forwards in the jaw. The refs didn’t see it, but they saw the Possum retaliate, grabbing Digger by the neck and punching at his face. Digger was a whole lot bigger than the guy; he just shrugged him off. He could have beaten the guy to a bloody pulp, but he’d already gotten what he was after. The guy was thrown in the penalty box, and the Raccoons had a one-man advantage. They capitalized five seconds later, getting their second goal.
From then on out, they had the Possums on the run. The tide had turned. Final score: 4-3, Raccoons.
As they skated off the ice, each Raccoon in turn pointed a finger in Britney’s direction.
“Well, Britney,” Erin said, a little wryly, “you’re getting big props tonight.”
Britney beamed.
For the first time since Ricky died, she felt almost normal again.
Almost.
Just as everyone was getting up to leave, an explosion of gunshots filled the air. They echoed off the walls and, a second later, one of the two scoreboards hanging at either end of the rink exploded in sparks.
There was utter chaos. Everyone screaming. Rushing for the exits. Standing on tiptoes in search of the shooter. Bodies pressed and pushing up against bodies in a jumble by the doors.
Britney thought she saw Detective Russell, blond hair flying at her back as she ran in the opposite direction, toward the place where the shots seemed to have come from.
The hockey wives clung to one another’s coats, huddled together in hopes of feeling safer. Jodi and Daphney were crying. Erin kept repeating, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.” Britney held tight to them.
She knew those shots had been meant for her. As she and the other hockey wives ran across the parking lot toward Erin’s SUV, she had the feeling that someone was watching her, waiting for the opportunity to get her alone, and then …
It sent chills down her back just thinking about it.
Twice she heard footsteps running toward her back, and both times she spun around to find no one there.
When small groups of people moved past her, she thought she heard them whispering her name. She couldn’t tell if this was her imagination or if it was real. She kept thinking she heard them say things like, “Not now … but soon.”
sixteen
“Have you made up your mind yet?” asked Adam.
Britney was watching TV—or trying to watch. She’d been conscious of him staring at her for a while, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, she couldn’t—he was worse than a fly buzzing around her head.
“About what?”
“Our truce.”
In everything that had happened since then, she’d almost forgotten all about this truce of his. She glanced at him skeptically to let him know she was hearing him, but she didn’t say anything.
“I mean, it’s been like four days. How long does it take for you to make up your mind?”
He looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in three days. It hung in limp, spooky spikes toward his eyes, making him look a vampire.
“I don’t know, Adam. I’ve been really freaked out, you know?”
“So you haven’t even thought about it.”
He nodded in an I-told-you-so way, as though he’d proved something to himself about her.
She turned back to the TV. It was Sunday night. Alias was on. Her favorite show. But she couldn’t concentrate.
“Look,” he said. “I know I can be a dick, okay?”
He scooted to the edge of the chair he was sitting in and playfully boxed at the air around her head.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she said.
“I’m just messing around.”
He had the most mischievous grin she’d ever seen. She hated to admit this, but it was charming. It was harder to remain annoyed with him when he grinned like that. She wished he’d stop.
“If you’re trying to get on my good side because you’ve got a crush on Melissa, it’s not going to work,” she said.
“Who said I’ve got a crush on Melissa?”
She threw a pillow at him. “See, that’s why
From then on out, they had the Possums on the run. The tide had turned. Final score: 4-3, Raccoons.
As they skated off the ice, each Raccoon in turn pointed a finger in Britney’s direction.
“Well, Britney,” Erin said, a little wryly, “you’re getting big props tonight.”
Britney beamed.
For the first time since Ricky died, she felt almost normal again.
Almost.
Just as everyone was getting up to leave, an explosion of gunshots filled the air. They echoed off the walls and, a second later, one of the two scoreboards hanging at either end of the rink exploded in sparks.
There was utter chaos. Everyone screaming. Rushing for the exits. Standing on tiptoes in search of the shooter. Bodies pressed and pushing up against bodies in a jumble by the doors.
Britney thought she saw Detective Russell, blond hair flying at her back as she ran in the opposite direction, toward the place where the shots seemed to have come from.
The hockey wives clung to one another’s coats, huddled together in hopes of feeling safer. Jodi and Daphney were crying. Erin kept repeating, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.” Britney held tight to them.
She knew those shots had been meant for her. As she and the other hockey wives ran across the parking lot toward Erin’s SUV, she had the feeling that someone was watching her, waiting for the opportunity to get her alone, and then …
It sent chills down her back just thinking about it.
Twice she heard footsteps running toward her back, and both times she spun around to find no one there.
When small groups of people moved past her, she thought she heard them whispering her name. She couldn’t tell if this was her imagination or if it was real. She kept thinking she heard them say things like, “Not now … but soon.”
sixteen
“Have you made up your mind yet?” asked Adam.
Britney was watching TV—or trying to watch. She’d been conscious of him staring at her for a while, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, she couldn’t—he was worse than a fly buzzing around her head.
“About what?”
“Our truce.”
In everything that had happened since then, she’d almost forgotten all about this truce of his. She glanced at him skeptically to let him know she was hearing him, but she didn’t say anything.
“I mean, it’s been like four days. How long does it take for you to make up your mind?”
He looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in three days. It hung in limp, spooky spikes toward his eyes, making him look a vampire.
“I don’t know, Adam. I’ve been really freaked out, you know?”
“So you haven’t even thought about it.”
He nodded in an I-told-you-so way, as though he’d proved something to himself about her.
She turned back to the TV. It was Sunday night. Alias was on. Her favorite show. But she couldn’t concentrate.
“Look,” he said. “I know I can be a dick, okay?”
He scooted to the edge of the chair he was sitting in and playfully boxed at the air around her head.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she said.
“I’m just messing around.”
He had the most mischievous grin she’d ever seen. She hated to admit this, but it was charming. It was harder to remain annoyed with him when he grinned like that. She wished he’d stop.
“If you’re trying to get on my good side because you’ve got a crush on Melissa, it’s not going to work,” she said.
“Who said I’ve got a crush on Melissa?”
She threw a pillow at him. “See, that’s why
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