Ice Rebel (The Kendrick Brothers #3)

Chapter 1

Cole

The vibrant neon hues of the posters on all sides of the arena were difficult to miss.

The Seattle Wild’s Wolf is Hot!

Rebel Wolf—Will You Marry Me?

They were also annoying as fuck.

“You’re a celebrity, man.” Hudson Wayne, otherwise known as the Bobcat, loved teasing me. While the other members of the team weren’t immune to the notoriety, I was often the center of unwanted attention.

Just like my brothers.

Just like every other shifter who stood in the limelight of any sports team.

At least my brothers had made themselves into superstars in the hockey world. I was still struggling in the AHL, praying this would be my year.

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of getting tired of hogging the spotlight.” Tonight, I wasn’t joking. While people protesting my very existence had lessened in both numbers and the ridiculous energy put forth to do so, there would always be haters.

The lights dimmed, and the announcer came on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for the national anthem.”

As the stadium full of people quieted, I placed my hand on my heart.

“I love you, Rebel wolf!” The shrill cry came from somewhere in the darkness. Jesus. Nothing was sacred any longer. While half the audience laughed, someone different took to the ice and immediately every muscle in my body tensed.

Once she began to sing, I held my breath, everything and everyone else vanishing.

You’ve heard the expression love at first sight. Right?

Well, I’d laughed my ass off more times than I could count when I’d heard the words. Usually said with stars in the girl’s eyes. I didn’t care if said by a dude or a chick, the idea was ridiculous.

After tonight, I’d need to rethink my staunch position.

Why?

Because of the girl standing behind the microphone bathed in shimmering lights. Well, shit. Now I was mesmerized, using flowery words like those penned in my sister’s steamy stories. I had to admit the woman was beautiful, an hourglass figure made with a man in mind. Or maybe a pair of huge hands.

My hands.

“What happened to Ralph?” Darren Usher, our best goddamn left winger who’d been my ‘wingman’ since before joining the Seattle Wild whispered the comment as if being loud would interrupt her singing.

In a way, he was right. I had the desire to pay attention to her angelic voice, not his gruff tone that usually sounded as if he’d eaten marbles for breakfast.

I barely threw my buddy a glance, proudly standing tall and absorbing the music as she continued singing.

While I honored the tradition every time, I was usually considering upcoming plays against the opponent rather than hanging onto every word.

It wasn’t that Ralph Patch wasn’t a good singer.

He was okay, called upon to perform his duties for every home game.

However, with all things being equal, who wouldn’t prefer a luscious creature to a former pop star has-been? Maybe I was being a little cruel, but Ralph had taken the job to fund his penchant for booze and cigars. It reflected in his voice.

“Dunno. Don’t care,” I snarked in return.

Maybe I was overthinking my attraction or seeing things, but I could swear someone had turned on a wind machine.

Her long ginger hair danced across her shoulders while she sang.

She was effortless with her abilities, creating an emotion that almost brought patriotic tears to my eyes.

Nothing brought tears to my eyes. Not a single sad movie, especially from my sister’s choice of family entertainment or even when my hamster had died when I was seven.

But with this girl and how she held a high note, lifting her arm as if straight to the heavens, I could easily shed a tear or two.

Out of respect of course.

“She is hot,” Darren agreed.

Why did his comment, which was true, create such need to punch him in the face? It wasn’t like I even knew the girl’s name. While announced, I hadn’t paid any attention.

“Yeah. She is.” Just the way she swayed her hips indulged me with one too many sinful ideas. What would it be like to have her hips moving underneath me just like that while I had my dick shoved deep into her tight pussy?

I’d been hanging out with the degenerates of the house for far too long. Their bad behavior had rubbed off on me. Grinning, I almost laughed since I couldn’t kid a kidder. I craved the attention, being spoiled by sexy girls. Who wouldn’t?

I don’t know. I’d give up my nefarious ways for one date with the angel.

“Are you crying?” Hudson snorted. The defenseman flanked my other side, moving out of formation long enough to stare me straight in the face.

“Fuck you.” Well, damn, my deep baritone had carried far enough the coach glared at me. I’d hear about it later. Blasphemy. The couple of times Ralph hadn’t been able to make it and piped-in music had been used, we’d lost the game.

The coach called it a curse.

Others had said it had been divine intervention.

