"What the hell is happening?” I lean over to Thatcher Stag as I see some officials hauling Ty out of the arena. He shrugs. “Surely this isn’t typical after a fight?”
I hear the door slam and through the windows of the box, I see Matty running down the hall. I sigh and reach for my bag. I do a quick mental scan through Ty’s contract, remembering he has a morality clause in there and specific language about instigating a fight. They’re replaying the whole thing on the jumbo screen again, so I can see quite plainly that Ty was sucker punched by the St. Louis player.
My phone starts to vibrate and I see that it’s Ty’s agent. “Matty, what’s going on?” He shouts some nonsense about a dropped stick and tells me to get down to the locker room.
By the time I reach Ty, the press is swirling around trying to get a comment. I can barely push my way through and Matty yanks me into the room and slams the door on the reporters.
“This is clearly an intimidation tactic by a bunch of sore losers,” Matty declares. I’m sure he’s right. St. Louis is about to lose their third game in a row and the Fury are basically clinching the Cup...but I’m only concerned about my client right now.
“So what do we do about it?”
It turns out we just sit around and wait until the officials can all agree that Houser’s claims are utterly bogus. Meanwhile, the game has continued and St. Louis has enjoyed 25 minutes of ice time without the Fury’s leading goal scorer. It’s a pretty brilliant strategy on their part, I guess. Bait and attack the notorious hothead. Get him out of the way. If you can’t win with talent, I guess you have to resort to this kind of thing.
"This is bullshit," I say. "Where is Ty?"
Matty waves over in the direction of the training room. I'm desperate to see him, and I can't tell where my professional obligation to him ends and my personal care for him begins, but when I walk in the room and see him wincing in pain as the trainer treats a cut, I just about lose it.
His face is swollen and bruised, his lip cut. His knuckles look like raw meat. He must have gotten Houser in the teeth with his fist. I reach out a tentative hand to touch his cheek, thinking to comfort him I guess, but he stiffens beneath my touch. The trainer looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
I clear my throat. "I'm the lawyer. And this is ridiculous. We should charge him with assault. Don't think I won't do it."
Ty puts his good hand on my arm. "Juniper. It's a hockey fight. We aren't pressing charges. I just want to fucking play in the game. I don't even want to take revenge." The trainer looks concerned again. "I swear! I just want to fucking play."
I pat his arm and look him right in the grey, swollen eyes. "I'm going to make sure that happens, Ty. I promise." I set my jaw and run through my options. I straighten up to my full height and Ty smiles.
"Matty!" I yell and march back across the locker room. "Show me where these assholes are making decisions."
Matty grabs security to walk me back into the arena. The game has restarted. "This is unacceptable," I mutter. Now the lawyer in me is fired up. This is injustice. I'm pissed.
Even though I have no idea what’s going on, I shove my way past all the security guards back in the arena, over to the off-ice officials. “Excuse me, I’m the legal representation for Tyrion Stag. I demand to know what’s going on and why the game is being allowed to continue while his status is in limbo.”
Six heads whip in my direction and I can see a group of suits approaching. I don’t care that I’m wearing a hockey jersey with jeans. My client is being treated unfairly, and this is why I’m here. I demand that the video judge run back the footage of the incident, and within a few minutes, I’ve threatened to sue the management of the St. Louis team. Not for assault. For fixing the game. That shuts them up real fast.
Ty is reinstated, and I’m still on an adrenaline rush when I return to the locker room to tell him so. Everyone around me cheers and starts patting me on the back, but Tyrion Stag picks me up and kisses me.
My heart stops. My body longs to respond. I want to melt into his soft lips, plunge my tongue into his mouth. He’s so passionate, and I fully admit it was a huge turn on when he smiled at me after scoring his goal. But I’m here at work, and my senses all fire warning signals. I squirm out of his arms and slap him.
He seems stunned and looks around the room, where everyone is staring, slack-jawed. “I’m sorry, Juniper. I got carried away.” His voice shakes.
I can’t find words, but Matty laughs nervously and says, “We’re all a little over excited here, Ty. No worries, baby. Get your ass back out there.”
I spend the rest of the night praying that Tim will be done with his baseball scandal in time for the next game. The Fury win 4-1 with Ty scoring another goal in the third period. I’m terrified to think what will happen if I have to travel with the team and find myself in the same hotel as him after another victory. My lips still tingle from his kiss long after the arena is empty.
Matty calls the next day to report that Ty is getting benched for the next game. “Matty, that’s ridiculous. He was sucker punched!” I protest, but Matty explains that they can’t afford to have something like that happen again or play short-handed.
“They’d rather play a full roster than risk Ty in the sin-bin for extended time periods and lose because of power plays,” Matty says. This is a team decision, and I can't do a thing about it, legally, and I hate that.
After work, I take out all my frustrations on the water. I’ve missed so many team practices now that I told Derrick I was withdrawing myself from the women’s boat. I’m just rowing solo when I can fit it in. I’m surprised to see Ty standing on the dock when I get back from my row.
“Hey,” he says, sitting down.
“Hey yourself,” I reply. “I’m so sorry, Ty. I did everything I could to fight this.”
He nods. “I know you did, Junebug. The whole NHL is talking about what a stone-cold demon you were with those officials.” He grins at me and I feel slightly better. But his smile isn't a fully happy smile. He sighs and asks, “Want to watch the game with me on TV somewhere?”
I nod. "Can you wait while I change?"
"Can you just throw on a jersey and watch some hockey all sweaty?" I roll my eyes at him, but when he hands me a Stag jersey I toss it on and follow him up the bike path to one of the bars that is broadcasting the playoff game on the big screen on the deck. Ty pulls his hat low over his eyes and keeps his sunglasses on, trying to avoid being recognized.
Should I ask him about the kiss? I can't read his face. I've never seen him like this before. My heart aches for him. I see him nervously drumming his fingers on the table.
"Ty." He looks over at me. His expression breaks my heart and I can't help myself. I reach out and squeeze his hand. He doesn't let go, just holds it while the game plays on without him.
We sit in silence and watch as the Fury lose 1-0.