Chapter 2
ADRIAN
From then on, every time Sonya comes to watch Quinn, I play differently. I’m showing off harder than before.
During one game, I get two assists and score another game-winning goal.
In another, I score backwards and from behind the net.
The game after that I deke the other team’s captain and do this spin-o-rama move before slamming the puck into the corner of the net.
And…
Nothing.
None of it catches her attention. If anything, she vigorously reads harder any time I skate near her.
“Be honest, does she even like hockey?” I ask Quinn the next day, bouncing a puck off my hockey stick during practice.
“Nope,” he says with a soft smile. “But I think she noticed that everyone else has family and friends in the stands cheering them on, and I didn’t. So now she comes to some of my games.” He clears his throat, and blinks a few times. “It means a lot to me, even when she zones out.”
“Dude,” says Matt, chiming in bluntly. “Is that all it takes? Raise your standards.”
The team laughs.
We start doing more drills, but before Quinn heads to the net, I catch up with him. “They’re messing with you, but if you want me to talk to Matt about what he said…”
“No, I’m good.” Quinn’s smile is completely unbothered.
It doesn’t surprise me.
Quinn Connor’s personality is the center of a chocolate lava cake.
Gooey-sweet. Not that a lot of people would guess that, because the scars on his face are considered scary.
When kids see him, they point. People keep their distance in public.
There’s loads of whispering, gossiping, and speculation about where he got them from since no one knows.
Does he have a violent past? Is it a sign he’s got a temper? Are they his fault?
It’s all bullshit and breaks my heart, because if anyone got to know the real Quinn, they’d see that underneath his scars is a gentle giant with always ruffled hair, kind crinkly eyes, and a chiseled jawline that rivals mine.
When I move closer to Quinn, he talks with that same smile on his face.
“Sonya and I grew up different than most, so what might not seem like a big deal to others, matters to us.” Quinn holds his stick like it weighs heavy.
“People see my scars and decide who I am before I even say anything. She gets the same thing, but in a different way. People think she’s cold.
Rude. Standoffish.” He shrugs. “And yeah, she can be all of that, but it’s not all she is.
Just because she doesn’t let people in easily doesn’t mean there’s nothing worth getting to know underneath her grumpiness. ”
He skates off like he didn’t just drop a mini-therapy session on my head.
Seriously?
I blink, my jaw tight, watching him go.
Now all I can see is her in the stands, nose buried in some book, tuning me out like I’m background noise.
But what if she is like Quinn?
Who he was before the Wings.
Quiet. Isolated. Shut down.
Someone who’s just been left alone too long.
“Are we daydreaming or are we playing?” shouts Coach, blowing his whistle. “Get into line.”
I shake my head and skate off, forcing the thoughts in my head to reshuffle. Let’s not forget the actual mission here.
I’m Adrian Hughes. Team captain. Scorer of goals. Breaker of hearts.
Loved, admired, lusted after by all.
And I was asking earlier about Sonya liking hockey, just trying to prove a point.
No one resists me forever.
I grin, ready to win this game like I have so many others before this.
You know what? I’d like to see Sonya try to resist me!
For our next game, we play the Seattle Blades. It’s a gnarly matchup where insults are flying. Our rivalry heats up when deep into the third period, someone crashes into Quinn, knocking him down. A loose fist hits our goalie’s helmet.
I surge forward, putting myself in front of Quinn. A dull roar of blood pumps through my veins as I drop my gloves. “If you want to go after him, you’ll have to go through me first, asshole.”
Lokhov joins me, shoulder to shoulder. “And me,” he grunts.
A fight explodes. Dropped gloves, punches, tackles. It’s a mess, but after some penalties and power plays, the game ends with us barely holding onto our lead.
At the end of the game, as we skate to shake hands, Smith, the Blades’ captain and a douchebag with a punchable face, points his stick at me. “Watch your back, Hughes. Next time we’re coming for you harder.”
I give him a one-fingered salute and grin through my split lip. “It’s flattering how much time you want to spend with me.”
Standing beside me, Quinn watches Smith storm off the ice and laughs. “One day, your cockiness is going to get you into so much trouble.”
“Maybe.” I whistle. “Probably not, though.”
Lokhov’s contribution to the conversation is to sigh heavily.
I mock punch him in the shoulder. “Thanks for having my back out there, best friend, to protect our other best friend!”
“I’m nobody’s best friend,” Lokhov grumbles.
Before I can convince him by listing the nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine ways we’re bonded for life in eternal bromance, Coach yells at us to head into the dressing room.
An hour later, I’m the first one done showering and striding out of the dressing room. I almost don’t see her, but then I do.
She’s leaning against the wall, wearing a black tank top, black leggings, and boots covered in studs.
Her hair falls to the middle of her back, a curtain obscuring half of her face.