I winced seeing his fury, mouthing ‘sorry’ as I did.

Hudson chuckled and I knew the fucker would hold the moment over my head. That was our relationship, beating each other up for stupid shit. That’s what happened when you lived in a house with a bunch of guys. Everything was fair game.

After giving him a dirty look, I returned my full attention to the singer. Her hand was even fisted, her back arched as she performed the final notes. Talk about inspiration, or as I liked to call it—sinspiration.

I couldn’t play hockey without it. A picture of hot girl wearing next to nothing. Crimson lips staining a napkin accompanying a phone number. A social media post touting my undeniable talent.

Or my personal favorite, time spent being myself.

In my case that meant allowing my wolf to come out to play, which hadn’t occurred in a long time. I’d been too damn busy making a name for myself with the Wild.

But tonight, not a single puck bunny was offering her hot bod on a silver platter. Maybe I was losing my touch. Maybe the truth was that the crazy parties, the girls, the booze, and the continued rush of testosterone no longer held the same appeal as before.

Whatever the case, I had a feeling we’d rock the game.

As soon as the girl whispered the last note, the packed stadium went wild. Seattle took their hockey games seriously, especially when there was homegrown talent involved.

The light enshrouding her luscious form quickly faded and so did my smile. For whatever reason, I tried to find out the direction she’d gone after leaving the ice. I hadn’t realized I’d taken steps toward her until the rookie goalie, a true Italian pain in the ass, grabbed my arm.

“What in the fuck are you doing?”

His heavy Brooklyn accent had gotten on my nerves from day one, but tonight’s attitude had my mind plotting the next practical house joke. I had full intentions of ensuring he was the next victim.

Well, maybe he had a point stopping me since I’d ventured out about five feet or more. At least I found her just as she stepped off the ice. “Hey.” Even over the din of the large crowd, my voice managed to carry straight to her.

She stopped long enough to twist her body, turning her face in my direction. At that moment, the sun collided with a meteor, sending a display of the most incredible shooting stars my way.

All from her beautiful smile.

Holy shit. My body was shaking. There were a dozen, maybe more things I wanted to say to her. As if she’d hear me and as if she’d care.

At that moment, she did the unthinkable, something that would haunt me until the end of days.

She blew me a kiss.

Wow. Just freaking wow.

Talk about love at first sight. I was being dragged by a heavy anchor into the pits of mind-boggling need.

“Kendrick,” Coach Stryker yelled. “Get over here. We have a game to play, or did you forget?”

Sheepishly, I shifted toward him, acknowledging with a salute. Forgetting I had a game would be considered a mortal sin, but I needed one last look at my good luck charm.

Damn it. The girl had disappeared.

I skated backward, scanning the area, but there was no sign of her.

Let’s hope my angel continued shining down brightly. We needed a win.

The San Diego Blackhawks were tough. I’d give them that. They’d come to play and had almost whipped our asses on the ice.

However, we’d held our own even though their defense was on the money. I hated to admit it, but a solid reason we could take the lead was because of our new center, Jagger Black. He’d arrived late in the season, some trade deal that was none of my business, but had pissed just about everyone off.

He was here due to our former center’s injury in a horrific car accident, but the bastard was conceited as hell, and from day one we’d realized we didn’t like each other very much. Fine by me.

However, he was magic on the ice, his aggressive actions the reason for his nickname, ‘the Jag.’ He also reminded me of my brother Ford and how he handled his twig.

If we wanted to win this fucking game, I’d need to step up to the plate.

They didn’t call me the Rebel for nothing, but in my mind, I liked to think of myself as an enforcer.

The crowd was already going wild, yelling out plays and encouragement. I could swear I’d caught the girl on the Jumbotron more than once, but when I’d tried to find her in between periods, she’d been a ghost.

A hard crack dragged my mind back to where it should be and I funneled my attention back into the game. My job was a study in controlled momentum. I moved with purpose to defend the center.

Even if the guy pissed me off.

It was time to thwart an attack. In the zone, I anticipated the actions of the opposing center, using my stick to strip the puck away. Drake Miller was a brutal son of a bitch, his reputation as a ladies’ man barely matching his ridiculous tirades on social media.

For some reason, he had it out for me. Well, fuck him.

With my keen hearing, I enjoyed the roar of the crowd just before dropping my shoulder, seamlessly steering the attacker to the boards.