Page 71 of Stick It
Griffin didn’t get off the ice after practice, staying on to skate drills like he wasn’t already dripping with sweat. Typically, I’d admire his dedication. He’s the most driven player on the team—at least, he was until Dylan came along. Now, they’re neck and neck, each vying for the top spot of who is the most devoted Steelhawk.
However, tonight, I just want to go home.
It’s been a long day in a sea of long days, each one marked by the same silent, exhausting battle. Fighting off thoughts I shouldn’t be having about my teammate. My roommate.
Dylan is everywhere. She’s in my space, under my skin, and every time I think I’ve put enough distance between us, she says something or smirks at me, and the fucking challenge in her eyes nearly snaps my self-control. But I always regroup. Rein it in. Shore up my defenses and remind myself why I can’t want her. Why Ishouldn’t.
She’s a player. I’m her captain. It’s a line I don’t get to cross.
Tonight, though? I’m too damn tired of all of it.
Every muscle in my body aches. My brain’s fried. I just want to drag myself home, climb into bed, shove in my earbuds, and let some mindless podcast drown out the noise in my head.
The thud of skates hitting rubber pulls me back to the present, reminding me why I’m still here, still standing in the damn rink after hours. His gaze latches on to mine. I suspect he’s known I’ve been here the whole damn time, and deliberately kept me waiting. He’s an ass like that.
“We need to talk,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond as he stomps over, peeling his jersey off. His hair is damp, stick tucked under one arm, his sharp gaze focused on me, stare cool and unreadable.
“Yeah? What about?” His words are a near grunt.
“You know what,” I clip. “Unicorn tape. Glitter bombs. Spamming micropenis photos. Ring any bells?”
That gets a flicker of something—satisfaction, maybe. He tries to smother it, but it’s there.
“You think that’s funny?”
He shrugs, like none of this is worth getting worked up over. “I think the punishment fits the crime.”
My jaw tightens. “That’s not your place. You’re a goalie—your job is to stop pucks. You don’t get to decide how this team runs.”
He finally meets my gaze, all trace of a smirk gone.
“No, you’re right. That’s supposed to be your job.” His eyes are hard on mine. “But from where I’m standing, you’re too busy looking the other way,ignoringthe one person on the team who needs you most.”
My teeth grind. The silence crackles between us. Loud. Heavy.
Shuffling on his skates, his lips curl in a cruel sneer. “Hate to break it to you, Cap, but ignoring her isn’t going to make her go away, and it isn’t going to do a damn thing to extinguish those feelings you have. All you’re doing is leaving her vulnerable. Unprotected.” His shoulder shoves against mine as he steps past me, but he stops before moving down the hall toward the locker room. “You do your job, and I won’t have to do mine.”
Fisting my hands at my sides, I ignore the urge to shove him into the wall. I want to scream that Iamtrying, that every decision I’ve made is about keeping this team from falling apart—that I’m doing what I wastrainedto do. Keep your distance. Lead from above. Stay objective.
But Dylan isn’t just another player, and maybe that’s the fucking problem.
I listen as he stomps away, but even after he’s gone, his words hang in the air, clinging like smoke I can’t clear.
The one person on the team who needs you most.
Is that true? Have I missed something? Digs Kyle’s aimed at her when I wasn’t looking? Hits I didn’t question because she got back up?
I don’t know.
And that’s what’s eating me.
What I do know—what Ihateknowing—is that ignoring her isn’t working.
Not for this team.
Not for me.
