Breakaway: An Accidental Marriage Hockey Romance (Sinners on the Ice)

The ringing of my phone rips me out of my sleep. Slowly, I sit up in bed and grab it from the nightstand. Nevaeh’s smiling face flashes on my screen, and I can’t help but laugh. That’s why she asked me to give her my phone last night? To add a picture to her contact? She’s adorable.

I press my phone to my ear and fall onto my back. So much for getting a nap in before the game.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey, Roman.” Nevaeh speaks in a hushed voice, and something about her tone makes me tense. Usually she’s all bubbly and cheerful. “What are you doing?”

“I was taking a nap, but I have to leave for the arena soon. Today is the last game before our five-game road trip, as you know. It should go smoothly. I’d hate it if we lost after two wins.”

“Um, yeah, I’d hate that too.”

“Everything okay?” I ask, mentally preparing myself for her reply. I think I’m still recovering from when the news of our marriage broke six days ago. I answered so many questions, I’d love to stay silent for a few days.

“Some people will do anything for their fifteen minutes of fame,” she breathes, sounding dejected.

I instantly sit up in bed, my grip on my phone tightening. “What did Travis do?”

“Travis? No, no, no. It has nothing to do with him. He’s been ignoring me ever since the articles were published. I’m sure he read them.” The invisible string around my throat loosens, and I take a deep breath. Slava Bogu⁠1. With how hung up on her he was, I really thought I’d need to have a word with him. “He saw me yesterday in the elevator, and he just turned his back on me. It’s not him.”

“Then who?” I get out of bed and go to the bathroom. A quick shower will do, and then I’ll need to get ready for the game.

Nevaeh sighs. “My mother.”

I stop in my tracks, one hand gripping the collar of my tee. “What did she do?”

“She talked to the media. About me, about my years in school. And Kyle.”

“Kyle?” I’ve never heard her mention a Kyle.

“I dated him in high school.”

“And what did she say?”

“He went to jail because of what he did to a girl. And when he did it, I was still with him.” Nevaeh sniffs. My beautiful, messy girl…I would do anything to be with her right now. To hold her and help her get through this. “My mother made it sound like I had something to do with it,” she whispers.

“How?”

“She said I should’ve said something about the way he treated me. That I should’ve alerted her or someone about what a prick he was…that I could’ve saved Lyn and the other girls he sexually assaulted.”

“If you didn’t feel comfortable opening up to her, isn’t that on her? Doesn’t that speak volumes about what kind of mother she is?”

“Mom said she tried everything to have a relationship with me, and I never let her in because I was tight-lipped and introverted,” she says. “I’ll explain everything about Kyle after the game. It’s…not an easy conversation, and I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, especially when I’m at work.”

Nevaeh falls silent, and I stay silent too. As my gaze roams over my bathroom, I bite the inside of my cheek. Then an idea pops into my head. I hope she’ll go for it. It might help her move on and never look back.

“Malyshka?”

“What?”

“Did you ever figure out what to write for that special edition in December?” I ask.

“Not yet, and I’m running out of time. Kai keeps asking about it.”

“Write about Kyle,” I say. “Write about your experience. Tell your story.”

“It’s an ugly story, Roman.”

“But it’s yours.”

Shuffling sounds from her end fill my ear. I wait, hoping she’ll agree. She needs this, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sure,” I tell her and finally take off my tee.

“I’m so sorry, Roman. This was the last thing you needed before your game,” Nevaeh mutters. “I just wanted you to know, because I’m sure people will be talking.”

I snort quietly. “I’m sure they will, but I don’t care.” Stepping closer to the shower, I start the water and pull down my sweatpants and boxers. “Sorry, Malyshka, I really need to get rolling.”

“Sure. See you at the game.”

“See you.” I hang up, toss my phone onto the marble surface of the bathroom countertop, and step into the shower.

A clear head. That’s what I really need…because she’s right. People will be talking.

Sitting on the bench, I follow my teammates around the ice with my eyes. My teeth are clenched so hard, my molars could be fucking dust by the end of the night. And not just my molars if Nathan Tucker doesn’t learn how to keep his mouth shut.

We started off strong, dominating on the ice. The steady number of pucks we were able to sneak behind Boston’s defense in the first period helped us a ton, giving us the motivation we needed to score.

Benson getting the puck in the left circle from Boston’s player when he was midway through our zone was priceless. He sent the puck into the board, and it ricocheted to a wide-open Thompson. With a precise wrist shot into the top-right corner, Colton scored our first goal in the first period. Seeing one to zero on the Jumbotron made me extremely happy.

