Page 72 of Stick It
She’s in my head more than I want to admit, and the more I try to shut it down, the worse it gets.
I’m supposed to lead.
To protect.
To hold everything together.
But right now, I feel like I’m failing at all of it.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
22
GRIFFIN
Rolling my shoulders,I stretch my neck from side to side as I make my way down the dark corridor toward the gym. It’s so early that only strips of lighting on either side of the floor light my path. The muscles in my back pop with tension, and my confrontation with Ethan last night plays out in my head. Of course the ever-watchful captain saw my exchange with Dylan in the cafeteria yesterday, and he demanded to know if I was the one pulling this shit on Kyle.
I didn’t say a word, obviously. Straitlaced, rule-abiding, good boy Ethan would never approve. But then, if he were doing his job as captain and keeping Kyle in line—and him and his goons away from Dylan—I wouldn’t have to step in.
Am I the only one who notices the way he looks at those two dumb fuckers, Monroe and Fletcher, before one of them invariably goes after Dylan? Did Ethan not see how Fletcher nearly snapped Dylan’s arm in practice? He had her flat against the boards, her arm bent so far back I was waiting anxiously to hear it pop any second. Thank fuck my girl’s a fighter and managed to get herself out of there, but I saw the way she favored herright side after that, babying her arm for the rest of practice. So how the fuck did Ethan not?!
Ethan is a decent enough guy. A fine captain, but I came so fucking close to punching him in the face last night. He’s so fucking busy ignoring Dylan and pretending that she doesn’t exist, that she doesn’t take up more of his focus than she should, that he’s missing the fucking obvious.
Jax sees it. Or he sees some of it. After Dylan’s ass-chewing last week, he’s backed off. He has to turn away when he sees one of them go after her. Honestly, I’m fighting the same urges he is whenever I see one of them tackling her, but I know Dylan can handle her own. She proves it every damn time she’s on the ice.
Stepping into the gym, I find the woman of my obsession pacing back and forth in front of the weight rack. I stop at the threshold, held captive for a moment. Dylan Carter always looks hot as sin when she is working out—Lycra shorts that mold to the lean muscles of her upper thighs and accentuate the firm globes of her ass and her sports bra that leaves nothing except the exact color of her nipples to the imagination. A color that I am dying to find out. I’m rock hard in my basketball shorts just staring at her. If the guys had any idea how she dressed when working out, they’d all be in here at the ass crack of dawn. But then I’d have to kill every single one of my teammates, so yeah, I’ll be keeping that tidbit to myself. This ismysecret.Mytime to have Dylan all to myself.
An obsession is exactly what Dylan has become. I’ve always been prone to bouts of fixation and compulsion. It’s why I’m the best goalie in the league. I give it every single ounce of my focus and attention, and I have done so since a stick was first slapped in my hand at the age of five.
But for the first time ever, something else has superseded that obsession. Someoneelse. Dylan. From the moment I saw her in that locker room wearing the Steelhawks gear, I haven’tbeen able to look away. I fought it initially. Tried to ignore her, to ignore the pull toward her, but it was fucking impossible.
Ever since I watched her struggling that night on the ice…I saw her resilience, her determination to succeed, and her drive to keep going. I recognized a part of myself in her. With every interaction since, that obsession has only grown stronger, more potent, until she’s become all that I can focus on.
Dylan has torn through my life like a hurricane I never saw coming. She came in fast, fierce, and unstoppable, upending the careful order of my world. Now, in the aftermath, all I see is her.
I’m drawn to her like the tide to the shore. Every time she lifts her chin and that defiant gleam enters her eyes, or when she thinks no one is looking and she finally drops her guard, allowing me to catch a glimpse of the well of sadness that resides within. It only pulls me closer. I’m so invested in this girl that I’d do absolutely anything for her—all she has to do is ask.
I’ve watched every bit of game footage of her I can find online. I’ve memorized her schedule and make a point of walking past her classroom or seeking her out from a distance during the day to make sure she’s okay and no one is harassing her, and dole out retribution if they are. And since no one else is bothering to help her out with her Kyle problem, I’ve taken that upon myself too.
Dylan is my crease—my territory, my purpose. No matter where I am, how far I stray, I always find myself back in the blue, ready to defend what’s mine.
Today, though, my hurricane is spitting mad. I take a moment to soak in all that fire. I love seeing her like this—nostrils flaring, a hint of fury in her cheeks, every sharp movement crackling with frustration. It’s a far cry from the moments when the fight drains out of her, and she looks like she’s sinking beneath the weight of whatever she’s carrying. Like when Ispotted her sitting on that bench at the roster party, lost in her head and staring at nothing.
I couldn’t stand to see her suffering like that, all alone.
I shift in the doorway. The movement catches her attention, and she whirls toward me. Those hazel eyes of hers flare, the flecks of gold sparking like the embers of a fire.
“Looking fierce this morning, Hurricane.”
Ignoring my greeting, she marches toward me. Hands out, she smacks her palms against my chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she growls, anddamn, it’s sexy as hell. That spark. The twin flames in her eyes. The burn of her hands as they sear into my chest. My entire life has been ice—cold, clinical, and calculated. Hockey, routine, order. The same drills, the same structure, the same predictable patterns. But Dylan is the ember buried in the frost. She is heat and passion and chaos, turning everything I know to ash. I spent years thinking I had everything I needed, but now I know better. Now I know what it means tocrave.
I wonder how she’d react if I kissed her right now?
Before I can find out, she hits me again with those dainty little hands of hers. How can a hockey player have such nice hands? Mine are rough and calloused from hours spent gripping my stick and catching pucks going 90 mph.
“You went too far, Griffin!” With one final smack of her hands against my chest, she stomps away, huffing and spitting fire before whirling on me again. “What you did to Kyle, it was too far.”
I tilt my head, watching her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Too far?” I repeat, letting the words roll off my tongue, testing them. “I warned him, Dylan. Told him exactly what would happen if he kept fucking with you. He made his choice.”
