Page 7 of If You Love Me

“Wills is stressed.” Dallas is the only one who calls his fiancée, Hemi, this.

“Please tell me Flip isn’t causing her PR problems already,” I grouse.

Dallas shakes his head. “Nah, he’s been on the straight and narrow. Mostly she slept like crap. Lots of changes inside the organization this season—hopefully most of them for the better, but I think we’re all a little rattled, you know?”

“Yeah. I absolutely do.” In more ways than they realize.

There’s a tense edge in the locker room as we enter. My mental shift is immediate. Sure, we’re all still friends, but as soon as we cross the threshold, I’m in game mode.

Grace’s cubby is on the opposite side of the room from Madden’s. At least management got that right.

Madden and Stiles sit beside each other on the bench, already suited up except for their jerseys. They talk quietly as they lace their skates.

“Quite the somber mood this morning,” Hendrix mutters.

I grunt my agreement, but don’t respond otherwise. WhenI’m suiting up, everyone knows to give me space to do my thing. I check over my equipment, set my green apple for after practice in the top right corner of my cubby, and begin to prepare, removing my clothes one item at a time, folding them and putting them away before I suit up.

“Bro, cover that shit,” Stiles says.

“The fuck, man?” Hendrix gripes.

“Your back, Hollis.” Stiles gives him a meaningful look.

“What about it?” Hendrix runs his hand over his shoulder, drawing attention to the crescent-shaped marks dotting his skin.

“For fuck’s sake.” Like I need this today.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t you look in the mirror before you leave the house?”

“Yeah, but I’m not looking at my back.”

“The girls need to go for manis apparently.” Bright is probably trying to diffuse the tension.

“Fuck all of you guys,” I snap. I don’t want to be thinking about the marks my daughter left on his back—ever.

Everyone startles. I’m usually silent until we take the ice.

“At least you’re taking care of your girl,” Madden says un-fucking-helpfully. I swear, if he tries to high five anyone about my daughter’s orgasms, I’m going to lay him out.

“Pretty sure you were singing a different tune when your bestie and your sister started up,” I fire back and raise my hands. “This whole conversation ends now. Rookies and newbies, word to the wise, dating inside this family is fucking complicated, so avoid it, or you get to deal with this.” I motion to my teammates, who are also my closest friends.

“He’s not wrong,” Madden agrees somberly.

Vander Zee pokes his head into the locker room, expression intense. “All right, guys, enough chatter. Let’s hit the ice.”

I finish suiting up and follow my teammates out of the locker room.

But my shit mood takes a further nosedive when we reach the rink.

Lexi—Coach Forrester—is already out there, wearing her coach’s jacket and looking every bit the part. Don’t get me started on the way her track pants highlight her curves. Which I should not be admiring.

Her long, thick hair is pulled back in a french braid. Another inconvenient and highly stimulating memory from our weekend together floats to the surface. She was braiding her hair before we got in the hot tub, and I stepped in and took over. She’d been putty in my hands after that. So pliant, so eager to do whatever I asked. The control she gave me was a heady drug. I couldn’t get enough of it. Of her.

I’ve spent the past three years obsessing over her, and suddenly she’s here, in my world. I don’t know how to handle this, and it’s all coming out as anger. But it’s a mask for the disappointment that followed waking up alone in that hotel bed with no explanation as towhy.And seeing her here like this? It’s the mindfuck of all mindfucks. No one ends up coaching the pros if they’re not fully obsessed with hockey, but the woman I spent the weekend with didn’t so much as mention the sport.

“Get a grip.” I skate to the net, where Ryker is waiting for me.

He tips his head. “Sorry, what was that?”

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