Page 115 of Stick It
My breath catches.
Anguish racks his face before he turns it away, raking his fingers through his hair. His whole body is taut with tension. “You have my head so fucked, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am anymore.” His voice drops, eyes flashing. “I don’t even know if my best friend is who I thought he was.”
I swallow hard, my stomach twisting. “Finn?—”
“I won’t betray his loyalty.” His voice is raw, like the words are being ripped from him. “Not without proof. Not without knowing for sure that he’s not the man I once knew.” Lifting his gaze, his stare istortured.Wrecked. As though he can’t help but reach out one more time, he rubs a strand of my hair between two fingers. “You and I are teammates, Dylan. Nothing more.”
With a sigh that carries the fragments of my cracked heart, he drops his hand, holding my stare a moment longer before he turns and stalks away.
This time, I let him go.
Throat raw and limbs trembling, I sag against the wall. My heart pounds, head spins, and my eyes drift shut as I suck in a breath.
When I open them again, Kyle is standing a few feet away, watching me. His lip curls, gaze sweeping over me with clear disapproval. “You sure do get around, don’t you?”
My stomach turns. Why the hell is he always showing up when I don’t want him to?
Before I can react, he sneers and shoves into the men’s bathroom, leaving me alone in the empty hallway.
35
JAX
“Carter, a word,”Coach calls as practice ends and the rest of the team head toward the lockers to change. It’s Monday, and after a team meeting yesterday to discuss Saturday night’s game, we’re back on the ice this morning, focusing on the next one. That’s just how the season is. A moment of reflection before you move forward. Always improving, always adapting. I like the fact that you’re constantly moving, never sitting still for too long.
But right now, I frown as Dylan stomps over to Coach in her skates. It was her first practice back on the ice, and although she did amazing, I can tell from the slump of her shoulders that it’s taken it out of her. Her skin is still stained yellow from lingering bruises, and her muscles must be stiff despite her doing a few warm-up laps last night to loosen them ahead of today. What she needs is to stop moving and sit down. Maybe a warm bubble bath and a massage.
Still, I can’t exactly snap at Coach for keeping her on her feet longer than she should be.
“You coming?” Finn asks, stopping beside me to pull off his helmet. His sweat-slicked hair sticks to his head, and he runs a hand through it.
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a sec.”
He glances between me and Dylan, but makes no comment before heading toward the locker room. I should go, too, but I can’t seem to make myself move.
I want to ensure she makes it back okay. Her legs are probably sore and weary. She pushed herself to the max out there, and in her exhausted state, it would be easy for her to trip and injure herself further.
So while the team changes and heads out, I stand at the side of the rink and wait. I do my best to not stare at her the entire time she’s talking to Coach, but it’s hard. My gaze keeps inadvertently focusing back on her. I’m too far away to hear what they are discussing, but I can surmise Coach is checking in, making sure she’s recovering okay, and assessing how she got on tonight. He’d do the same with any other player on the team.
On one of my passing glances, he reaches out to squeeze her upper arm. It takes me by surprise initially. Coach isn’t a touchy-feely kinda guy, and I’m especially surprised when his touch lingers. It’s not an awkward pat or reassuring clap on the shoulder—his typical go-to moves with the team. It’s something more. He says something to her, and she nods, his hand falling away before she smiles at him and turns away. I watch as she stomps toward me in her skates. Coach watches her a moment longer before he moves away to talk to one of the assistant coaches.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Dylan says as she approaches.
I smile, shaking off whatever that was. It’s probably because she’s a girl. Sure, we’re supposed to look past that, but it’s hard, especially when she’s hurting. With the attack happening right outside the arena, Coach is probably feeling particularly guilty, even though it’s not his fault.
“Wanted to make sure you got to the locker room okay.”
Shaking her head, she grumbles something about overprotective boys as she moves past me. The locker room has mostly emptied out by the time we get there, and Dylan practically collapses onto the bench, groaning as her head falls back to rest against her locker.
“You overdid it out there,” I chastise. Of course, she couldn’t have just eased herself back into practice. She had to give it her all, as though proving to everyone out there that she’s as strong as the rest of us. Like we’d ever doubt that. She’s more than proven how tough she is. Fierce and dedicated. Hell, she’s more driven than half the guys on the team.
“I’m fine,” she grumbles, without bothering to open her eyes.
“Yes, clearly.” I roll my eyes, not that she sees. “Need help with your skates?”
“I’ve got it. Just give me a sec.”
Lowering myself to the bench in front of my locker, I take off my skates and begin shedding my layers of protective gear. A shadow falls over me, and I look up to see Ethan standing beside me, a towel wrapped around his waist. However, his gaze is focused on the brown-haired spitfire. “What’s wrong with her?”
