matching sneakers. Her hair, a mass of wild curls, is tamed into two loose pigtails that bounce with her movements. Tied around each one is a blue ribbon. Just like that morning in Vegas. She is even sexier than in my memory.

But when her eyes meet mine, I’m brought right back to reality.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. My jaw tightens at the sight of her.

Her arms cross over her chest. “Well, you won’t return my texts, and since playoff tickets are sold out, I thought I’d try to find you here.”

“How did you find my house?” My tone comes off way more accusatory than I intend it.

“It’s on the paperwork,” she says and holds up the envelope. Her annoyance is palpable, even from this distance.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process the fact that she’s actually here, standing in front of me. “I’m sorry. I know I should have responded. I just...”

“Just what, Nik?” she asks, her voice tight with emotion. “Just couldn’t be bothered to face me after what happened?”

I flinch at her words. I want to blame it on the playoffs. That’s a perfectly plausible excuse to give her. But I know she’s right. I’ve been avoiding her, avoiding the inevitable confrontation that I knew was coming. But seeing her now, the hurt and anger in her eyes, I know I can’t run from this any longer.

“Come in,” I say softly, gesturing towards the house. “We can talk inside.”

Ada hesitates for a moment, glancing warily at Max. But she follows me into the house, an awkward silence settling over us as we make our way to the living room.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For not responding, for…what I did that night.”

Ada nods, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I just need you to sign the papers, Nik. And maybe put a t-shirt on.”

“Oh, sorry,” I say and slip into my bedroom. I grab a clean t-shirt from a drawer and put it on. When I return, she’s still standing in the same place, eyes down. Max watches her from the kitchen.

“I promise Max won’t hurt you,” I tell her. “He trusts whoever I trust.”

She blinks a few times. “You trust me?”

“Of course,” I murmur. “How could I not?”

“Because I’m not sure if I trust you anymore, Nik.”

I can’t deny how much that hurts me. As a defenseman, I’ve had no problem earning the trust of every goalie, of every coach, of every captain.

“My grandmother…she’s not doing well,” she says, completely changing the subject.

“The one I met at the wedding?”

“Yeah,” she says and reaches up to wipe a small tear away. “She wants to see me settled, wants me to be with someone like George. So, I need to make this right for her.”

The mention of George sends a flare of jealousy through me, but I push it down. I have no right to feel that way, not after how I’ve treated her.

“I understand,” I say, my throat tight. “I’ll sign them. I won’t stand in your way.”

Ada looks up at me then, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of something there—regret, longing, I’m not sure. But then it’s gone, replaced by a steely resolve.

“Thank you,” she says. She hands me the papers, along with a pen, and I stare down at them. My heart feels heavy in my chest.

This is it. The end of our brief, intense connection. The end of something that could have been so much more, if only I hadn’t let my own demons get in the way.

With a shaking hand, I sign on the dotted line, officially invalidating our marriage from my end of things.

Ada takes the papers back, folding them carefully and slipping them into her bag. “I saw your attorney’s address on the envelope. It’s close to my apartment, so I’ll drop them off and make sure they get filed straight away.”

“Okay, thank you.” I force a smile, but inside I’m struggling. I feel like my time with Ada is slipping through my fingers and I’m not ready to say goodbye forever.

“I’m sorry too, by the way,” she says quietly. “For everything.”

“There is no reason for you to apologize at all.”

She thinks on that for a moment and then nods. “You’re right. Goodbye, Nik.”

As she turns to go, an impulse takes over me. Against my better judgment, I find myself saying, “Wait. Stay for breakfast.”

Ada pauses, surprise flashing across her face. “What?”

“You came all this way. Let me make you breakfast. It’s the least I can do. Please.”

I’m conflicted, knowing that this goes against everything I should be doing.

Let her go. Focus on the playoffs.

But try as I might to coach myself into doing the right thing, the thought of her walking out that door, of losing her forever, is too much to bear.

Ada hesitates, her eyes searching mine. And for a moment, I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she feels the same way.

“Okay,” she says softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You did say you’re a good cook. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

And with that, we make our way to the kitchen, the signed papers in her bag momentarily forgotten.