Page 9 of Stick It
Having delayed the inevitable long enough, it’s early evening when I pull up to the curb out front of the house. If I want to avoid sleeping in my car tonight, I need to go in and get the second standoff of the day out of the way.
Who knows, maybe it won’t be as bad as the first one.
Ha, yeah. Who am I kidding?
It’s bad enough that I’m invading their team, but now I’m also invading their home life? They are going to be pissed with a capital P. And I can’t totally blame them. Change is challenging. To have that change happen on two fronts isn’t easy to deal with. I just hope when they go away and think about it and allow the reality of the situation to settle in, that they’ll stop being so defensive about having someone who doesn’t have acertain appendage dangling between her legs invading their territory.
Opening the front door, I walk into a narrow hallway. Coats are hung up on hooks, shoes are haphazardly kicked to the side, and duffel bags are dropped ceremoniously by the door. I’m hit in the face with the stench of sweat, my face scrunching.Jesus. How long have those duffels been sitting there? Can men not grasp the concept of sticking their sweaty gear in the washing machine as soon as they get home?
The hallway opens into a large living room with two three-seater sofas and a smaller cuddle chair. A ridiculously large TV is hung on the wall with game consoles lined up beneath it. I was too frenzied last night to take anything more in before bolting up the stairs, so I take the time now to run my eyes over the dark wood paneling, the thick brown window frames, and cream walls.
The hardwood floor beneath my feet is scraped and scarred from decades of abuse, and everything screams masculinity, but the space is surprisingly cozy, with light flooding the room through the large bay window.
On my right is the kitchen with wooden cupboards and granite countertops. A large island sits in the middle of the room, barstools along one side, and a kitchen table that seats six set to the left. Other than this morning’s dishes stacked in the sink, the place is surprisingly clean and tidy.
I know they haven’t explicitly cleaned up for me, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.At least they aren’t complete slobs.I hadn’t realized until now that I’d been worried about that, but I can live with smelly practice gear as long as the house is clean.
While I’ve been taking in the space I’ll be calling home for the rest of the year, all four of them have been watchingme. I’dmade a point of ignoring their presence in the living room, but now I’ve nowhere left to look but at them.
Slowly, taking a bolstering breath, I swivel my gaze in their direction. Finn and Kyle sit side by side on one of the sofas, elbows on their knees and gaming controllers forgotten in their hands as they stare at me with wary and reserved expressions. Jax is lounging on the other sofa, arm slung over the back of the cushion. He’s attempting to be casual, but there’s no hiding the calculating look in his eyes.
Ethan is the only one who has gotten to his feet. His posture is closed off, with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest and lips pressed into a flat line.
I watch them, and they watch me, no one breaking the tense silence. Perhaps they’re as unsure about what to say as I am.
“You didn’t think to say anything last night?” Finn practically growls, tossing his controller carelessly onto the coffee table.
Or not.
“It made sense to do it with the entire team present.” I can see the argument blazing in his eyes before he even opens his mouth, and I cut him off. “Besides, I was as caught off guard seeing you as you were me.”
His brow furrows. “So you knew who I was then?”
“Kind of essential to know who I’ll be lining up with, don’t you think?”
A scoff has my gaze snapping to Kyle, my jaw setting. Shifting my attention to their captain, I state, “Ethan Maddox. Center and this year’s captain. Twenty-six goals last season. Thirty-nine assists. Second in the conference for points per game, right behind that winger from Valehurst. You’re one of the smartest players on the ice—rarely penalized, never out of position. You can control the tempo of a game almost single-handedly.”
His jaw tightens, but there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes. I keep going.
“Finn,” I say next, shifting my focus to him. The smirk he’d been wearing falters a little. “Right wing. You led the league in blocked shots last season—ninety-one total. You stood in front of more pucks than most goalies do in a season. You play like a wrecking ball—doesn’t matter if it’s an opponent or a wall, you’re going through it. Nobody hits harder or fights dirtier when it counts, and every guy on this team knows it.”
Long gone is Finn’s smirk, his lips slightly parted in surprise, even as he crosses his arms over his chest.
Next, I turn to Jax. He doesn’t look amused. “You’re the anchor,” I tell him. “Best defenseman in the division. You make every play look easy, like you see the game three steps ahead of everyone else. You led the team in ice time last season, and it wasn’t even close. Whether it’s a power play or penalty kill, you’re the guy they trust to shut it down. Without you, this team wouldn’t win half the games they do.”
Unlike the others, Jax shows no outward reaction, but his gaze never breaks from mine, telling me he heard every word.
Finally, I look at Kyle. His lip curls in a sneer. “And you,” I say, my voice calm. “Left wing. Eighteen points. Third in the league for turnovers. But you’re a grinder. You get into the dirty areas and screen goalies like it’s second nature. When you’re in front of the net, you make it almost impossible for the other team to see the puck.” A smugness enters Kyle’s eyes, but I don’t let him sit in it for too long. “That said,” I continue, keeping my tone light, like I’m just making an observation and not that I’ve obsessed over his abilities and skills to ensure I can do better. Play harder. “If you focused on improving your positioning on rebounds, you’d probably double your scoring. And if you tightened up your puck management on zone entries, you’d create more opportunities for your line.”
If I thought he was sneering at me before, he’s now outright glaring. “Oh, is that so?” His voice drips with sarcasm.
I don’t allow myself to get swept into an argument with him. I already know he’s the type to tell me I’m wrong until he’s blue in the face, even though everyone in this room knows I’m right—not that they’d admit it out loud.
Instead, I shift my attention back to their captain. The man I need to impress upon that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. That Iwillprove myself, and he should get on board already and let me do my thing.
“I know who you all are,” I finish, letting my gaze sweep over them. “I’ve studied your games, your stats, your plays. I’ve studied every facet of every member of this team.”
My declaration is met with silence until a jeer cracks through the air like a whip. I don’t even need to look to know who it came from.
