Page 51 of Their Obsession

We step back out onto the ice. The Eagles look fucking cocky. They’re all wearing smirks behind their cages.

“Motherfuckers are going to eat those shit grins,” Max grumbles as we skate out to our places on the rink.

One more goal. I repeat the mantra in my head as I watch the face-off. Dmitri is a beast compared to the guy he’s up against. He’s won every tip-off all night, we’ve just been squandering the opportunity. But not anymore.

The puck drops. Sticks fly. Voices holler.

Dmitri wins the face-off again, kicking it back to our wing, who kicks it back to Max. This throws the Eagles off. All night we’ve advanced, now we’re retreating to realign. Max skates forward, reaching center ice before moving the puck back again to me. From this vantage point I have a clear view of the players’ positions. The Eagles are all advancing towards me in hopes they’ll steal the puck and have a break away. But that means they’ve dropped their marks. Dmitri is wide open. Only one defender left behind him. I pull back and let the puck fly. It soars across the ice, past the players, and right onto his tape.

The fuckers falter, realizing they’ve spread themselves too thin. They attempt to spin and turn to defend but it’s too late. Dmitri is moving towards the net with speed and determination. The defender doesn’t have a chance. Dmitri pulls back as if to shoot left, the defender surges that direction, and then D swings right, sliding past their defense and letting loose a shot to the top corner of the net.

“Storm score!” The announcers shouting echoes around the stadium as red lights flash and the crowd goes wild. People are banging on the glass, throwing shit in the air, and screaming.

But I’m not looking at all the chaos. My eyes are locked on a five foot five ray of sunshine currently jumping up and down and clapping her hands. She’s wearing a jersey tonight. Numberforty-seven is sewn on the front in teal. My numbers. My team. My woman. And then I spin and my eyes lock with a set of dark irises filled with hunger. My man.

“Just one more goal and we win,” Max states as he claps me on the back.

Dmitri skates over to the boards along the bench, high fiving the team as he goes. His eyes flick up to where Lilly is sitting and he smirks. I watch their interaction and instead of jealousy, now all I feel is pride. She may have been his first but now they’re both mine.

“I think I’ve already won,” I tell Max before skating off.

TWENTY-NINE

Lilly

Two Weeks Later

Dom sits in the penalty box across the ice from where I’m seated. He’s holding a towel up to his bloodied lip. The other guy may have gotten in one good hit, but that was the one hit he was able to land before Dom destroyed him. Most of the opposing team has figured out not to check Noah at this point in the series, but this goon just couldn’t resist tonight. Dom made sure he will never even think about throwing another cheap shot Noah’s way again. Dmitri Volkkon may be aggressive and volatile, but it’s only ever to protect the ones he cares about — in particular, myself and Noah. I don’t think I’ll ever feel unsafe again, not with two very large and very intimidating men glued to me all the damn time. Over the past few weeks, we’ve all essentially moved into my apartment. The once barren space is now a cluttered mess of all our belongings haphazardly thrown around. I believe the owner of the buildinghas found us a larger space to move into though.

I was furious when I found out Dmitri had bought my entire fucking apartment building. It did make sense when I thought about the amount of times I’d changed the locks only to find his little presents left in my space, though. Apparently my boyfriend isn’t just a professional hockey player, but he’s also invested heavily in real estate and made himself wealthy with smart investments. I’d be much more upset if it didn’t mean we were all getting a brand new penthouse apartment to move into together next week. Plus, it means he’s taken care of his parents. They came to America with practically nothing, worked their asses off, and now they get to live happily and peacefully, thanks to Dom. I can’t be too mad at him when I think about that. My mother scoffed and acted personally offended when I told her I was moving in with my boyfriends, but after learning what she did to fuck with my life in the past, I don’t really give a shit what she thinks. I am in love with two men who love and respect me, as well as each other. I really don’t see the harm in that. At first, I was worried about our dynamics and jealousy when we decided to give being all together a chance, but it’s been the easiest, most comfortable relationship I could have ever imagined. We all fit together perfectly, as if we each needed something that only the other two can provide. It just works. And we’re happy.

