At least that’s how it seemed to Gavin. His players chased the puck with their usual dog-snarl tenacity. The Nasties were just as crazy as advertised. Two minutes into the game, their forward was sent to the penalty box. Score one for the Renegades. The Charles Beck Ice Skating Rink went crazy. Wild tradition held that noise must be made the entire time one of their players sat in the penalty box. By the time the forward sprang loose, shooting out of the box like a missile, Gavin’s ears were ringing. He kept checking the game clock, which he swore had been rigged to move at half its normal speed. Why was every play taking so long? Why were his players moving about as fast as snowmen? No secret there. Beth had been gone when he’d woken up and he hadn’t seen her since. Repeated searches of the audience told him she hadn’t come to the game. He’d scared her off. Fear clenched deep in his gut along with the doughnuts he’d forced down for breakfast. He’d pushed her too fast, too far.
