Page 301 of Playing the Pucking Game
“Whoa, tone it down. Child in the room,” Kodie teases as Linc kisses the tip of my nose, his eyes locked on mine.
“Oh, please,” Sutton sasses. “As if you and Casey are any different.”
Everyone laughs as Linc tucks me into his side and finally turns to greet the others.
“Great game, son,” Dad says, shaking his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“We got the win. I’m feeling great.”
Dad eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t question him further.
“How was the press conference?” Kodie asks. “Anyone interested in the game, or just your love life?”
Linc laughs. “A few had hockey-related questions. Most just wanted to know about this one,” he says, dropping a kiss on my head.
“Be prepared for there to be a lot of that. Might be wise to stay off socials for a bit,” Kodie advises.
“We’ve got a meeting with Hailee tomorrow,” Linc informs everyone.
“We do?”
“We do. Probably a day late, but whatever,” Linc says with a shrug.
“Bet she loves us.”
“Nah, this shit is what she lives for.”
“Storm,” Sutton warns the second he swears.
“Sorry, Lil Riv.”
As the conversation around us continues, Linc doesn’t so much as loosen his hold on me. It’s something I could very easily get used to. But despite how relaxed I feel pinned up against his side, I can’t forget about Rett.
My cell burns a hole in my pocket, but I know messaging him would be pointless. If he doesn’t want to talk, then he won’t.
I’m distracted in conversation with Mom, almost thirty minutes later, when Linc’s grip on me tightens and his body tenses.
I don’t need to look up to know who’s just walked in, but I do regardless.
My breath catches when I find Rett standing in the doorway. He looks wrecked.
As he surveys the room, another man steps up behind him.
Coach Watson wraps his hand around Rett’s shoulder and squeezes gently.
Finding us, Rett nods at Coach before stalking over.
Mom instantly pulls him in for a hug. His arms immediately wrap around her as if he needs her embrace more than he needs air.
“Tough game tonight, son,” Dad says softly.
I didn’t think it was possible, but Rett’s shoulders get even tighter. My fingers itch to reach out and give him some relief, but I doubt he’d welcome that right now.
“There’s no need to sugarcoat it; I sucked tonight. I was too up in my own head. I wasn’t a team player. I just…well, I fucked it all up.”
“Everett Donnelly,” Sutton chastises with her hand on her hips and a fierce look on her face.
“Shit. Fuck. I mean…I didn’t—Jesus Christ,” he says, dragging his hand down his face.
