Page 48 of Face Off
“Best finish you’ll ever see in your life!” Murphy crows. “Goalie never stood a chance, straight through the five-hole like butter on a hot pan.”
“Pretty sure the puck ricocheted off your shinpad,” Dylan rumbles, tossing a towel at him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Murphy shoots back, catching it with a grin. “Still counts. You don’t ask how, you ask how many.”
That sets everyone off again, clapping, whooping, a couple of water bottles sprayed like champagne. I can’t help laughing, the sound loosening something tight in my chest.
Then Jacko hauls a battered Tupperware box out of his kit bag like it’s some kind of sacred relic. “Alright, settle down, animals. You can’t celebrate on empty stomachs.”
“Bear’s baking!” someone yells, and the whole room erupts.
“Protein bars?” I ask, trying not to grin.
“Brownies,” Jacko says solemnly, like the word itself is holy. “Double chocolate. Don’t ask how many calories, you don’t wanna know.”
He starts handing them out, big square chunks passed hand to hand like treasure. The noise level cranks up again as the first bites go around. Murphy takes two before anyone can stop him.
“Oi, share!” Dylan barks, smacking him on the back of the head.
“Hey, I burned the most energy tonight. Science says I need the extra fuel.”
“Science says you’re full of it,” I shoot back, but he just grins, chocolate already smeared at the corner of his mouth.
Jonno’s laughing from his spot near the door, towel draped around his neck, and even Coach cracks a rare smile as he walks past. “Good win,” he says simply, voice rough but warm. “Enjoy it.”
For a moment, sitting there with sweat still drying on my skin and laughter bouncing off the walls, it feels like nothing else exists, no stress, no pressure, no secrets. Just us. Brothers in bruises and broken sticks, in stupid in-jokes and shared wins. A family that doesn’t need to be named because we already know what it is.
Jacko drops the last brownie square into my hand, eyebrows raised. “Don’t say I never do anything for you, Ol.”
I grin, biting into it. “I’ll never doubt you again, Bear.”
The laughter surges once more, echoing long after the game’s over.
The locker room is quieter now, most of the team already gone, leaving echoes and warmth behind. And there she is. My chest tightens. My pulse quickens. The notebook is still in her hands, but her gaze lifts as I approach. The space between us is electric, charged, impossible to ignore.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice low, teasing, attempting casual as if my heartbeat isn’t thundering. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“I like to observe the aftermath,” she says lightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Make sure no one trashes the place.”
“You’re lucky you’re charming,” I tease, thumb brushing the strap of her jacket. Her eyes flick to mine, hesitation mixing with desire, a tension that hums under our words.
I close the final space between us. Lips meet in a kiss that starts soft, testing, but deepens as we give into the pull between us. Hands tangle, hair pulled, bodies pressed together. Heat blooms, urgent and insistent, a delicious, dizzying pull.
Coffee mugs, notebooks, everything else disappears. Only her and I remain, suspended in a moment too intense, too real tobe anything but electric. Her hands trace my back, memorising, claiming, grounding us both as I press closer, responding in kind.
“You’re insane,” she murmurs against my lips.
“And you like it,” I reply, teasing, low, dangerous, shivering at the heat she generates.
We stumble backward toward the benches, still caught in the orbit of our own chaos. Each kiss, each touch, each whispered murmur ignites something more profound, more private. My heart races, every nerve ending alive.
And then, just as our lips part briefly, a soft cough at the door. Jonno. Surprise flits across his face, but he merely shakes his head, mutters something about boundaries, and backs away. “None of my business,” he says before leaving us in the charged quiet once more.
Chloe’s chest rises and falls, her eyes dark with want, with amusement, with unspoken questions. I brush a stray hair from her face, thumb lingering on her cheek. “I can’t… not with you,” I whisper, voice rough, dark, teasing.
Her lips twitch into a small smile, leaning close, and I feel the fire in my chest grow hotter. We don’t speak again, letting the heat, the closeness, the tension speak for us.
I finally pull back reluctantly, breathing uneven, heart still racing. Hands linger, fingers brushing, a silent promise that this isn’t over, that nothing between us is fleeting.
