Kinsley fell in love with Phoenix Maverick, an NHL player for a team she never imagined supporting. But when Kinsley suffers from a head injury and forgets the last six years of her life, she struggles balancing being the person Phoenix fell in love...
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Seven months ago. April.
"Tell your mom I said hey," Jones cackled next to me, tapping his stick on the ice while we waited for the whistle. Whenever we played against the Canucks, Jones liked to run his mouth but his chat was pathetic.
"You still on the mom jokes, Jones?" I gave him a shove. "You gonna shit talk, I suggest something a little more plausible. You ever met Mrs Maverick? She prefers her men to have bigger balls than she does."
He scoffed and tapped my stick with his.
The whistle went and the play started. Matthew's snapped to Leighton and he moved across the ice, getting intercepted by Canuck number thirty eight, Perez.
I moved into position keeping myself open just as Leighton took a hit and slid onto his knees. The puck hit my stick and I snapped it back to Frey who circled Perez. Frey's footwork was so damn sensational and I'd have cheered for his goal if I wasn't checked into the wall with a shoulder barge.
"For fuck sakes," I stood straight back up and saw Jones cackling, his wiry blonde hair stuck to his face, circling the ugliest fucking grin.
"Didn't see you there, Maverick."
I didn't bother picking my stick up, instead I threw my hands down, my gloves flew off and I swung as soon as Jones glided back toward me, his gloves sliding across the ice behind him.
I'd given him the hiding of his life two years ago at a preseason game and it was still one of the most watched highlights on YouTube. He'd been hoping to redeem himself ever since.
Not a fucking chance.
I shoved him at the glass, clutched his shirt and hit, over and over, keeping hold despite him pushing at my hands and throwing the odd punch at my helmet. I aimed up, getting him in the chin. His helmet came off and hit the ice.
I was vaguely aware of the refs circling, waiting for their cue. Jones kicked out and we went down which was when the refs tugged at my jersey, pulling me off. I got one last blow to his jaw and laughed.
"Still a bitch, Jones."
He wiped his bloody nose and scowled, his blonde beard streaked with red as I skated off to the box for a five minute penalty. He'd be in his for two.
Watching Matthew's and Lowry slide side by side, fighting over the puck with Matthew's just holding the upper hand, my gaze drifted to a particularly deafening scream coming from the stands beside me.
Screaming is normal, expected. You learn to tune it out and it becomes white noise. But it was a woman with this gravelly pitch and enthusiasm that triumphed everyone around her. When I found the girl responsible, I couldn't look away.
Again, beautiful women cheering their hearts out isn't unusual. It's common as hell. So I couldn't seem to explain the feeling I got when I looked at her and I couldn't stop looking.