After we cut Boston’s defense apart, our team got the chance to make it a two-goal game just six minutes after Colton’s goal. I slid a pass under the stick of Nathan Tucker to unlock Crawford. And damn, Dean didn’t disappoint, sending the puck into the net with a backhand shot. Leading two to zero by the end of the first period gave the whole arena hope.

How the fuck we went from leading to losing two to three is beyond me. It’s like Boston just had a slow start, adjusting to our game and opening up new possibilities after the first period. When we got back on the ice during the second period, they decided they were done letting us win. They have clawed back like fucking beasts, and we haven’t had a single chance to score again.

Every moment we have created has fallen short. Even the ones that were successful, when we were able to send the puck toward Boston’s net, didn’t lead to another goal. Schneider, Boston’s goalie, has secured his net every fucking time, making us restless.

My mood only worsened when two to two flashed on the Jumbotron. I want to win. My teammates want to win. Too bad Boston has had no desire to fuck off and let us move forward.

Tucker chirping me was another level of fucked up. Hearing him talk about Nevaeh sent me into a rampage. If it hadn’t been time for me to get off the ice, I would’ve smashed his fucking face in.

At the start of the third period, our first line created the perfect chance to score. Colton finished off Drake’s full-ice pass from our team’s crease. But the happiness was short-lived. The Boston bench made a quick challenge to overturn the call, and it was ruled that Koskinen was well offside. And, unfortunately, it proved to be a damned demotivator for the entire team. Exactly four minutes after that, Boston made the score two to three.

I glance at the Jumbotron. Six minutes till the end of third period. God, I hope we get the chance to turn the game around and tie it again—and maybe even score one more so we can win.

Jumping to my feet, I get on the ice and enter the game in a rush. I block Tucker, stealing the puck from him and sending it to Colton. A glance to my left, and I see Tucker glaring at me.

“Really think you’re going to win?” he says snidely. “Not going to happen, asshole. Just like no one is going to forget who your wife is. Making her boyfriend ra⁠—”

I don’t even think. I just turn around and block his path. A smirk forms on his lips, and I’m determined to wipe it off his smug face. I read all the shit that Nevaeh’s mom spewed about her on my way to the arena, and it made my blood boil. Only my need to be one hundred percent focused on the game helped me stuff away all those thoughts. Talking to Nevaeh will give me the whole picture, but it’s clear to anyone with even a shred of logic that her mom’s insinuations are nothing but lies. Even the journalist who wrote the article mentioned that Nevaeh was a victim too.

I toss my stick and gloves on the ice and charge at Tucker, hitting him in the face with my fist. His head flies back, and before he has the chance to punch me in return, my fist connects with his chin. My knuckles start to bleed, and I flex my fist several times.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t you dare talk about my wife. Ever again.”

“Don’t like hearing the truth?” Tucker laughs, spitting blood onto the ice.

Someone grabs me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I try to break free, and that’s when Tucker’s fist slams into my face. My vision goes black as I shut my eyes. Another blow follows, busting my bottom lip. The commotion around us becomes louder, and someone pulls me away from Tucker, even though I wriggle as hard as I can.

“Let me fucking go!” I roar.

“Calm down, Pashkevich.” Colton’s voice in my ear sounds furious. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s a coward!” I yell, finding Tucker with my eyes. He’s glaring at me; his face is bloody. “You’re a fucking coward! Hitting me in the face when I was held back?”

The referee puts himself between us and pushes me backward. In the penalty box, I slump down onto my ass and stare in front of me. My heart hammers, deafening me and turning all other sounds into white noise. It’s like the whole arena has gone silent, even if I know that’s not the case.

“Ublyudok.⁠2” I wince from the pain of my split bottom lip. I can only imagine how my face looks. I’ll definitely be sporting a black eye tomorrow.

I grab an ice pack from the off-ice official and hold it to my eye, begrudgingly watching what’s happening on the ice. Tucker continues cursing from the opponent’s penalty box, but I ignore him.

The five-minute penalty for both of us makes my heart drop. I won’t be able to help my team. I look up at the Jumbotron, and my jaw ticks. Seeing two to three makes me ball my fists.

The noise of the arena is meaningless. Twelve thousand people slowly dissolve into the background, because I feel her gaze on me. I meet Nevaeh’s eyes from across the ice and instantly know she’s been crying. Her hands are pressed to the plexiglass, and she’s not paying any attention to the game. Only to me.

I jerk my head and watch the ice instead. Hockey. That’s the only thing I should be focusing on. Only the game matters right now. I already made a terrible mistake letting that jerk rile me up and starting a fight.

My temper is my weakness. It always has been.

And so I sit in the penalty box, watching my team lose the game. The final score stays two to three when the horn signals the end of the game, but it feels like we lost by way more than one point. Because I know it’s all my fault.

1 Слава Богу. — Thank God.

2 Ублюдок. — Bastard.