We won the fourth game but it was a tough win and we lost Solis because of a cheap hit and no fucking penalty call.

Brandon Burr was a third line winger who was not really an Enforcer and not really a scorer but he had decent hands and he had a decent size so he could do both things but he wasn’t exceptional. Solis took a cross-ice pass from his partner, Erik Larsson. His head was down - which was his fault. He should have been looking. This was hockey 101. Burr was crossing the ice just to make contact with his body - it should have been a charging call, at the very least. On top of that, however, Burr left his feet and his shoulder mades contact with Solis’s head, snapping it back and knocking him down. The kid managed to skate off the ice but he didn’t return to the bench and had to be checked out by our medical staff.

Turned out, Solis had a concussion and would be out for the rest of the season. If we did manage to make it to the next round, and I was adamant we would, he wouldn’t be able to play.

What a cheap, dirty hit.

Naturally, I planned to go after Burr the minute his skates touched the ice after that shift. I think Cherney knew I wanted to too, because he threw me in even though it wasn’t my typical line I skated with. For good measure, Morgan was put in with me. Before I could even get my hands on Burr, Morgan went after him. He didn’t even pretend to go after the puck first. He skated straight for Burr casually, so it wasn’t exactly a charge. If you could stroll on ice skates, that was what Morgan did.

Morgan was tall with a long reach and managed to get in a good amount of punches before the referees and the linesmen pulled the two skaters apart.

I loved fighting in opposing buildings. It motivated me more to beat the shit out of my opponent so as we skated off the ice and to our respective locker rooms or penalty boxes - depending on how much time there was left in the period - the only sound that could be heard from the stands was silence and the occasional cheer from a Gulls fan on the road.

I lived for moments like that. As did Morgan.

Of course, he got an extra two for fighting but I didn’t think he - or the team - actually cared, considering they were tapping their blades on the side of the bench as a sign of respect as he skated to the sin bin, a cocky smile on his face. Burr had blood flowing from his nose and running into his mouth and I was pretty sure he’d have bruises on his face tomorrow.

We flew back that night. I felt like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. I had already talked to Chloe about picking me up at the airport and I was excited I would get to see her after a short flight. 

I wanted to see her - needed to see her.

I didn’t necessarily understand this anticipatory desire I had for her, why there was this desperate need to get her within my sight again. At first, I thought it was to make sure she was okay, that nothing had happened in my absence. That she was still safe, even if I wasn’t there. But there was more to it, whether I wanted to admit it or not. I wanted to see her because I wanted to see her. I didn’t want to remember the shade of blue in her eyes or the wrinkle on her nose or how she always missed that second step on her porch so she had to grab the wooden rail or else she’d face plant on the cement.

I wanted to see it.

I wanted to watch her. 

I wanted to be able to touch her, to curl hair behind her ear and hold her hand and kiss her mouth.

The minute the plane touched the runway at John Wayne, I unbuckled my seatbelt - rules he damned - and tapped my foot until the plane finally came to a stop. Morgan sat next to me and gave me an annoyed look, like he knew why I was so impatient and was practically disgusted with it. I had to bite back a smile.

Because our trip was short, I hadn’t checked any bags so all I needed to do was walk off the plane and head to my car. I told Chloe exactly where I would be so she would be able to meet up with me easily. 

And there she was.

The weather for May was surprisingly cold. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky so Chloe had on a white trench coat and black skinny jeans. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a high ponytail and she had black sunglasses on. The minute she saw me walking to her, her lips curled into a smile that had to rival the sun because I couldn’t stop staring at it and I couldn’t shake just how warm it made me feel on the inside and out.

She didn’t run to me. I almost wish she had, but she still wasn’t sure what we were and what was expected of her.

I, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit. When I reached her, I wrapped her up in my arms and pulled her into a long kiss. She was surprised. I knew she was surprised and that was fine. That was okay because I was surprised by my own goddamn actions but I couldn’t help myself if I tried. She looked fucking beautiful and I wanted to touch her again because I did. That was it. There was no reason in particular about why except that I wanted to and that was enough.

