Page 171 of Stick It
Cared for. Protected. Loved, even.
The hinges creak on the door as it’s pushed open.
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “You just couldn’t stay away, huh?”
No response, but I hear the pad of footsteps moving closer, the subtle shift of the air. I wonder which one of them it is. Griffin, maybe? He’s the most likely to break the rules, but then I recall the fear in Ethan’s eyes, and I think itcouldbe him. He’s not a rule breaker, but he is the type to check up on an injuredplayer. He wouldn’t have wanted to stray too far, to have me out of his sight for long.
“You guys are relentless,” I tease, shaking my head.
There’s still no response, and when I don’t hear the sounds of someone stripping down, the ripple of water as someone steps into the tub, I open my eyes?—
A hand slams down on my shoulder. Hard.
Another clamps the top of my head, and before I can gain purchase or scream, I’m shoved under the water.
Panic explodes in my chest.
I thrash, bubbles escaping as I try to scream. My lungs burn. I claw, scramble, twist. The weight above me is too strong. Unrelenting.
Water fills my nose and floods my mouth. My ears roar. The pressure on all sides of my face reminds me I’m in a suffocating prison. One that will soon become my tomb…
My fingers scrape along the smooth sides of the tub, but there’s nothing to hold on to. My feet slip against the bottom.
The pressure builds.
The silence sets in.
My limbs grow heavy, my thrashing slows. Panic turns to fog. Darkness creeps in.
And then there’s nothing at all.
52
JAX
The locker room is chaos,the way it always is after a game. Except this time, I’m not engaging in the banter, arguing over where we should go for drinks, and making fun of the rookies.
Running the towel through my wet hair, I glance quickly at the others. I’m in the lead in our undisclosed race, but not by much. Snatching my shirt from the bench, I wave over my shoulder at them as I stalk toward the door. “Later, fuckers.”
I’m out of the room before the words have even left my mouth, jogging down the corridor in my eagerness to check on Dylan. To make sure she’s okay. I know she said she was. The hit didn’t look as bad on replay as it felt in real time. But I still need to see her with my own eyes. Hold her. Kiss her. Wrap her in bubble wrap if I have to.
Especially after seeing Lucas in the stands tonight.
What the hell was he doing here? Whytonight?
His presence alone was enough to crawl beneath my skin, but the timing of it—showing up the night Dylan gets knocked out—was too much of a damn coincidence.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not during the second halfof the game. Not while I was throwing punches at the guy who hit her.
And sure, I felt his skin split under my knuckles. But even that wasn’t enough.
Because every time I passed Lucas on the ice, he was smirking. Grinning. Laughing with his buddies like he hadn’t just witnessed the most important person in my life being carried off the ice.
Like it was all a game.
And it only made the fury burn hotter.
I’m nearly at the door to the treatment room when I hear it. Yelling. Muffled, but unmistakable.
