Page 148 of Break the Ice
In a flash, instinct kicks in.
Muscle memory sparks bright.
Spearing my stick out, I sweep it across the ice, bouncing the puck back as Thompson throws himself down. Over the biscuit and my stick, saving our asses.
Fuck, that was close.
Pushing back up onto my feet, I glide behind the net, taking the puck with me. Before I start play, I steal a glimpse around the ice, taking stock of where Florida are waiting.
We have under a minute to win this game. We’re one goal up, but the two points aren’t enough, and neither is the win. They won’t move us up the table without help from a higher goal difference.
I slam my visor down, nodding in Weismann’s direction, I glance to the left before I drive the puck around the goal and deep into center ice, flicking it to Bruce.
Spinning, I glance at the timer. With seconds to go, I zone in on Rio just as he slaps the puck over the Florida defenses’ sticks.
Bruce dekes one way, appearing ready to take the last shot while Rio rounds the back of the goal and Andersen intercepts the puck, launching it beneath Florida’s keeper straight to Rio’s stick.
The red lights flash, the horn goes off, and the green light behind the net glows when the clock finally runs out. In. The. Nick. Of. Time.
Fuck me.
I’m breathless as I glance about the arena, getting my bearings hazed by the tsunami of adrenaline hurtling through me, until I find the cove area on the home side.
It takes me a moment too long to find Finley. I’ve barely got her in my sights when Rio rushes me, butting our helmets with a loud yell that manages to make it past my thundering pulse.
“Fuck, man, that was fucking genius!” He bellows into my face while the rest of the team joins us on the ice.
I keep waiting to feel Elijah near me. To celebrate another win with a play that he engineered during our last training session together. He’s so fucking smart, and I want to applaud him for it so bad that the high from the win dulls in his absence.
I find myself moving quickly through the motions so I can get into the locker room ASAP. The need to put my eyes on Eli is so strong that I’m one stride away from tripping over my feet when I reach my destination.
There he is.
Sitting at his locker with an ecstatic grin on his face. Every worry I had after last night dissipates and I feel my chest open with a deep drag of air.
“You nailed it,” he says, his voice is hoarse and giddy all at once as though he can feel all the emotions whirring a fucking unstoppable tempest inside me.
“That was you. You spotted that vulnerability. You—” I pause, watching as he gets up with a shrug.
He’s in one of his signature sharp black suits and a crisp white shirt that deepens his fair tan. When he takes his baseball cap off, his hair is a tangled mess from where he’s been running his fingers through it during the game.
“Weismann did good,” he says with an audible swallow, his face twisting as though it physically pains him to say so. “All that time you spent on the plays with him paid off. He did you proud.”
“He’s not you.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop myself. That seems to bring his grin back. “But yeah, he did good.”
My feet close the distance between us with the ruckus from the world around us fading into insignificance. When his stare lands on mine, I notice how flushed he looks.
I swear, my hands would give anything, maybe a finger or two, to feel the warmth of his skin and the thrum of his pulse beneath them.
“Two points, one win, six goals,” he murmurs, still fussing with his hair.
The electricity in the air crackles when I reach past him into the side pocket of my open gym bag, for one of the loose hair ties floating around.
When I hold it out to him, he chuckles, “Jayden to the rescue… again.”
“Hardly, you leave those fuckers lying around everywhere you go. It’s fucking infuriating.”
“Not everywhere,” he laughs, taking the hair tie from me and twisting his hair into a messy knot at his crown.
