Page 150 of Stick It
He growls, desire darkening his features as he pushes off the boards as though intent on chasing me again. Part of me wants him to. Wants him to chase me, to pin me down, to get me so wound up that I can’t consider anythingotherthan touching him.
“Let’s get back to it,” Ethan interjects, pushing Jax’s stick into his hands before pointing him into position across the ice. “Drink,” he says more softly, handing me a bottle of water that I greedily accept.
He nods in satisfaction when I’m done, taking back the empty bottle, the plastic crinkling in his grip.
“We going again?” Griffin calls from the net, flipping his mask up.
“Yeah,” Ethan returns. “Run the play again. This time Finn and Dylan on offense.” Bringing his gaze back to mine, he checks, “If that’s good with you?”
I nod, adjusting my gloves, and he skates off. Before I can move, though, Finn is suddenly there, tugging my helmet strap tighter. “Loose,” he murmurs, voice rough, like the thought of me getting hit unsettles him. “Can’t have that.”
My pulse jumps, throat bobbing. “I can do it.”
His smirk is slow, lazy. “I know.”
After he’s finished adjusting the straps, his fingers linger, his gaze locked on mine. “Ready to show them how it’s done?”
I flash him a grin. “Let’s bring it.”
Excitement flashes across his green eyes, adrenaline, the thrill of the play flushing his skin. We work in tandem, barely evenneeding to communicate. Our bodies do all the talking as we pass the puck back and forth, closing the distance between us and the net.
I can feel Ethan’s gaze on us, critical, assessing. Feel the tension in Jax’s body as he waits for us to get closer, the surety in Griffin’s stance as he makes himself as large as possible, covering as much of the net as he physically can.
When we’re in the zone, Finn goes off with the puck, drawing Jax toward him. Jax crowds him, the two of them battling for possession. Without so much as sparing me a glance, Finn knocks the puck in my direction. It sails straight toward my blade, and I catch it with ease as I line it up for the shot.
“Dammit,” I grumble, when Griffin deflects it with a sharp, practiced motion.
“Good attempt,” he says, skating out from the crease. “But I saw it coming a mile away.”
“So did I,” Ethan adds, skating up beside me. His hand brushes my hip like it’s nothing. Casual. Something he does all the time. In fairness, it’s something he does frequently now, and I have to admit, I like it quite a bit—this casual display of affection. “You hesitated a second before the shot,” he points out. “Don’t give the goalie that advantage.”
I nod, absorbing the advice.
“Let’s go again,” I say, sharp, focused.
“Fine, but Ethan’s on defense,” Jax states, before grumbling, “two against one is just cruel.”
We break up, running through the play again and again, switching positions so either Ethan, Finn, or I are playing defense, while the other two run offense.
With every pass, every shift, something inside me settles. It’s the rhythm of it, the ease. The way we push each other and challenge one another, but never in a way that feels cruel orpunishing. It’s effortless, like it’s always been, like it was always meant to be.
Griffin taunts Ethan for getting deked. Jax shoves Finn when he cuts too close. It’s easy. Fun.
Because this? This is what I’ve been missing. This is what Ilove.
The ice, the game, the camaraderie and—despite everything—perhaps even these boys. My boys.
45
DYLAN
Friday is an away game.The parking lot is a riot of cars as I approach the coach that will transport us to Dunhaven. “Thanks,” I say to the driver as he takes my duffel to stow in the storage area beneath the coach, before turning to search the sea of players for one of my guys.
They are easy to spot, huddled together, and I make my way toward them with a small backpack containing some snacks and my earbuds for the journey in hand and my travel hoodie loose around my frame.
“We need to decide who is sitting beside Dylan,” I overhear Griffin say.
“I will,” Jax is quick to put forth.
