Page 92 of Stick It
Stepping into the room, he follows behind, the heat of his body warm at my back and his palm pressing possessively against the base of my spine as he directs me toward the table of loud, raucous hockey players in the middle of the room.
Conversation dulls as we approach, nerves fluttering in my belly. Some of the guys shoot me glances, a few offering quicknods or murmured greetings, but the atmosphere feels different. Heavier.
Ethan directs me to a free seat beside Jax, before sitting beside me and leaving Wren to sit opposite.
“Hey,” Noah greets as I lower myself into the seat, careful not to jostle my sore ribs. “It sucked not having you on the ice this morning.”
“Yeah, we were worried when we heard what happened to you,” Tyler, the second-line center, adds with a friendly smile.
“Seriously,” Marcus, a first-line defenseman alongside Jax, nods. “Shit’s fucked. It’s good to see you didn’t let it get you down.”
Others echo the sentiment, and I give the table my best attempt at a smile. “Thanks.”
“Did you see who it was?” Ben, our third-line goalie, asks me.
I hesitate, fingers curling into a fist in my lap. Kyle’s gaze burns into me, like a brand being seared into the side of my head. I swallow, keeping my expression neutral. “Not really. It was dark, and they wore hoods.”
“Cowards,” one of the other guys spits, shaking his head. “Ganging up on someone—a girl, no less—alone and in the dark. That’s weak as shit.”
Several others murmur their agreement, and my gaze inadvertently flicks to Kyle in time to catch the thinning of his lips, how his eyebrows draw low over his eyes. He’s pissed. Because his teammates essentially called him a coward, or because they are actually bothered that I was attacked?
“I hope campus security is stepping up after this,” Marcus states, lips pressed into a firm line. “My sister is a freshman here. I’d hate to think something like this could happen to her.”
“It was hopefully just a one-time thing.” I don’t want him toworry about his sister, especially since, unless she plans on joining the men’s hockey team, she won’t be a target.
“What if they try it again?” someone farther down the table asks.
A shiver goes through me at the notion of being in that situation again. Scared, helpless, trapped.
A growl rumbles through Jax’s chest, his hands forming fists on the table beside me.
“They won’t get the chance.” Ethan’s voice is cold, edged with a warning as he surveys the rest of the team. “We look after our own.”
“For real.” Noah nods, face lined with determination, like Ethan is imparting once-in-a-lifetime wisdom. “You let us know if you need anything.” His gaze is set on Ethan, but then it slides to mine, and he flashes me a warm smile while other players vocalize their agreement. Their ease to help chokes me up. A few weeks ago, most of these guys would probably have rejoiced at me being unable to play, and now they’re offering to help however they can. I don’t have words.
Thankfully, Ethan jumps in to save me. “Thanks, guys. We’re working on a schedule so Dylan isn’t alone on campus or at the arena. I think we have it covered, but if we run into any issues, we’ll let you know.”
The guys all respond to their captain with eager nods and words of affirmation.
Kyle pipes up for the first time since I sat down. “Come on,” he scoffs. “It was a random attack. Everyone’s acting like she was personally victimized.”
The air shifts. Finn stares at Kyle, like he can’t believe what just came out of his mouth. “Dude, that’s cold. Regardless of whether it was a one-off or not, she was attacked.”
Kyle shrugs, tearing a bite off his sandwich. “I just think it sounds like a bigger deal is being made of it than necessary.”
Griffin, who has strategically placed himself where he has an unobstructed view of where I’m sitting and also a clear line of sight to Kyle, Fletcher, and Monroe, leans forward. His stare sharpens, eyes locked on to Kyle like he’s peeling back layers, looking for what’s underneath. “Who’s to say she isn’t being targeted?”
Tension thrums through the table like a live wire, some of the guys exchanging confused and wary glances.
“How the hell would I know?” is Kyle’s blasé response before he goes back to his food.
“Shit, you think one of our fans could have targeted her for being on the team?” another player directs to Griffin.
His response is to shrug. “Anything is possible.”
Conversation shifts after that ominous response, but I’m not really listening.
“Here.” I glance up as a tray of food is placed in front of me, but it’s not the delightful smell that has my mouth dropping open. It’s the person handing it to me. Finn. Finn got me food. “You need to keep your energy up.”
