Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Thorne
The end of season party thumps through speakers that rattle the walls of the private venue.
Players pack the room shoulder to shoulder, finally loose after months of grinding through games.
Sponsors hover with drinks they'll never finish.
Photographers float between groups, hunting for smiles that look genuine enough for social media.
I'm not looking for her. I made a promise to myself that I'd behave tonight. Behaving means not seeking her out or staring at her like a stalker from across the room.
I claim space near the bar. People automatically give me room the way they always do for the captain. I'm also a big guy. Six foot four, six four and a half on the weekend. Not as husky as Hunter or Silas, but a hell of a lot faster on the ice. Plus, I'm the fucking center.
That counts for a lot around here. Especially with the bunnies. A cluster of them stand nearby, making eyes at me. But I'm being good. So not only am I not looking for her, I'm not looking for anyone to keep my bed warm tonight. Just me and my hand.
Across the room, Silas stands with Scout near the dance floor.
She says something into his chest and laughs, head tipped back with waves bouncing.
His hand rests at her waist like it belongs there.
He looks settled in a way I never see during games.
Not loose exactly, but comfortable in his skin for once.
Watching them creates an itch I don't want to examine.
Discipline makes sense to me. Focus and control are languages I speak.
Building something through repetition is how you survive this league.
What doesn't compute is believing in permanence when hockey eats relationships alive.
Recently, two of the meanest, baddest guys on our team have settled down.
They didn't just find girlfriends. Hunter is married. Silas is engaged. If I ever felt some kind of solitary brotherhood with my fellow hockey players, I sure as hell don't anymore.
Marriages crack under the schedule while divorces play out in headlines. Women who used to wear team jackets like armor end up flinching at the sound of skates.
Yet Silas looks happy anyway.
A photographer waves me over before I can look away.
My feet carry me to the designated spot and I arrange my face into the expression they want.
Neutral works best for these things. Some nameless guy in a suit shakes my hand while saying my name like they own part of it.
Another person claps my back and calls me a natural leader.
Someone else thanks me for a season I haven't processed yet.
The glass of beer in my hand stays untouched. Can I go yet? I check my watch, feeling my impatience growing. Since I can't take out my aggression the normal way with two pretty brunettes who writhe and gasp my last name like I'm a fucking god, I'm more wound up than usual.
That's when I find her. It's not my fault. Mollie catches my sleeve when I'm looking for an exit.
"TikTok?" she begs, already holding her phone between us. "Thirty seconds. Please? It'll make the fans so happy."
Confidence radiates from her in waves that throw people off if they don't know her.
Tonight she's wearing lipstick bright enough to stop traffic, a black geometric print dress that hits mid-thigh, and black Converse.
Her long copper hair is styled straight and shiny, catching the light as she moves.
She's always like this, matching something she's wearing with one of a seemingly infinite number of pairs of shoes.
It's annoying. I know that hair won't stay straight for long in this humidity.
Give it twenty minutes and it'll start curling gently at the ends.
I scowl automatically. Her grin says she expected this reaction.
"I don't have time."
"You're literally going home to fuck some drunk chick. She can wait ten minutes. In fact, you can probably tell her that it's foreplay. So really, I'm doing you a favor."
I growl at her teasing expression. "Don't talk about foreplay. Jesus, Squeak."
"Don't call me that." Mollie glares daggers at me. "Just say the line. You don't even have to smile."
"This is my smile," I tell her.
"That's a hostage situation pretending to be an expression," she counters, adjusting the phone angle. "Try again."
The video takes less than a minute. Mollie prompts me when I stall and laughs when I deliver the last line like I'm reading tax code. After she lowers the phone, she rolls her eyes. "Was that so bad?"
"Counterpoint." I raise my eyebrows. "Why does TikTok even exist?"
She waves her hand to indicate all of me. "You're the worst."
She spins on her Converse, flipping her hair over her shoulder and moving away.
Good. I've been avoiding her all night. Now I can go back to dodging her and make my way to the door.
My eyes skim down her dress. When I see how short it is, my jaw tenses.
She used to wear these colorful tights under her dresses.
