Page 205 of Stick It
I guess, boys will be boys.
As predicted, Ethan and Jax begin to bicker. Shaking my head in amusement, I turn back to my gear—but when I reach for my gloves, something slips out from beneath them and flutters to the bench.
A note.
Unfolding it, I already know who it’s from. Finn’s handwriting is a little messy, all bold strokes and slanted letters. I read it silently, biting back a smile that threatens to split my face wide open.
I love you.
Simple. Understated. Perfect.
Smiling to myself, I clutch the scrap of paper to my chest,breathing in his words. They’ve become a regular thing, not just the odd one here and there. But nearly daily—in my textbooks, my skates, my coat pocket, my locker.
Always places I’ll find them in random, inconspicuous moments.
And then he follows them up by seeking me out and kissing me in a dark corner like he can’t help himself. Like it’s a compulsion.
I lift my gaze to find him, but it’s not Finn I lock eyes with.
It’s Griffin.
He’s across the room, sitting quietly, lacing his skates with methodical precision. But his eyes are on me. Always on me.
Silent. Watchful.
My protector, even when I don’t ask him to be.
I blow him a kiss. His lips twitch, just slightly, and for Griffin, that’s practically a declaration of love.
Before I can say anything else, Coach steps into the room, his voice rising over the hum.
“All right, Steelhawks. Game time.”
The room shifts—tension coiling, laughter dimming, focus sharpening. I tuck the note into my gear bag and slide my gloves on, standing with the others.
It’s time to show them what we’re made of.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel like myself again.
Steel and fire and everything in between.
The noise from the crowd dulls. Blurs. Nothing exists except my hands wrapped around my stick and the whoosh of air in my face as I lead the puck straight for the net.
My breaths are loud in my ear. The net is in sight. My focus is sharp.
I swing my arm back.
The puck hits the back of the net with a satisfying crack.
For a moment, everything is silent. That sweet blip in time when no one has registered the goal, when your body has yet to react, and you feel frozen in time. Weightless.
And then the world explodes.
Noise rushes back in, loud and chaotic. The blast of the horn announcing the end of the game. The screaming of the crowd.
Steelhawks jerseys surge toward me like a blue-and-silver tidal wave, the roar of the crowd swallowed by the crashing adrenaline in my veins. Ethan is the first to reach me, lifting me clean off the ice and spinning me while he shouts something I can’t even hear over the ringing in my ears. Finn crashes into us next, followed by Jax and Griffin. “You did it!” one of them yells loudly in my ear. “You fucking did it!” Then the whole team is there, piling on, yelling, cheering, laughing.
We won!
