Chapter 3
Chapter three
Icing - Shooting the puck from behind the red line all the way past the opponent’s goal line untouched, stopping play.
Taranis
Max insisted on taking me home after I’d been injured and didn't push when I told him about the cold.
I'd wanted him to assure me it was normal.
Needed him to. Dragons didn't really talk about dragons.
We were intensely private. The old joke about hoarding was true, except we hoarded secrets, not always gold.
He just nodded, handed me a beer from the fridge, and settled onto the couch like he had all the time in the world. That was the thing about Max—he understood dragons. Understood that sometimes our bodies did things that looked catastrophic to humans but were just... part of what we were.
"Your knee?" he asked after a while.
I flexed it experimentally. No pain. No stiffness. The joint moved smoothly, perfectly, like it had never been twisted at all.
"Healed," I said.
"Course it is." He took a long drink, then grinned at me. "So. That medic."
I shot him a look. "Don't."
"What? I'm just saying, Taz, the man couldn't take his eyes off you."
"He was doing his job."
"He was doing something," Max said, waggling his eyebrows in a way that would've been obnoxious if it wasn't so absurdly cheerful. "And you were enjoying it."
I had been. That was the problem. I'd been noticing for months.
The way Cinder had touched me—careful, competent, grounding—had cut through the cold and the chaos in a way nothing else could. His hands had been steady. His voice had been calm. And when he'd looked at me, really looked at me, I'd felt something I hadn't felt in years.
Wanted. Not for what I could do on the ice. Not for my stats or my saves or my reputation.
Just... wanted.
"Forget it," I said quietly. "He's human. I'm—"
"A dragon who's been alone too long," Max interrupted. "And before you give me that look, yes, I know you've got your reasons. But Taz, you can't hide forever."
I stared down at my beer, watching condensation slide down the glass.
That was the problem, a hockey career lasted a fraction of human years.
Dragons lived much longer. It was true I was afraid of the "wrong hit" ending my career, but that was simply because I couldn't explain a fractured femur healing in the space of a week. "I'm not hiding."
"You are," Max said, gentler now. "And I get it. But maybe it's time to stop."
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his grin returned, bright and mischievous. "Perfect timing. Team's got VIP tickets tomorrow night at that new club opening on 16th. You're coming. It's ticketed only. Doesn't open to the public until Wednesday."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he said firmly. "Because if you don’t, you're going to sit in this apartment and brood about your knee and that pretty medic and all the reasons you think you don't deserve nice things."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Max pointed at me. "Don't even try it, Taz. I've known you too long."
He had. Nearly a decade of playing together, even sometimes on opposite sides, of watching each other's backs both on and off the ice.
Max had been there through trades and injuries and the slow, grinding realization that my career had an expiration date coming up fast. Even if my life didn't, and that was the scariest thing.
And he was right. I sighed. "Fine."
"Excellent." Max stood, already texting. "Wear something that doesn't make you look like you're attending a funeral."
I looked down at my black sweater and black jeans.
"Taz."
"This is what I have."
Max threw a couch pillow at my head. "Then we're going shopping in the morning after the team meeting."
The club was exactly the kind of place I normally avoided—too loud, too crowded, too full of people who wanted to talk about the game or ask for autographs or speculate about next season.
But the VIP section was quieter, separated from the main floor by frosted glass and a velvet rope that kept most of the chaos at bay. Our group had claimed a huge corner booth, and I'd managed to wedge myself into the back where the music was muted enough that I could hear myself think.
Cole and Phoenix had shown up together, Phoenix tucked under Cole's arm like he belonged there. Keegan was arguing with Ember about something I couldn't quite hear over the bass, and his boyfriend Drake was sitting with Julian’s wife Lizzie and Kael’s girlfriend Molly, and it looked like they were having a great time.
Ash sat beside me, nursing a drink and looking just as uncomfortable as I felt.
"You good?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Loud."
"Yeah."
We sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the others laugh and drink and exist in a way that looked effortless. Max appeared at the edge of the booth, two drinks in hand, even though we had a dedicated server. He slid one toward me. "Stop looking like you're planning an escape route."