I felt her body slowly relax and ease into the kiss. I knew she probably assumed that I was doing this for show because we were supposed to be dating and after time apart, we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off of each other. The truth of the matter was, I wasn’t doing this because we were playing some dumb game. I did this because I wanted to kiss her. I did this because I liked kissing her and touching her. Did that mean I was taking advantage of the situation? I didn’t know how to answer that. Possibly. And maybe I would think on that and figure out how to rectify that situation but, for now, I wanted to kiss her so I did.

The drive was too slow to get home even though our place was only a few miles away.

Our place.

Like we suddenly lived together.

I was almost bothered by the fact that my mental diction didn’t bother me as much as it probably should have.

Chloe was unusually quiet, her head turned away from me so she could peer out the window. It was only when we got home did I understand why.

She had bruises on her face. Even with all the makeup she caked on, she had bruises there.

“When we get to the house,” he said slowly, carefully, “you are going to tell me what the fuck happened that caused you to get all those bruises on your face.”

I hoped I wasn’t being condescending. I hoped I wasn’t being a dick. I wasn’t trying to be a parent or anybody who would ever judge her for what she had endured, for what she was enduring now. But I needed to know what happened. I needed to know how long I would keep this fucker alive and in pain before I snapped his neck. The fact that this guy attacked her, knowing I wouldn’t be there to protect her, made my entire body bristle.

What a fucking coward.

Chloe sighed. “I had hoped to keep that from you,” she said.

I furrowed my brow. “Why the -“ I bit my tongue to keep from swearing at her - “would you want to do that?”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Because you have a lot on your plate already,” she replied, turning her head back so she could look at me. “Because you and your team are on the precipice of making it to the Stanley Cup Finals from not having made the playoffs. That’s a big deal, Art.”

“So are you,” I insisted.

Did she think a Cup was worth more than her well-being? Did she honestly think this was all pretend? Maybe she did. I hadn’t really told her otherwise. Maybe I should change that just so she knows.

When we got to the house, I could feel her tense and there was part of me that felt guilty for putting pressure to confess something she shouldn’t have to tell me if she didn’t want to. I pulled my car up her driveway and shut it off, the keys tinkling lightly as they bumped into each other, and there was a moment where neither one of us moved, where the silence kicked in. 

The thing was, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was heavy but it didn’t make me feel as if I didn’t want to be there. I would endure the tension if it meant sitting with her quietly for a few minutes. I would do everything I needed to ensure that she had the support she deserved from me.

I heard her take a deep breath. My eyes caught sight of her mouth moving and I realized she was counting backwards from five, like she pushed all thoughts of Tim to some dark place in her mind and when she had to recall those memories, it was almost too much to take, so she slowly counted to herself in order to calm her nerves. In that moment, I felt like a jackass for forcing her to share this, and even though I wanted nothing more than to learn and to understand, I reached for her hand and I told her, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

The relief that flooded her eyes just reignited how much of a jackass I was but she shook her head. “I don’t want to keep this to myself anymore,” she murmured slowly. “I want to tell someone. I want to tell you.”

And she did. She told me how she decided to file a police report against Tim that morning before work for violating the restraining order she had in place, preventing him from making any sort of contact with her. When she came out of work, she was assaulted by a man. Chloe made sure to skip the details, which I appreciated. I could tell it was a brutal assault, judging by the bruises that still littered her face but also because of the way she wasn’t able to look at me when she told me. How her fingers curled into tight balls. How her voice got low and I had to struggle to hear what she said. 

Apparently, the bastard refused to get his own hands dirty, instead paying someone to attack her and swooping in to be the one to save the day. He had offered to take her to the hospital and she refused, even telling the officers that Tim was probably the one responsible for this in the first place.

“When I told them who he was, they had this look on their face,” Chloe said, finally turning to look at me. “Like I was screwed. Like there was no way we could get this guy because of his name.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said.

“I know,” she agreed. “Obviously, I know. And a report was filed and is probably being written as we speak. I have a business card with a case number and the officer’s contact information. I have documentation of this. At least, it’s something.”

“Yeah, but a piece of paper isn’t going to protect you,” I pointed out.

“No,” she agreed, shaking her head. “It won’t.”

“Come on,” I said. “Enough of this. Let’s go inside.”

Before I could say anything else, Chloe pushed her lips on mine.