Page 103 of You're The One
He laughs quietly, and I take that as a good sign.
That went as well as it could have. Having his support, a friend to vent to, lifts a weight from my shoulders. It gives me the push I need to figure this out.
On the ice, no surprise, Volk hangs back at the edge of the group. I skate over to him first and pull him into a tight hug.
“Missed you, bud.”
“Umph. I don’t blame you,” he grumbles, but he hugs me back.
I move behind King and grab both his shoulders, giving him a playful jostle. “Good to see you, man. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to skate.”
“Ha, very funny.” He spins, proof he hasn’t lost his edgework, and claps me on the back.
“Who invited you, Rook?” I ask as I side-hug Helm.
“You can blame Logan. I’d much rather still be in bed with the beautiful woman I left there.” He does some weird figureskating twirl. The guy has way too much energy for someone who was yanked out of bed.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” he adds. “What’s the news?”
“He’s dating my sister,” Logan blurts before I can say anything.
The group freezes. Then Helm grins. “I didn’t know that was an option.”
“Please don’t,” I mutter.
“What? She’s closer to my age than yours.” He cuts a wide arc, and I turn to follow.
“Age is only a number.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. Yet, you guys still call me Rook. Like I’m some sad little chess piece.”
“When we get a new rookie,” King says, stretching his arm across his chest, “you’ll graduate to last-name status. Probably with a ‘y’ on the end.”
“Helmy?” He cringes. “Please no. That’s worse.”
I’ll give him that. It’s pretty bad.
“Then when you’re a veteran like the rest of us,” Logan adds, idly stickhandling in place, “we’ll drop the ‘y.’”
“Bro, you’re twenty-six,” King fires back.
I raise a brow. “Are these the official hockey nickname rules now?”
King shrugs. “Seems legit.”
“What he said.” I skate a slow lap around the group.
Volk finally weighs in, shaking his head with a slow exhale. “Another man falls… in love.”
That gets a snort out of King and a mock gag from Helm.
“So, does that mean the other girls are fair game?” Helm waggles his brows.
“Have at it,” I say without thinking, not considering what Bodhi will make of it. They wanted good television, right?
But that’s it. No trial. No drama. Probably to Logan’s disappointment, there’s no official sentencing. We spend the rest of the morning fucking around, catching up on how everyone’s been spending their time off, and taking lazy shots on goal.
At exactly ten, the girls show up.