But lately, Mollie has been playing at being a grown up. Part of that apparently is wearing dresses that skim her thighs. Where is Beck? Her older brother needs to be policing her outfits so that I don't have to.
Across the room, Mollie nearly collides with a rookie I don't recognize immediately.
Young kid, too new to know better, carrying confidence that hasn't met consequences yet.
Whatever he says makes her cheeks go pink and she laughs, surprised and pleased.
Flirting comes naturally to her because everything does.
Before my brain catches up, my body moves.
Three steps put me between them, close enough that the kid has to crane his neck to meet my eyes. Volume isn't necessary and contact isn't required. He reads the situation fast enough to stammer an apology.
"S-sorry, Thorne. I'll just, um..." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, his face as red as a cherry tomato. "Yep."
I unclench my fists and force my shoulders to relax. But when I look, Mollie's glaring at me again. It's the facial expression I deserve.
"You can't do that," she says. "He was just being nice!"
"I already did it."
"God, Thorne." She crosses her arms and cocks her hip. "I wasn't asking for protection."
When she looks all angry and huffy like that, I can't help but goad her.
"You didn't need to, Squeak. Besides, I probably saved that kid from an ass beating. You and I both know how temperamental Beck can be."
"You let me deal with my brother." Her jaw tightens. "I'm not fragile, you know."
"Hm." I cast a skeptical gaze down her body. "You're injured, Squeak."
"Just because I can't skate anymore doesn't make me off limits."
Arguments sharpen fast between us. They always have. I slide my gaze around, smirking when I see that no one is listening to our conversation. Unable to help myself, I slide closer until I feel her breath against my chest. My body leans in without my permission.
Asshole.
"You chose to work for the same team as your big brother, darling," I say, dropping my voice. "At this point? You're pretty much going to die a virgin."
Color drains from her face while her expression hardens to something very close to rage. "I hate you."
Her voice doesn't wobble. The words hold no hesitation. I'm used to her barbs, but this one nettles me, burying itself deep under my skin.
"I know." I give her a cool little smile.
Before either of us can say anything else, Beck appears. His hand lands on my shoulder with easy familiarity.
"All good here?" he asks. His eyes catch on her short dress. "Good god, did the dress store run out of fabric or something?"
My lips twitch. "I just chased off a farm team kid who thinks your little sister is fair game."
"Fuck. Really?" He glances at Mollie, then back at me, and nods. "Thanks for watching out for her."
"Of course." The assumption sits between us like an established fact. This is a role I've accepted without question for a long time. I hold out a fist and he bumps it. This works for us.
"I'm not going to stay here and listen to you two meatheads," Mollie says.
Mollie stalks off while Beck talks. After a few seconds, someone calls Beck's name, and he gravitates toward the bar. Right. This is my chance to leave.
My eyes track Mollie across the room. She films something with other players, laughter bright and effortless again.
When she bends and then straightens, she winces.
She stands still as she rolls her ankle, biting her lip.
I assume she's trying to relieve some of the lingering nerve pain she's struggled with ever since she tore a ligament and fractured her ankle when she was skating.
She went from a national figure skating champion to a girl so scared of being hurt again that she won't even get near an ice rink. So yeah, maybe it makes me a little protective. So what? Mollie could use a little safeguarding.
Silas appears at my shoulder without warning. He doesn't crowd me, just follows my gaze to where Mollie stands, then looks back at my face.
"You all right?" he asks.
I shrug, turning away from Mollie. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He narrows his eyes and jerks his head. "You're not hiding it well."
"Hiding what?" I can feel a flush creeping up my neck.
"Beck's sister."
"Mollie?" I keep playing dumb, even though he obviously knows something's going on. "What about her?"
"He trusts you."
My jaw clenches. "Sure. I know."
Silas watches me for another beat. "I spent months hiding behind a screen because I thought Scout would reject the real me. Lying hurt us both more than honesty ever could."
"Fuck off, Silas." I roll my eyes. "I've got it under control."
"Mhm." He looks at me for a second and sucks his teeth. "You're playing a dangerous game, Thorne."
He walks away before I can answer. Me? I go back to watching Mollie like she's magnetic north.