From where I’m standing one eye is visible, and it’s flicked with her usual dark makeup.
All lean lines and edges, her body language is a warning sign.
It screams, don’t you dare fucking approach me.
Quinn’s words echo in my head. Rude. Closed off. But worth getting to know.
Not that I’m trying to do that… Getting to know her…
I’m going over to flirt, because why not? I should test my charm on Sonya when we’re not in the middle of a game, and she’s stuck behind the glass.
I stroll up to her with my hands in my pockets, whistling loudly. “Sonya darling, do you want to see me that badly? Is that why you’re here?”
She doesn’t even glance my way. Just keeps staring somewhere a few meters to my right like I’m not worth paying attention to. Her mouth barely moves as she grumbles, “I’m not your darling.”
Unfazed, I grin. “Do you want to be?”
“Not a chance.”
Leaning my elbow next to her against the wall, I try to make my shoulders look as broad as they can. To make myself impossible to ignore. “Really? Even after all the hard work I’ve been putting in for you?”
“What hard work?”
Her voice is pure derision. She’s giving me nothing. Less than nothing.
I push on and tap my chin with my finger. “Remember when I scored a wraparound goal to beat Winnipeg and dedicated it to you? Pointing you out in the stands? The game winner?”
“Did that happen? Can’t recall. I wasn’t paying any attention to you in that game.”
“As opposed to all the other games where you do pay attention, Sonya?” My eyebrow arches.
“What’s there to pay attention to?” she asks, monotone.
Okayyy. Flirting with Sonya is like trying to get water from a rock. And yet—
I double down.
Maybe she needs to hear more about how impressive I am!
“You tell me, darling.” My smile is megawatts.
“Usually the whole city is on the edge of their seat, chanting my name right before I charge towards the net. Or they scream my name when it’s double overtime and all the guys work to get me the puck, knowing I’ll finish it. That our best chance of winning is me.”
I let the words hang in the air, watching her like I’m waiting for applause. Yeah. I’m being the most arrogant that I can be. This is Olympic-level smug. But it gets attention.
She finally looks at me.
And something strange lands in my chest.
Her eyes are smoky and unreadable, like there’s a locked room behind them. They’re also dark and gorgeous. I can’t look away. I stare at her and watch them blink…and shift? With a flicker of annoyance? Pointed at me? I think so. That’s nothing new, but there’s a spark. Maybe a crack in her armor.
Right, then. If being extra arrogant gets results, then I’m filing that away for later.
She shifts slightly, arms crossed tighter. “You’re so damn cocky, Hughes.”
I smirk, because with that direct answer it’s like she proved my theory.
“So you know my last name, do you?” I laugh, lean in closer, and whisper, “And yeah, I’m cocky. Do you like it?”
She glares at me and says nothing. But she doesn’t look away, either. And I swear I see it, just for a second, her eyes flick down to my mouth. Then jerk back up.
My smile spreads wider as delight zings through my chest. I lean in a little closer.
And she does too, just barely while still glaring at me.
The air between us crackles.
Sonya scoffs, about to say something that I’m dying to hear, even if it’s an insult—
But then Quinn comes out of the dressing room.
And all of a sudden, I’m back to being invisible. Because as soon as Sonya sees him, she pushes off the wall and walks over. Her arms are still crossed tight. “Are you hurt?”
He smiles despite his split lip. “No.”
“Good.” Sonya nods tersely.
Quinn tilts his head. “I thought you were busy tonight?”
“I was. I am busy. I have to go back, but I saw the fight. On my phone.” Her chin lowers. “Just…don’t fall. Again. Or else.”
Her words are sharp and hurried, and delivered with an unsettled expression crossing her face. As if she’s deeply uncomfortable, but needs to get everything out, so Quinn understands the seriousness of what she’s saying.
Frowning at him, her hand twitches. “And…call me. If you really need something. Bye.”
With that, she stalks off, only briefly glancing at me on her way out. That’s a relief because if she looked any longer, she’d realize I’m oddly locked in place.
Quinn notices me. “Oh, hey, Cap. Ready to grab some food? I’m starving.”
I inhale sharply, forcing a hand through my damp hair. “Yup. Let’s go.”
I need to distract myself. But for some reason, I watched their conversation, and now I can’t shake the thought that Quinn was right.
The way she acted around her brother because he got hurt…it’s concern shielded by thorns. Grumpiness with an almost invisible undercurrent of care. Tough, yet worried annoyance.
There’s more to Sonya than what she shows the world.
Seeing that isn’t even the worst part.
It’s that I can picture it.
Her coming over to me, telling me not to fall. Ever again. Saying it all in that same stiff, defensive way. Like she’s guarding herself as much as she’s trying to watch out for me.
Can you imagine? Her telling me it’s okay to call her if I really need to. Fuck. The thought of that bothers me. Because I can’t stop thinking about it.