Chapter 4
four
. . .
The rink buzzes with that particular electricity only small-town hockey can create.
Cheap coffee, loud music, and everyone’s breath fogging in the cold air.
I’m wedged between Ivy and Hadley halfway up the bleachers, our knees pressed against the row in front of us, our voices lost in the roar of the crowd.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a game,” Ivy says, unwrapping a protein bar like we’re settling in for a movie.
“I’ve been to plenty of games,” I protest. “I grew up in this rink.”
“Watching from the penalty box while doing homework doesn’t count,” Hadley points out.
She’s not wrong. Dad used to park me there with my books when my mom wasn’t at the game. I’d read while the Zamboni made its rounds, the smell of ice and rubber ingrained in my memory.
But this is different. This is watching as an adult. Watching with purpose.
Watching for him.
Down on the ice, the Bobcats are warming up.
“Your guy looks grumpy,” Hadley observes, nodding toward the bench.
I follow her gaze and spot Jude tightening his gloves, head down, completely calm amid the chaos. He’s in his zone already. Focused. Unmovable.
“He’s not mine,” I say automatically.
“Yet,” Ivy sings, taking a sip of water.
I try to glare but end up smiling instead. “You’re both terrible.”
“We’re observant,” Hadley corrects. “There’s a difference.”
The horn sounds. Sharp and commanding. The crowd leaps to its feet. My pulse matches the beat, thundering in my chest as the teams take their positions.
When the puck drops, the Bobcats come alive.
Zane wins the faceoff, shoots down the ice. Finn and Jett flank him, fast and showy, weaving through defenders like they’re performing a choreographed routine. The crowd chants their names, a rhythmic pulse that shakes the bleachers.
But my eyes find Jude. Always do.
He’s not flashy. He doesn’t need to be. He reads the ice like he’s two moves ahead of everyone else, positioning himself where the play is going before it even gets there. Every check is deliberate. Every shift calculated. He’s the quiet force no one wants barreling toward them.
An opposing player tries to push past him. Jude doesn’t budge. Just plants himself like a wall and the guy bounces off, stumbling.
“Oh my stars,” I breathe.
Ivy leans over. “Right? He’s like a freight train.”
“A very attractive freight train,” Hadley adds.
I don’t argue.
The game moves fast. Brutal and beautiful. Finn scores first, a slap shot that catches the goalie off guard. The arena erupts. I’m on my feet before I realize it, cheering along with everyone else.
When an opposing player shoves Zane after a whistle, everything changes.
Jude doesn’t hesitate. He’s there in a heartbeat, stepping between them. One hand on the guy’s chest. One warning glare that could freeze fire.
The other player backs down immediately. Smart choice.
The bleachers erupt. Ivy and Hadley are screaming. I’m pretty sure I am too.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself as Jude skates away like nothing happened. “That’s kind of hot.”
“Kind of?” Ivy raises an eyebrow. “Sophie, that was extremely hot.”
“Criminally hot,” Hadley agrees.
I sink back into my seat, face burning. “Can we focus on the game, please?”
“We are focusing on the game,” Ivy says innocently. “Specifically on number forty-four and how he just defended his teammate like a—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Like a bruiser.”
I groan but I’m smiling. Because she’s not wrong.
A few shifts later, Jude steals the puck from an opponent with a move so smooth it looks effortless. He fires a clean pass across the blue line. Finn’s waiting. The puck connects with his stick and he redirects it perfectly.
Goal.
The place explodes. I’m on my feet again, jumping and cheering. Jude barely celebrates. Just taps Finn’s helmet with his glove and skates back to position, stoic as ever.
Somehow, that restraint makes it worse. Makes my stomach flip and my heart race.
Because I want to know what it takes to make him lose control.
The Bobcats win by two. The final horn sounds and the crowd goes wild. Players pile onto the ice, celebrating, while the other team skates off with their heads down.
Fans start filing out but Ivy grabs my arm. “We always wait by the tunnel. Team tradition.”
“Do we have to?” I ask, even though I’m already following them down the bleachers.
“Yes,” Hadley says firmly. “Besides, you want to congratulate Jude on his excellent defense, don’t you?”
