Page 25 of Stick It
“What the fuck would you know?” Reed retorts. “You couldn’t see jack shit from all the way back in your net.” He pauses, a gleam entering his gaze. “Unless you were too busy checking out that piece of ass…”
“Kyle,” I warn. “Shut the fuck up.”
Unbothered, Kyle shrugs before moving past me to his spot on the bench.
My gaze meets Griffin’s, holding it for a moment before he skates off. I have no idea what that was about, but it only adds to the sense of doom clouding over me. I force myself to inhale deeply, shaking off the frustration from Reed’s screwup. It’s annoying that he cost us the goal, but Dylan? She played it perfectly. The problem here isn’t her, as much as I wish it were.
Tuning out the rest of the team, I splash water over my facebefore drinking the rest of my bottle. When Coach steps up to offer his critique, I’m only half listening.
The rest of my attention is focused on her. Sitting farther down the bench, her helmet is off, and her cheeks are flushed as she listens intently to the coach. She looks completely unfazed, no smugness at their win or pride over how she played. It was just another training session for her, another day at the rink.
Grabbing her helmet, she gets to her feet. For a moment, I just watch as she clambers over the boards and onto the ice. Then a sharp dig into my side has my attention whirling on Jax sitting beside me. He juts his chin toward the ice in a clear,Aren’t you going out there?And I realize Coach has ordered Reed, Dylan, and me onto the ice for forward drills.
Hurrying to catch up, I notice Reed looks like he’s on the verge of imploding. His jaw is tight, eyes darting toward Dylan like she personally stole his chance at the NHL. I try to shove down the unease brewing in my gut and focus on the play, but I already know this isn’t going to end well.
Hell, Coach probably shouldn’t even be putting them together on the ice. No doubt he has seen the tension between them as blatantly as I have and is hoping teamwork will resolve it.
I wish it were that straightforward.
Coach barks out the drill, a simple cycle with quick passes between us. It’s basic, something we’ve done a thousand times, and yet the second we start, Reed’s making it difficult. His passes to Dylan are either rockets aimed at her skates or lazy lobs that barely reach her stick. It’s deliberate and petty as hell.
I throw him a glare, silently ordering him to wise up and focus on the drill. He merely smirks in return, but I catch something in his gaze. A hardness. He’s convinced himself that Dylan made him look like a fool, and now he’s set on returning the favor.
It doesn’t help that Dylan handles every single one of his passes with practiced ease. She doesn’t get pissy or rise to his pettiness. She simply moves to catch the puck on the tip of her blade, adjusting mid-stride and keeping the drill moving.
Honestly, I respect her all the more for it.
Mostly because I don’t believe she’s doing it so she can rise above, but because she’s as intent on this drill as I am.
Reed’s frustration only mounts with every recovery she makes, and by the time the drill ends, his face is beet red—and not from exertion. He’s practically vibrating with anger.
“You see that, Cap?” Kyle spits, loud enough for everyone, including Coach, to hear. “She’s a liability!”
I clench my jaw and force my gaze forward, refusing to take the bait. Reed’s always had a mouth on him, and engaging with him only feeds the fire.
“Screwing up plays like she’s got something to prove,” he continues.
I’m watching Dylan from the corner of my eye. I see the twitching of her eye, the tic of her jaw. The way her gloved hand tightens around her stick.
Don’t do it, Dylan. Don’t get sucked into his games, I silently beg of her.
I try to catch her eye, but she’s not looking my way, staring intently at the wall on the far side of the arena as we skate back to the bench.
For a moment, I think she’s going to let it wash over her. We’re nearly off the ice when Reed just has to send her careening over the ledge of her self-control.
“You think the other teams will take it easy on her?” he spouts. “She’s gonna get herself killed out there, and we’ll be the ones left to clean up the mess.”
Without looking his way, I snap, “That’s enough, Reed!”
Ice sprays as Dylan whirls on him, her glare cutting. “No,no.” She gestures toward Reed. “Let it all out, Kyle. Tell us what you really think.”
“I think you’re a liability who is going to cost us games—cost us our futures—all so you can, what? Live out some childhood fantasy of playing with the big boys?”
Despite Reed’s sneering tone, Dylan appears entirely unfazed as she stares at him. There’s about a yard of ice separating them, but the tension fizzles and pops in the space between like the atmosphere before an impending lightning storm. “That’s big talk for someone who can’t handle a simple pass.”
I internally groan.Way to poke the bear, Carter.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Reed retorts, spine straightening as he glides closer to her on his skates. “You were out of position?—”
