Page 200 of Stick It
And he’ll never play his beloved hockey again.
Since he’s spent the last two-plus years trying to take that from Dylan, it seems fitting thathe’sthe one who will be sitting out his final year, and any hope he had of being picked up by some farm team or playing abroad—because let’s face it, we all know he didn’t have the skill to make it in the NHL—has just been brutally shattered…exactly like his knee.
59
FINN
The chillof the late fall air bites through the fabric of my coat as I wait on the front porch of Coach’s house for him and Dyl to say their goodbyes. Pulling back from their embrace, she smiles up at him. It’s not the kind of smile I like to see on her. It’s small. Quiet.
Her spark has been dimmed. Not snuffed, not extinguished, but dulled around the edges like a blade that’s seen too many battles.
It guts me.
Because I remember the hellraiser who showed up that first day with fire in her eyes and steel in her spine, ready to take on a locker room full of skeptical assholes. The girl who stared us down like we were prey.
Now, as she turns to meet my stare, that fire is…lessened. Not because she is less fierce but because Kyle and Lucas have chipped away at her, bit by bit, like the fucking cowards they are, until all that remains is a wisp of a flame that would take but a faint breeze to extinguish.
Her breath puffs in the cold air as she moves toward me.
“You look…different,” she says suspiciously.
I lift an eyebrow. “Different?” Surreptitiously, I give myself a once-over. I’m certain I washed all of Lucas’s blood off of me before I left the house to come get her.
She scrutinizes me for a moment, this cute little crease forming between her brows as she tries to figure it out. “I dunno. Calmer. Less…restless.”
She’s not wrong. Ifeelcalmer. Feel less like I’m about to come out of my own skin after putting Lucas in his place. If only we could do the same to Kyle so my girl wouldn’t have to worry, but I’m confident his time will come. Especially with the video we found on Lucas’s phone.
A small gasp falls from her lips, and she reaches out to grab my hand, inspecting the bruised, raw knuckles.
“Finn O’Rourke, who did you get in a fight with?”
Fuck, why does her saying my full name in that angry tone make me hard as nails?
I subtly adjust myself as we make our way down Coach’s driveway to the sidewalk, and when she continues to give me thatwell, I’m waitinglook, I vaguely respond, “Someone who deserved it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Finn?—”
But I cut her off, catching her hand in mine and tugging her close. Her body melds into mine, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her infinitely closer. Her scent of warm bergamot and something sharper wraps around me like a tether, and I breathe deeply. Violence and her—this night is shaping up to be the best one in a while.
Ignoring her murderous glare, I duck my head to murmur in her ear, “Come skate with me?”
She forgets she was grilling me, that cute little crease back between her eyes. “What?”
“Come skate with me,” I repeat, this time with a grin. “No hockey. No drills. Just some good old-fashioned skating.”
Her brows lift, and there’s a spark of excitement—faint, but there.
“When was the last time you just went out on the ice for the hell of it?” I question her.
She shakes her head slowly. “I can’t remember.”
“All the more reason to say yes.” I wag my eyebrows.Come on, Hellion, say yes. You know you want to.
She snorts. Actually snorts, the first full, genuine smile I’ve seen in days gracing her gorgeous, kissable lips.
“There she is,” I say, smugly.
“Fine,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “But only because I haven’t spent nearly enough time on the ice this week.”