I shrug and follow her and the other girls. I felt like I had to go with the flow.
We position ourselves near the tunnel where the players will emerge from the locker room. Other girlfriends and family members are already gathering. I recognize a few faces from around town.
The guys come out one by one. Finn first, still riding the high of his two goals. He immediately pulls Ivy into a hug, lifting her off her feet.
“Did you see that shot?” he asks, grinning.
“I saw you showboating,” Ivy teases.
Dax appears next, then Jett, who kisses Hadley’s cheek before high-fiving some kids waiting for autographs. Zane emerges, talking on his phone, waving as he walks by all of us.
And then Jude appears.
Towel slung around his neck. Hair damp and curling at the edges. He’s changed into jeans and a gray hoodie, but I can still see the flush of exertion on his face.
He looks at me. Directly at me. And my entire vocabulary disappears.
“Hey,” I manage.
“Hey.” His voice is rough. Deeper than usual.
Ivy and Hadley suddenly find reasons to be very interested in something happening down the hallway. Subtle, they are not.
I step closer, trying to gather my thoughts. “You were incredible out there.”
“We won. That’s what matters.”
“No, I mean you specifically. You were intense. Commanding. Kind of...” I search for the right word.
“Kind of what?” he asks, and there’s something in his tone. Something almost playful.
“Kind of a bruiser.”
He blinks, caught off guard. “A what?”
“A bruiser. You know, big, unstoppable, slightly terrifying.”
His mouth curves. Not quite a smile but close. “Terrifying?”
“Only in the best way.”
He laughs. Soft but real. The kind of laugh that makes his shoulders relax and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Never had a nickname before.”
“Well, now you do. Bruiser.”
He repeats it under his breath, like he’s trying it on. Testing how it sounds. “Bruiser.” Then, quieter, “Guess I like the way you say it.”
“That’s because you’re vain.”
“That’s because it’s you.”
The air between us hums. Electric and charged. My pulse trips over itself. I mean to joke again, to keep it light, but then his hand finds my cheek. Gentle. Questioning.
And suddenly there’s nothing funny left in me at all.
His lips brush mine first. Tentative. Testing. Like he’s giving me a chance to pull away.
I don’t.
Instead, I rise on my toes without thinking, my hands sliding to his chest where his heartbeat thrums hard and fast beneath my palms. His other hand comes up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.
The kiss starts soft, then deepens. Slow and steady, like the rhythm I made him find with the metronome. Only this time, he leads.
When he pulls back, his voice is rough. Wrecked. “You shouldn’t look at me like that after a game.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because I can’t think straight when you do.”
“Good.” I’m still breathless. Still dizzy. “I like when you lose control.”
He laughs quietly, forehead resting against mine. His breath is warm on my face. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
He presses one more quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. Sweet and deliberate. “Keep the nickname.”
“Always, Bruiser.”
He groans, low and tortured. “Say it again.”
“Bruiser.”
He mutters something that sounds a lot like a prayer. Or maybe a promise. I can’t tell which and I don’t care.
Someone wolf-whistles from down the hallway. Probably Finn. Jude doesn’t pull away immediately. Just smiles against my temple before finally stepping back.
“I should shower,” he says. “Actually shower, I mean. Not the quick rinse-off we do after games.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“Walk you to your car after?”
“I’d like that.”
He nods once, then heads back toward the locker room. I watch him go, still dizzy from the kiss, still feeling the ghost of his hands on my face.
Finn jogs past, smirking. “Told you he wasn’t all scowl.”
I laugh, cheeks flaming. “Shut up, Travers.”
Ivy and Hadley materialize beside me like they’ve been waiting in the wings.
“So,” Ivy says, drawing out the word. “That happened.”
“That definitely happened,” Hadley agrees.
I touch my fingers to my lips, still tingling. “Yeah. It did.”
Outside, through the rink windows, I can see snow starting to fall. Fat, lazy flakes that catch the parking lot lights and glow.
I pull my scarf tighter and smile.
I came back to Briarwood for music and community. For the familiar comfort of home.
Instead, I found the rhythm in someone else’s heartbeat.
And his nickname is Bruiser.