Page 61 of Stick It
“I met him once.”
That makes me turn in my seat to look at him, eyebrows raised. “You did?”
Ethan nods, his expression wistful. “He made a guest appearance at a summer camp I went to. Spent an entire day with us—running drills, giving pointers. He took the time to talk to every single kid there; even signed all our sticks.” His lips quirk. “I’ve still got it, actually. I refused to play with it again after that for fear that I’d sweat all over his signature and smear it.”
I can’t help my soft chuckle.
“Patrick Callahan made us feel like we mattered,” he continues, gaze distant, like he’s back at that day at camp. “Like every single player at that camp had the potential to go all the way to the Stanley Cup.”
My throat tightens, warmth spreading in my chest.That was just like my dad.His love for hockey was infectious, and he wanted to spread it to everyone he came in contact with. He believed in everyone, never tore anyone down.
He was just…perfect.
“You and your friend should come sit with us.” Ethan’s words jolt me out of my trip down memory lane, and I look up to find him already watching me. I slide my gaze to the team’s tables, hesitating. “I don’t want to ruin the mood.”
Ethan leans his forearms on the high-top table, his stormygaze steady on me. “You’re a part of this team, Dylan,” he says, voice calm but firm. It almost feels like he’sremindingme of that fact.
Before I can tell him that I know that, he continues. “That means more than showing up to practice and giving your all on the ice.”
My brow furrows, lips thinning.
“It means bantering with one another in the locker room. It means going out to celebrate a win or commiserate a loss together—as a team. It means helping one of our own out when they’re in a bind or studying together if someone is falling behind. It’ssupportingone another.
“Not everyone will do that for every single player, but it’s showing up as ateam. It’s being there for one another.As. A. Team.”
Those gray-blue eyes of his bore into my soul. “So, answer me this, Dylan,are you a part of this team?”
“They don’t want?—”
Ethan cuts me off, arching his brow as he challenges, “How do you know that?”
I blink, caught off guard by his question.
“You’ve never given them the chance to get to know you,” he states, tone kind but firm. “You don’t talk to anyone in the locker room, don’t stick around after practice. You keep to yourself. And, yeah, I get it. Shit obviously went down with your old team, but we aren’t them.”
His words hit harder than I expect, a quiet truth beneath the surface.
“You showed up out of nowhere, demanding we give you a chance,” he says, his gaze unwavering as it holds mine captive. “But you’ve never given us the same opportunity. Maybe if you actually get to know some of the guys, they’ll surprise you.”
I glance over toward the back of the bar, my gaze settlingfirst on the table Ethan had been sitting at. Jax, Finn, and Griffin are there, leaning back in their seats, beers in hand. They look relaxed, comfortable with each other in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be.
My gaze slides over the players at the other tables until I spot Kyle sitting with a couple of third-line guys. I recognize some of their faces as ones that usually have a sneer fixed in place when staring in my direction during practice, and I don’t miss the smug look on Kyle’s face as he says something that makes the others laugh.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Ethan asks, his voice drawing my attention back to him.
I don’t have a chance to answer before Wren returns, sliding up beside me and catching the tail end of the conversation. “We’d love to,” she says cheerfully, all but cutting off any refusal I was about to make.
Although, was I?
Being part of a team is all I want, but the vulnerability of opening myself up, of daring to hope a team would accept me, especially after how the Glaciers made sure to destroy any trust I have in hockey players, is almost more than I can handle.
Wren flashes Ethan a bright smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Wren.”
Ethan chuckles, shaking her hand. For some reason, my gaze focuses on that. On his large, calloused palm in her small, dainty one. The contact between them is brief, but for those few seconds, I find myself wondering what it would feel like to have those strong, confident hands onmybody.
“Oh, I know who you are.” Wren grins widely up at Ethan, snapping my thoughts back to the conversation at hand as she rattles off his full name, position, and stats like she’s reading off a trading card.
Ethan arches a brow, his amused gaze flicking to minebriefly, and I wonder if he’s recalling when I did the same thing the first time I properly met him and the other guys.
