Page 22 of Levi

In the bedroom, if I’m in charge, I call the shots. I make sure we both leave satisfied, and I never have to feel vulnerable. It’s safe. Plus, it turns me the fuck on to be fucking someone within an inch of her life. My hand wrapped around her throat with only a safe word between us.

It takes a lot of trust…something I’ve only ever had with Quinn.

She starts to stand up, and I realize we’ve just been sitting in silence for a while. Even though I don’t know what to say, I’m not ready for her to walk away.

“Want to play some video games? I know you used to hate them, but it could be fun,” I say quietly, almost nervous that she’ll turn me down.

She freezes then turns around with a smirk.

“You’re getting me confused with the wrong sister, buddy. I love video games,” Quinn says, surprising the absolute fuck out of me.

“Zombies or NCAA?”

“Is that even a question? Zombies is my favorite. Let’s go,” she says with a little happy clap and a dance before pulling me up from the couch. “Let’s go play. I wanna shoot shit.”

And with that, Quinn somehow got even more perfect.

CHAPTER9

LEVI

The startof the season is always my favorite. It feels like we’re an entire team going on a first date. It’s exciting, nerve-wracking, and fucking irritating all at once. Yet, at the same time, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than skating around on the ice with these fools. Even if it drives me wild watching so many professional athletes scramble to get back in shape because they let themselves slack off a little too much during the off-season.

But that’s honestly one of the things I love about it. There’s so much we don’t know about each other, and we’re all trying to get back in the groove of things. It’s always a rough few weeks of hard practices, extra workouts, shooting drills until our arms fall off, all mixed with lectures from coaches until, one day, it clicks—and each line starts skating and working together in perfect harmony like we’re all connected by the same brain.

It takes time to build the chemistry, something that took Asher, Jax and me much longer than we would like to admit. But now, when the three of us are on the ice together, we’re damn near unstoppable. That’s why I’m not worried about some players being a little slower than usual. They’ll get there. Somehow, no matter how broken and disorganized everything looks during the preseason, by the end of it we look like a well-oiled machine, ready to skate our way to the Stanley Cup.

At least that’s the dream.

Being back on the ice today, skating with my teammates, many of whom have been some of my best friends for years, is cathartic. It makes me feel like I can take on the world, which is exactly what I need right now. Because, while I’m thrilled to be back on the ice, I need this structure in my life. This constant gives me purpose—something I can work for every day that’s outside of the mundane stress of everyday life. Which is hilarious, because given the situation I’ve found myself in with Quinn, you’d think I’d be freaking out, rocking myself in the fetal position or something.

I mean, moving my coach's niece into my house yesterday was probably not the best idea if I wanted to get on his good side, especially not when that same niece just so happens to be my ex-fiancée’s little sister.

The situation is a bit fucked up, yet, for some reason, I’m sitting cool as a cucumber.

But that’s just what hockey does for me. It gives me peace and has always been my escape, even when my whole life is a shitshow. It’s something I’ve never taken for granted. I remember being in second grade when my nana came home with a new pair of hockey skates for me, even after telling me we wouldn’t be able to afford it.

I learned later that I had gone to a birthday party where we got to go ice skating, and Nana realized that the only time she saw me smile after my parents left was when I was on the ice. I remember feeling lonely as a kid, not because I didn’t have friends or I wasn’t loved, but because when my friends talked about their families, they almost always mentioned their mom or dad. I, unfortunately, had neither.

I just had my grandparents—and that was everything—but I still felt alone. The only time I didn’t was when I was playing hockey, with a team who needed me. I loved being part of something where people could depend on me and I could depend on them. It was my sense of stability and my favorite place to be. When I was on the ice, I was happy.

It doesn’t feel that way right now with my new coach hating me and currently being a giant pain in my ass. It makes being out there with my team not nearly as relaxing as I wish it was. Now, instead of it getting my mind off everything, Coach Sullivan just yells at me for every miniscule mistake, and it feels like he’s scolding me for real-life decisions, not hockey fuck-ups.

Which is especially a problem right now since I’m walking to his office to have a meeting he called for. By called for, I mean after making us bag skate for the last part of practice until we were all damn near puking, he yelled at me to go shower and then meet him in his office for a chat.

Jax and Nash gave me a hard time, laughing that I was going to get “the talk” again by Coach, only this time it’s a couple of years later and for a different niece.

I could’ve pretended it was nothing, that it was just about the way I played or a change he wanted to make to our line, but I saw the nervousness in Quinn’s eyes when she heard him order me—loud enough for the entire team, Ally and Quinn included—to come see him.

Ally smirked while Quinn looked terrified, and Coach Sullivan just stared at me like he was plotting my demise. If I said I wasn’t terrified, it would be a lie. I have too much to lose to walk into a meeting like this with a cocky attitude. Whether I like it or not, he’s my coach, and that means he unfortunately controls a big part of my life, including being the deciding factor on whether I play in Nashville or another city.

“Hey, Coach, you wanted to talk to me?” I say as I walk in and take a seat in the chair across from him.

I’m convinced our coaches put the most uncomfortable chairs in their offices to keep us from overstaying our welcome because I’m pretty sure sitting on a pile of broken concrete would be more comfortable than this “chair.”

Looking up from his computer, he gives me a quick nod before finishing what he was doing and shutting it down. With his hands folded, he stares at me. I’m not a mind reader, but I’m pretty sure the thoughts going through his are far from PG.

“Yeah, Crosby, I did,” he says, his face giving nothing away. Every second that passes without knowing what he’s thinking feels like another second I’m closer to him putting me on a plane to L.A.—before I can even remind him why it’s worth it to keep me.

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