ROMEO | 18+

14.

♣ ♣ ♣

R O M E O

"QUINN, IN THE penalty box," the referee grumbles as he tugs on Romeo's jersey.

"That's fucking stupid!" he argues, using the back of his hand to wipe a trickle of blood dripping onto his chin from the corner of his lower lip. "He jumped on me."

"You know the rules."

With a resigned huff, Romeo skates towards the penalty box, his heartbeat continuously rising and picking its pace like tidal waves crashing onto the shore. His vital organ hammers with such anger, with such intensity, that he feels his fury seeping through his veins, ready to make his wrath combust into a wildfire.

He throws his stick onto the ground, takes his helmet off just as he sits on the bench, his chest furiously heaving.

"Quinn!" Coach Ambrose shouts, tapping on the glass to draw Romeo's attention, but the captain doesn't so much as meet his coach's furious stare. "What the fuck is going on in that head of yours? Stop being distracted!"

Instead of replying, Romeo tips his head back, takes a deep breath in. This is probably one of his worst performances, and NHL scouts are attending.

Feeling various stares scrutinising his face, he opens his eyes to rapidly scan the crowd. As though he'd felt her presence, Romeo's gaze collides with Isla's, and the anxiety rushing through his veins starts to dissipate.

Her expression doesn't show a flicker of concern, but the barest line makes its appearance between her brows when he holds her gaze. She scrutinises his face in an excruciating, torturous way, settling her stare on his bloody mouth. Then, she shakes her head—as if she, too, is exasperated by the fights he keeps picking during games.

He winks then, and she simply rolls her eyes in annoyance, like she isn't affected by the way he solely cares about her in this exact moment. But then, as his ragged breaths start to get even again, she does something that make his heartbeat momentarily stop: she crosses her forefinger over her middle one, placing that sign of unspoken promise above her heart.

A wide grin spreads across his face and, as he mirrors the sign, her features soften. Just then, his time in the penalty box is already over.

Romeo rapidly runs a hand through his hair before sliding his helmet back on. Another tap on the glass makes him turn around. Coach Ambrose merely juts his chin towards the other side of the arena, silently begging him to make an impression on those NHL scouts who follow every one of his moves.

A rush of adrenaline pumps through his veins. He is entirely focused on winning this game, and refuses to let his mind be distracted again. He blocks out the sounds of cheering, of blades scraping against the ice. He observes his surroundings, looks for openings when his teammates are in possession of the puck.

"Ezra!" he calls for his teammate, skating backwards and dodging one of his opponents as the latter comes barrelling towards him.

As swiftly and rapidly as lightning bolt, Ezra sends the puck to Romeo. The captain dribbles with the puck, rushes towards the goal and, even as players from the rival team try to block his way, he manages to send the puck into the back of the net with a mere flicker of his wrists.