"I'm not."
"You are. I can see you calculating the distance to the exit." He grinned. "Relax, Taz. No one's going to bother us up here."
I took the drink and tried to believe him.
The night wore on. The music shifted from aggressive electronic to something smoother, almost hypnotic. People drifted in and out of the VIP section—friends of friends, sponsors, the occasional reporter who got waved away before they could ask questions.
And then the door opened again, and I saw him.
Cinder.
He looked different out of scrubs—jeans that fit him well, a dark blue shirt that brought out his eyes, hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it. He was with a group, laughing at something a woman beside him said, and for a moment, he didn't notice me at all.
My chest tightened.
Max followed my gaze, and his grin turned absolutely wicked. "Well, well."
"Don't," I warned.
"I'm not doing anything," Max said innocently. "But you should go talk to him."
"He's with friends." Probably a girlfriend.
"So are you. That's what makes it normal." Max nudged my shoulder. "Go. Before you lose your nerve."
I didn't move. It was weird.
Cinder's group settled at a table near the bar, still visible through the glass partition. Cinder's smile was genuine, unguarded in a way I hadn't seen at the arena. The woman beside him—the one who'd made him laugh—leaned in close, saying something that made him shake his head.
I watched him without meaning to, cataloging details I had no business noticing.
The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was listening.
The slight furrow between his brows when he concentrated.
The fact that he hadn't touched the drink in front of him, just sat there with his hands folded on the table like he was still deciding whether to stay.
"You're staring," Max said.
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are. And if you don't go talk to him in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to do it for you."
I shot him a look that would've sent most people running. “He’s with a woman.”
Max just grinned wider. "I'm serious, Taz. I will walk over there and tell him you've been mooning over him since the game."
"I have not been—"
"Mooning," Max repeated cheerfully. "Pining. Brooding. Pick your favorite verb." He leaned forward and mouthed, “We both know he isn’t straight.”
Which I knew sent heat to my face. Besides, how did Max know? I certainly didn't. I set my drink down harder than necessary. "You're insufferable."
"And you're a coward." He said it without heat, just matter-of-fact. "Which is wild, considering you throw yourself in front of frozen rubber and hockey players for a living."
My jaw tightened. He wasn't wrong. I'd faced down slapshots that could break bones, survived two decades of a sport that chewed people up and spat them out.
But walking across a club to talk to a man who'd seen me at my most vulnerable?
Terrifying.
"What if he doesn't want to talk to me?" I asked quietly. I lowered my voice. “What if he’s not… you know.” I didn’t say “not into me” but Max knew what I meant. And to be honest, at this point I just wanted to get to know the man a little better. I’d never been one for casual hook-ups.
Max's expression softened. "Then he's an idiot. But Taz, you won't know unless you try."
I looked back at Cinder. He was laughing again, but there was something brittle around the edges of it. Something that didn't quite reach his eyes.
I knew that look. Knew what it felt like to smile when you were holding yourself together with sheer willpower.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stood.
Max's grin could've powered the entire city. "That's my boy."
"Shut up."
I made my way through the VIP section, weaving past teammates and strangers, my heart doing things it shouldn't be doing. The music seemed louder suddenly, the lights brighter, every step carrying me closer to a conversation I had no idea how to start.
Cinder's friend saw me first. Her eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering across her face, and she said something to Cinder that made him turn.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, neither of us moved. He looked surprised, then wary, then something else I couldn't quite read. His gaze dropped briefly to my knee—the one that should've been ruined—then back to my face.
"Hi," I said, because apparently my brain had abandoned all higher functions.
"Hi," he echoed.
His friend was watching us with undisguised interest. The rest of his group had gone quiet, clearly trying to figure out who I was and why I was standing at their table. Other players were instantly recognized, but behind the mask, I kept myself private as much as I could.
"I, uh..." I cleared my throat. "I wanted to thank you. For yesterday." I slapped my leg. “All healed.”
Cinder's expression shifted, confusion in his gaze as it slid to my leg. "I was just doing my job, but I’m glad to see it’s okay."