5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Cameron
I slide across the ice, my leg pads scraping against the frozen surface as I follow the puck with laser focus. The Vipers are pressing hard, but they're not getting anything past me tonight. I'm a wall—a damn good one—and nothing's gonna dent my shutout.
"Cam! Left wing!" I hear my teammate yell.
I whip my head to the side, catching sight of the Viper's forward zeroing in. He thinks he's slick, but I've already read his intentions. My body moves on instinct, muscles coiling and then exploding outward as I thrust my glove hand up. The puck slams into it with a satisfying thud.
"Nice save, Porter!" comes another shout from the bench.
I nod, but the praise is background noise because my gaze drifts up. Up to the broadcasting box where Holly is watching us. I catch a glimpse of her blond hair, those big blue eyes probably tracking every player—me included. She's got that look, all intense concentration and professional poise. It's like she's still a part of the game, even from way up there.
We said it was a one-time thing. We all agreed. No strings, no distractions. But hell if I don't want more. Every time our eyes met that night—and every time since—something wild and electric passed between us. It wasn't just physical—it can't be just physical when I find myself scanning the crowd for her even now when I should be shutting out the rest of the world.
"Focus, Cam," I mutter to myself, wrenching my gaze away from her and back to the circling Vipers.
My mind knows I should let it go, but my heart's stubborn. It's hooked on Holly, on the memory of her laughter, how she felt against me, how right it seemed even though it was all kinds of complicated. With Deacon and Jaxon in the mix, this whole situation could blow up like a bad play on the ice. I mean, she’s Sawyer’s sister.
But damn, do I want her.
"Porter! Focus!"
I snap back to reality. Another shot comes flying at me, and I drop down into a butterfly, feeling the puck smack against my pads. The crowd loses it, but the sound fades into a dull roar compared to the thunderous beat of my own heart.
"Nice work, Cam!" A defenseman taps my helmet as he skates by.
"Thanks," I reply, pushing back to my feet.
I steal another glance at the broadcasting box. I can't help it. She's got her headset on, probably talking stats and strategies. Does she ever think of me, of us, while she’s working?
"Stay away," we'd said. "Just one night," we'd promised.
But I don't want that. I want Holly. And as the seconds tick down and the game wraps up, I know I've got a decision to make: keep playing by the rules or take a shot at something that might just be the biggest win of my life.
The puck slices through the air, a black blur against the gleaming ice. Instinct takes over; my body moves before my brain registers the Vipers' sniper winding up from the circle. Glove up—snap—the puck slams into the leather, and I hold it aloft like a trophy. The shrill whistle confirms the save as the final buzzer sounds, and the arena erupts.
"Porter! You're a wall, man!" someone yells, and a flood of Grizzlies jerseys converges on me. They pat my back, and my helmet, in a barrage of kudos. I nod and offer grunts of appreciation, but my gaze sneaks to the broadcasting box one more time. Is she impressed? Does she care?
We won. Grizzlies four, Vipers zero. The crowd is a living thing, cheering, chanting, vibrating with energy. And in that thunderous moment, all I can think is that—I want to see Holly.
"Unreal game, Cam!" That's Thompson, always the loudest. He's beaming, teeth bright against his playoff beard.
"Thanks, Thompson," I manage, still scanning the dimly lit press area for her face.
"Shutout, baby!" Deacon slaps me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance. "You're a beast!"
"Good defense in front of me." I deflect the praise like I deflected pucks during the game. It's second nature.
"Still, you're the hero tonight," he insists, with a wink. "Let's celebrate."
I’d really rather not. My post-game ritual is relaxing with a good book and just winding down. Unfortunately for me, my teammates have very different ideas and I get dragged out more often than not. Tonight though? Tonight, I’ll be joining them willingly because I have a feeling a pretty little blonde will be there at the after-party.
"Hey, Cam!" Jaxon calls, voice cutting through the noise. "Great work out there. Get a shower. We're hitting the town!"
