Chapter 40
BENNETT
Practice is fantastic. Better than fantastic.
Sharp. Alive.
Best skating I’ve done since Chicago.
Coach Keller notices.
“Steele!” He barks my name, waving me over with his clipboard. I glide to the bench and hop the boards, confidence roaring through my veins.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“I don’t know what the hell you did to get your head right, but whatever it was — do it again before the game.”
I grin, thinking back to the activities of last night.
I’m betting it wasn’t the takeout or Call of Duty with my brother.
“You got it, Coach.”
“You’re getting the first shift tonight. Hit the showers and rest up.”
He slaps me on the back and I peel off toward the tunnel, fully amped. I’m halfway to the locker room when Callum catches up to me, syncing his strides with mine.
“Hey. Saw Coach talking to you. Everything okay? You look…different.” He squints over his shoulder at me, brow furrowed.
“Yep. All good. I’m back in the lineup.”
“Nice. You looked great out there today.”
“Thanks.”
We shove into the locker room and dump the gear into our stalls. Callum shrugs out of his practice jersey.
“What gives? Something happened between COD last night and now.”
The corner of my lip twitches, my chest about to burst. “Tori came back.”
Saying the words out loud makes everything more real, more solid.
Like it’s happening.
“She did? So you got laid? I’ve seen plenty of that Bennett—” He circles his finger in the air around my face, “and this is not that.”
I shake my head, sweat-dampened curls flopping onto my forehead. “It’s more than that, man. We’re the real deal. And I’m not guessing anymore. She’s all the way in. No more hedging.”
“Who’s all the way in?” Weston sneaks up behind me, butting into our conversation. A few other guys come through the door and the locker room fills with noise.
“God, you guys are fucking nosy.” I slam my locker shut, ready to hit the showers.
“Tori’s back,” Callum says, and Weston nods.
“That explains it. He got laid.”
“No, assholes. Well, yeah, I did. But it’s not like that.”
“What’s it like then?” Weston tips his head, waiting for me to say the words out loud.
“We’re together.”
“Together-together? Like, more than a few nights together?” Weston frowns, and I scrub the back of my neck.
“Yeah. And she’s fucking amazing.”
“Okay.” Weston holds up both his palms. “That’s all I need to hear about Max Prince’s daughter. By the way, is he gonna kill you?”
“Hope not. Wouldn’t be smart to take out your star player.
” I smirk at my brothers, feeling more myself than I have in days.
The locker room still smells the same — sweat, and gear, and rubber — but everything feels different.
More alive. An electric energy hums through me and I need to take action. “I want to do something tonight.”
“Oh god…” Weston groans.
“Nothing stupid. Just public.”
“You sure, Benny? Sometimes PR gets edgy with stuff like that.” Callum’s the voice of reason, always.
“It’s a good thing I’m pretty tight with the PR director. Here’s what I’m thinking…”
I stroll into the arena acting like I own the ice.
Which I will in less than an hour.
But the real play’s happening after the game.
And that’s the thing that has my pulse spiking. Maybe I should have listened to Callum, but there’s too much on the line. I want the world to know exactly how I feel about Tori Prince — and tonight’s the hard launch.
I’m fresh off media when my phone buzzes.
Sunshine: Talked to my dad this afternoon and told him we’re together
Sunshine: He’s…processing
Sunshine: But he hasn’t put a hit on you
Bennett: Good. I’d hate to die before puck drop
Sunshine: LOL. See you at the game. I’ll be behind the glass
Beaming at my phone like a damn idiot, I tap out a quick response:
Bennett: See you soon, Sunshine
Then I hit the locker room and suit up to play hockey.
After stretching, taping, and the requisite speech from Keller, we’re filing through the tunnel in a wall of noise and testosterone. I’m focused and ready to go out there and win. Puck drop’s seconds away and I’m done losing.
The announcer’s voice booms, the crowd rises, and the only thing that matters in this moment is the puck.
The faceoff goes our way and I’m back, chasing the play.
Morrison fires on the net, but the goalie kicks out a rebound.
I stand my ground, sticks chopping all around me.
Number 45 shoves and I take a cross-check.
Control. Ride the wave.
I plant my skates and the goalie sprawls, trying to cover. The puck sneaks free in my direction and I keep my balance, jamming it into the net. The horn blares, arena lights flashing blue and white and I pump my fist in the air.
The fans erupt, but there’s only one person out there I care about.
I lift my eyes to the glass and there she is, beaming. My heart pounds as Morrison bumps gloves with me.
Weston skates over, knocking my shoulder. “Nice one, Benny.”
“Told you I was back.”
From there, everything snaps into place.
Shift, breath, execution.
Simple.
Easy.
By the end of the second period, Crushers lead 3-0.
In the first five minutes of the third, Callum gets screened and the puck squeaks through.
“Shit.” I shake my head as Detroit celebrates, tapping sticks on the ice.
I roll my shoulders and find Tori. Her fingers fiddle with her necklace, working the chain. The second I spot her, my gut unclenches and I’m calm.
The seconds tick by and we’re still up, 3-1. If we can hold them off, Crushers win. But it’s hockey, so I don’t get ahead of myself.
Detroit dumps the puck deep and two of their guys crash the crease.
A forward swings at it and Callum dives, trying to smother the shot.
A Detroit player lunges for the rebound and I slam my shoulder into his chest, knocking him away from my brother.
The puck is loose for one second. Long enough for me to shovel it out and send it hard down the ice.
Away from our goal.
Safe.
The clock hits zero and the game’s over. Crushers win 3-1. The lights flash blue and white, CRUSHERS WIN scrolling over the jumbotron.
But I don’t celebrate with the team. Not yet.
Instead, I take off my helmet and catch Tori’s gaze as the camera pans to her. My stomach clenches, pulse racing.
CRUSHERS WIN fades on the screen, replaced with my message:
TORI – YOU’RE MY WIN. – BENNETT
She stands and locks eyes with me, a slow smile breaking over her face. In front of the entire arena, she mouths I love you and presses her hand to the glass.
I’m a total goner for this woman.
I shoot her a cocky wink and skate over to the glass where she’s standing behind the bench. Morrison’s chirping, Callum and Weston whooping.
Coach shakes his head, but his lips tug at the corners. “It’s always something with you, Steele.”
I ignore all of them.
The only person that matters in this moment is Tori.
Before anyone can stop me, I’m over the gate and claiming her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss. The crowd’s cheers turn to ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, and I’m more alive than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
“Mine,” I whisper. “No more secrets.”
Then I drop back and skate away, saluting the crowd.
Still a little chaotic.
But this time it’s on purpose.