Dom’s gaze locks onto mine from across the ice, and he shrugs. I shoot him a disapproving look. Being down a man when we’re tied one-one in the final game of the league championship is not ideal. And while I love that he is so protective over myself and Noah, Noah can hold his own. He’s a big boy. He pulls the towel away and prods at his swollen, bloodied lip. I shake my head at him.

“Your boyfriend is going to lose them the game thanks to his temper,” Emily quips from my side. I was nervous telling her that I not only had reconciled with Dom but that he and Noahintended to share me; however, once I explained the complex path we took to get here, minus a few bloody moments that no one needs to ever know about, she came around.

“They won’t lose,” I tell her with complete confidence. And I mean it. My boys are going to win. They have a bet riding on this win, and I can’t imagine either of them letting this prize slip through their hands.

The whistle blows and they move to drop the puck in our zone. Dom has two minutes. They just need to keep the puck out of the net for two minutes. They can do this.

“Your team is going down, Little Lil,” my dad says as he plops back down in the seat behind me before taking a sip of his beer.

The Storm are playing his old team, the Kings, for the championship so he’s been to every game. There’s been some weird dynamics in this series on their end. Most people probably wouldn’t notice, but it’s my job to notice these types of things. There’s strain on their team between their captain, Kyle Lawrence, and the Kings’ coach. The way they interact tells me that there’s some tension between them that they’re not dealing with. I noticed it immediately, and after game two, I informed my boys. Noah’s taken full advantage of that knowledge, using it to throw Lawrence off by looking at his coach every so often.

My dad takes a swig of his beer and lounges back in his seat to get comfortable. He usually sits up in a box with my mom, but she has grown increasingly more and more upset when I refused to talk to her or sit with them so she stayed home tonight. She thinks her absence will guilt me into forgiving her for fucking with my life, but I am very happy to enjoy the game from right behind the glass with my dad. In fact, I’d prefer it this way. It’s hard for a narcissist to realize that they aren’t the center of everyone else’s universe, and it’s even harder to set boundaries with a toxic parent, but I’m done being used and manipulated. Thanks to my men, I’m finally ready to let go of my past and justbe happy being me.

“Yeah right, Dad. We’re gonna wipe the ice with some King’s ass,” I counter despite the nerves twisting in my gut.

The whistle blows. The puck is dropped.

The Kings win the face off, kicking it back to their defense who pulls back as if he might shoot. He fakes it and sends it wide to their wing. They pass again across the ice. Max jabs at the puck, knocking it loose and sending it flying down the ice. We all cheer and holler. Their goaltender snatches it and passes it to one of their guys who flies behind the net and back down the ice. Our guys are putting pressure though, making sure not to give up the tied score. The puck gets caught in a corner and the players bunch up before it finally gets kicked out. They all race back down the ice towards our net. Once the puck is safely in the offensive zone, the King’s goaltender skates off the ice. Shit. They’re going to try to make it six on four with an empty net. Dom only has thirty seconds left in his penalty. He’s standing in the box, stick in his hand, ready to shoot out the box the second he’s able.

“Your guys are down two players, kid. It’s not looking good,” my dad jokes from behind us. I’d laugh, but I know how much this means to my guys. A loss would not be funny. It’s easy to think of it as just a game when you’re on the outside.

Noah looks up briefly, our gazes clashing. He shoots me a small smile causing one of his dimples to pinch in his cheek. I love his dimples. He’s such a positive light, he may call me Sunshine, but he’s truly the light to Dom’s darkness. I’m equally obsessed with them both.

The seconds click down on the clock as the opposition passes and passes, looking for an opening, but our boys are fast and determined, refusing to give them a clean shot.

Ten.

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