"Uh-huh," I say, already peeling off my gear. My head says strip down, get clean, shut off. But my heart twists with another plan. Holly will be there. How do I act? What do I say?
"Cam, you coming?" It’s Jaxon again, eyebrows raised.
"Sure," I hear myself reply. "Wouldn't miss it."
I'm threading through the crowd, the noise of the bar pounding against my skull like a second heartbeat. I catch glimpses of her—Holly—laughing with the guys, hair catching the light like it did that first night. My fingers itch to touch those silky strands again.
I want to talk to her. Touch her. See if this chemistry is one-sided or if she feels this the way we do. But Colton-fucking-Shepherd hasn’t left her side all damn night. My jaw clenches as I watch him put a hand on her lower back. Again.
My grip tightens around the bottle in my hand, the amber liquid inside sloshing as my emotions churn. I know Holly and Colton are just friends, but the sight of his familiar touch on her sends a surge of jealousy through me.
Mine. She’s mine .
I take a deep breath, trying to quell the surge of possessiveness that grips my chest. Holly is not mine. We agreed on no strings. It was one night. But watching Colton’s hand on her back, I feel a sharp pang of something that I can’t quite place. I rub at the sensation in my chest.
"Cam, you're zoning out, man." Deacon's voice pulls me back, his hand clapping on my shoulder. "You with us?"
"Yeah," I say, nodding. But am I really here? Or am I still back in our apartment on the night it all started?
The bartender slides a beer across the counter toward me. I take a long sip, letting the cold bitterness settle my thoughts. Jaxon is holding court, a group of admirers hanging on his every word. He's in his element, but he shoots glances at Holly, too. I can tell he remembers just like I do.
I know I should join the conversation, participate in the banter and jokes that fly back and forth. But my eyes keep drifting back to Holly. So do my thoughts. My eyes nearly roll back in my head as I remember the way it felt to sink into her slick, wet heat. The sounds she made that night are my favorite melody.
My heart beats a staccato rhythm in my chest as she glances my way for just a moment. I’m so gone for this girl.
"Hey, goalie boy!" Jaxon calls over, pointing at me with a sly grin. "You gonna come over here, or are you planning to play defense with your drink all night?"
"Maybe I am," I shoot back, but I move closer anyway. Holly turns, and our eyes lock. There's a spark there, a silent conversation that makes my chest tight.
My feet are moving before my brain even has time to make the decision. I lean on the bar, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. "Having fun?" I ask, even though the answer is written all over her glowing face.
"Always," she replies, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Especially after a big win."
"Big wins are good," I agree, my voice dropping lower. "But some nights are better than others."
"True," she says, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Some nights are...unforgettable."
"Unforgettable," I echo, my thoughts drifting back to the heat of her touch, the taste of her lips. Could we recreate that magic? Is it insane to think that one more night could turn into something...more?
"Cam," Holly leans in, her breath tickling my ear. "Are you okay? You seem miles away."
"Just thinking about how tonight could go," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
"Any ideas?" Her gaze is steady, inviting.
"Maybe," I half-confess. "Might need your help to figure it out, though."
"Ask me," she whispers, a challenge in her eyes.
"Maybe later," I reply, my heart beating faster. "When we're not surrounded by the entire team."
"Maybe," she repeats, the word hanging between us like a promise.
I haven't been able to shake the memory of that first night—the way she moved, the sound of her laughter, the softness of her skin. Holly was everything I never knew I wanted until I had her. And now, I can't let her go. Not without trying for something real.
"Let's make tonight another one for the books," Jaxon suddenly announces, raising his glass.
"To the Grizzlies," Deacon joins, lifting his own.
Our glasses clink together—a symphony of hope and possibility. I steal another glance at Holly. She smiles, and for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of us in the noisy room.
"Let's make it unforgettable," I say, my voice full of an intention that only Holly can hear.