Page 4 of Game Winner
Laughing, and shivering at the frigid air making my wet shirt feel even colder, I take one last glance at the ice. Soren is the last Slash player out there. Instead of following his teammates through the door, he turns and skates toward the opposing team’s bench. The handsome Stallions player sits alone, his head bowed, seemingly unaware of the world around him.
Soren pats him on the shoulder, and they tuck their heads together. Maybe he’s offering comfort or commiseration. Maybe there really is something between them.
I press my palm to the glass. I’d give anything to hear their conversation. The cold seeps into my fingertips as a wave of yearning washes over me, settling in my chest like a lead weight.I’d give anything to hear their conversation, but I’d give even more to be a part of it.
CHAPTER TWO
SOREN
A hard-fought win is cause for celebration, but concern for Tyler dulls the thrill of victory. Following my teammates across the ice to the sounds from the arena emptying out, I slow my pace. Tyler sits alone on the Stallions’ bench, staring at the ice.
We’ve known each other for years, have trained together in the offseason, stayed in contact during the season, and I can’t help the softness I feel whenever I think of him.
“How did he miss that shot?” I turn to Gio, skating beside me. “Did you see what happened? All I heard was something hitting the glass.”
Huffing a laugh, he shakes his head. “That was thanks to your boy, Bax.”
“He’s not mine.” The words fall out, automatic, telling Gio as much as to remind myself. Not mine. Not yet. I stop skating as the rest of Gio’s words register. “But why would he do that? He doesn’t seem the type to interfere.”
“He leaped out of his seat and looked angry. I think something happened with someone around him.”
Moving closer to the bench, I slow my pace. “I’ll ask him when we get to the pub. But damn, I don’t like that it messed up Tyler. Look at him. He’s probably reliving that missed shot.”
“Yeah. I would be. We all would.”
I pause at the door to our bench and wave for Gio to go ahead of me. “I’m gonna check on Tyler.”
He nods, then frowns and casts a dark look at the tunnel where Tyler’s teammates have disappeared. “His captain should be doing that.”
“You would, for us.” I nod my thanks when he takes my stick for me. Gio’s the best captain. I lucked out when the Slash traded for me two years ago. “See you in a few minutes.”
Skating along my team’s bench, I can’t help taking another glance at where Bax and his friends sat tonight. Caught in conversation, the guys pull on their coats and collect the trash around their seats. Anticipation of seeing him in the pub later flutters in my stomach.
The flutters transform into a thrill thrumming in my blood the closer I get to Tyler.
I’ve never dealt with being attracted to two people at the same time before. Never felt somethingmoresimultaneously for more than one guy. I don’t know what to do about it.
Blowing out a breath, I glide to a stop in front of Ty. I hate that he looks so upset. More than upset, he looks lost. “Hey.”
He startles, then lowers his hands and raises his head. Deep brown eyes glittering with the sheen of disappointment lock on my gaze. His lips lift in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Soren.”
“You doing okay?” Placing my hand on his shoulder doesn’t seem like it’s giving him enough comfort. He looks like he needs a hug, but we’re separated by the boards and how he’s sitting for that to happen.
He shifts closer to me, but hangs his head. “Not my night. Not my shot.”
I lean over the boards, and into his space, close enough to see the tiny cut on his cheek and the lighter shades of brown in his eyes. “Sucks when that happens. I’m sorry.”
His shoulders lift, then fall again. “Why sorry? You got the win.”
“Yeah, but when you were setting up to take that shot, I couldn’t scramble across the crease fast enough to block it. I was sure it would go in.”
Tyler sighs, the sound bone-weary, and I wonder if there’s something else going on with him. “I lost focus.”
“No, you had someone distract you by hitting the glass,” I correct. “If Bax hadn’t done that, there’s no way the puck would’ve hit the crossbar instead of slamming into the back of the net.”
He stiffens beneath my hold on his shoulder. “You know the guy who did it?”
“Not well, but enough to know he’s not someone who fucks with other people. And I don’t think he even likes hockey enough to care about trying to affect a game.”
