Page 28 of Stick It
I shake my head, jaw clenched tight.
Definitely not fucking going there.
But Ethan…his stepping in today feels strange. I don’t trust it.
Of course, he acted like a douche afterward, but still…
With more force than necessary, I yank the polyester pants over my hips before kicking them off. As I bend to retrieve them, the noise rises sharply around me, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance up, my brow furrowing as the tension in the room thickens.
Kyle is in Griffin’s face, his voice loud and cutting, and the other guys have gathered around them in a loose circle.
“What’s it like, Griffin?” Kyle taunts. “Playing hero for her?Thought we weren’t supposed to acknowledge her, yet you’ve been helping her improve her skills in your private, late-night lessons.”
My stomach pitches.
He saw us.
He must have been watching our practice yesterday. It’s theonlytime we’ve interacted, spoken a single word to each other. Ihatethat Kyle was privy to that. Hate that he was there, watching me when I didn’t know it.
Griffin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react to the accusation. He just stands there, calm and unbothered, unpeeling the tape from his stick.
Kyle steps closer, his words dripping venom. “What’s the deal? Trying to impress her? Hoping she’ll spread her legs in some grand prize? Or are you just desperate to be her white knight because no one else will bother?”
Griffin’s blank stare breaks into a mocking grin stretching across his face. It’s infuriatingly calm, like Kyle is just another minor inconvenience in his day. He laughs lightly, the sound completely devoid of warmth.
“For someone who talks so much shit about her, you’re sounding pretty fucking jealous right now.”
Kyle’s face flushes red, and his fists curl. He looks ready to explode at Griffin’s insinuation.
Griffin’s grin only widens, like he’s enjoying pushing Kyle to the edge. Toying with him. “Nah, you’re not jealous ’cause you want her.” His tone turns sharp as glass. “You’re mad ’cause she’s better than you, and everyone in here knows it.”
That’s it. Kyle snaps. He shoves Griffin hard, the sound of his hands hitting Griffin’s chest protector echoing off the walls.
Griffin doesn’t move an inch. He’s only fractionally taller than Kyle, but he’s had years of defending his corner, never deviating from the crease. However, his expression shifts so fastit sends a chill racing through me. The easy grin vanishes, replaced with something cold and lethal. His typically guarded light blue eyes harden into shards of ice.
“Lay a finger on me again, and I’ll break you so thoroughly they won’t even knowhowto piece you back together.” Griffin’s voice is low and deadly. There’s no bluster, no anger—just pure, calm calculation. It should be frightening. I mean, it is. I sense he isn’t just being dramatic—he means it. And yet, I find myself curious more than anything else.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him. This version of him is so different from the Griffin I typically see laughing and joking in the locker room, the one who wears boyish charm like a second skin. Now, he’s all sharp edges and quiet menace, and I can’t tell which version of him is more real.
Something in my gut tells methisis the real Griffin.
The one more in line with the reserved, quiet version I share the rink and gym with out of hours. Does that mean that the smiles and jokes are all a front? A mask he wears for the world?
The air in the room has been stretched thin, every player stopping what they were doing to watch. I swear, you could hear a pin drop.
“Then you won’t have to worry about Dylan stealing your spot. It’ll be all hers for the taking.” He finishes delivering his threat. Am I the only one who has goosebumps?
Kyle steps closer, fists clenched as the tension in the air turns thunderous. However, before he can do something monumentally stupid, Ethan storms over.
“I’m getting seriously fucking sick of pulling teammates apart like they are misbehaving toddlers throwing a tantrum,” he yells, grabbing Kyle by the back of his jersey and yanking him away.
Kyle stumbles, chest heaving as he glares at Ethan, but Ethan’s face is pure stone as he stares him down. It’s clear he hasreached his daily limit for the amount of bullshit he will tolerate.
“Get back on the ice,” he orders Kyle, voice like steel as he shoves him toward the door. “Skate suicides until your legs give out, then bag drills until you can’t even hold your stick upright.”
I lift my hand to cover the smirk I can’t—and don’t want to—squash.
Kyle’s mouth gapes, indignation clear to read on his face, but Ethan doesn’t give him a chance to argue. “You’ve done nothing but pick fights today, Kyle.”
