Chapter 2 Everett
EVERETT
Iblink, trying to keep the sweat from my eyes as I stare at the woman behind the plexiglass.
Fuck. She’s hot.
Everyone around her is cheering and shouting abuse at our opponents. But she’s frozen in place, staring right at me.
I let my gaze drop from her wide, terrified eyes, and my smirk grows.
She’s wearing my fucking jersey.
It’s not an uncommon sight. There are thousands of people—women—in this arena right now wearing the exact same top.
But they aren’t the one who’s stolen my attention.
I make my way back up to her face as my teammates continue to pull me back from the asshole who can’t stop running his mouth, and when our eyes meet again, she looks down.
I can’t quite see from here, but I like to think that her cheeks are glowing.
I don’t have a clue who this woman is, but she’s just shot up to the top of my list of who I want to spend the night celebrating with.
With pain searing through my jaw, I’m lead to the penalty box to serve my time.
Tonight’s victory is a weird one for me.
But being here, being home and close to my sister and my best friend. Fuck. It feels so good. Even if I don’t deserve it.
The puck drops, but we lose the drawer, and the opposition sets its sights on Handsy.
My teeth grind and my fists clench, unable to do anything, as Monroe prepares to reclaim the puck.
Neither him nor his defensive partner plays like I do, and it makes it hard to predict what they’re going to do.
I throw my entire weight into my play; whereas Monroe relies on his speed. He’s not wrong playing that way—it’s just…different. He’s good, though. Really fucking good.
And just to prove me right, he manages to whip around behind their left winger and steal the puck right from his stick. Monroe takes off before passing to Reeves, who then fails to shoot it past the goalie.
I feel the groan of almost the entire arena as Reeves skates toward the bench.
I glance at the clock, watching my time stuck in here coming to an end.
As Killer, my defensive partner, jumps back onto the ice, I pull my helmet on before slapping my thighs, more than ready to rejoin him.
I take a moment to collect myself before I push through the door, my blades colliding with the ice. I relax as I fly forward and get into position. But a beat before the puck drops, I look up, and without even trying, I find her.
I swear she hasn’t moved. Her eyes are still on me as she chews on her bottom lip.
Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking.
I bet it has something to do with my body being on top of hers.
Heat shoots through me.
Later, Donnelly. Hard work before playtime.
Forcing myself to focus, I look back down and watch as Fletch wins possession of the puck and shoots it past the goalie.
“We fucking did it,” Linc screams, jumping on my back as we enter the dressing room. I guess now that he’s put my little sister down, he needs someone new to celebrate with.
I swear to God if I have to watch him shove his tongue down her throat one more time tonight, I’m gonna fucking blow.
He fucking does it on purpose, and it makes me want to hurt him.
He’s in love with Parker. I fucking get it.
That doesn’t mean I need a front-row seat to their tonsil tennis, though.
“Ugh, get the fuck off me. You stink.”
“Nah, that’s you, man,” he mocks before taking my cheeks in his hands. “We’re going to the playoffs. Both of us. Together. Can you believe it?”
“No, not really,” I mutter.
Linc frowns, his excitement waning as he studies me.
“What’s wrong? We fucking did it.”
I shake my head. “No, you did it. You guys were going to do this with or without me.”
“Nah, man. That’s bullshit. You’re a part of this, too. You deserve to celebrate just as much as we do.”
“I don’t, though, do I? I’m just the guy who was fucking up in Seattle and got a lucky break.”
“To where you’re meant to be. This is your team now, your home.”
“I know, and next year when we do it all over again, it’ll be a different story. We—”
My words are cut off as Coach steps into the locker room behind us.
A cheer erupts before the guys pounce on him.
James Watson is a fucking legend in his own right. He had an outstanding career as a player, and his coaching one is shaping up to be just as incredible.
Everyone’s excitement is palpable, for very good reason, and I can’t help but be dragged along with them.
Once we’re showered and have let Parker and Darcy, our newest athletic trainer, get their hands on us, we head up to the friends and family suite to show our faces before we party.
I find my mom and dad standing on the other side of the room with Casey, Sutton, Kodie’s mom, Freya, and her parents, and I make a beeline for them, grateful that they planned their travels around this game.
It means more to me than I’ll ever be able to admit that they still show their faces at games.
Honestly, when Dad announced that he was retiring as a player, I thought that was that: he was saying goodbye to hockey forever. I guess it was naive of me to think he’d walk away from something that has been a part of his life since he was a boy.
“So proud of you,” Dad says as I step up to him. Before I know what’s happening, he’s engulfing me in a man hug and hammering his closed fists against my back.
“I didn’t really do anything,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
All I ever want is to make him proud. For him to think I’m good enough. Failing and disappointing a parent who did everything they could to ensure you succeed is the worst feeling in the world.
I should know; I’ve been there time and time again.
“You did,” he assures me. “You deserve this just as much as everyone else.”
I force myself to smile as we part. One look in my eyes and he knows I don’t believe a word he just said, but as Mom embraces me, he lets it go.
He knows what a stubborn motherfucker I am. Him telling me the same thing again won’t help.
Parker joins us not long later. Unsurprisingly, she has Linc in tow.
Mom and Dad congratulate him as if he’s a member of the family—at this point, he pretty much is.
Their relationship might be fairly new, but I don’t doubt that he’s going to put a ring on it, too, and make my little sister a Storm.
I shake my head at the thought.
“What’s that look for?” Parker asks, her brows pinched.
“Nothing,” I mutter, earning myself a scowl before she’s distracted by her boyfriend.
I stand around making small talk, when really, all I want to do is get out of here and get the real party started. While I might not agree with celebrating my own success this season, I don’t have a problem joining in with everyone else.
Finally, people’s families begin making a move, signaling that our time making small talk is over. With Killer taking the lead, we follow him out and down to the parking garage, where we have cars waiting.
I don’t care where we go next. As long as there’s a bar, alcohol, and women, I’m good.
As usual, we start at the Fractured Compass.
It’s the team’s go-to after a game—a dive bar where we can kick back without getting constantly hounded for photos and autographs.
Or at least it used to be. As the season has gone on and the team’s success has grown, so have the fans and bunnies in this place.
The second we walk in, the atmosphere changes. All eyes turn our way as a cheer goes up.
“Fuck, yeah,” Killer bellows, more than ready to party, as almost the entire team and their girls spill into the bar.
I pause in the entrance, causing someone to walk straight into me.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice says, but I don’t care about Monroe right now; I’m too busy scanning the bar for the dark-haired woman from earlier.
She was at a game with friends, from what I could figure out.
All of them were wearing jerseys, and one of them had a crown on her head.
Birthday girl, maybe? If she’d chosen to go to a game for her big day, then surely, they’ll be out partying, maybe even trying to snag a player to spend the night with.
But after two sweeps of the place, I'm left disappointed—although it doesn’t last long. As I finally move toward our usual booth, a blonde I think I might recognize sidles up to me and grips my arm, pressing her tits against me.
“You were incredible tonight.” She flutters her long lashes at me.
She’s hot, sure. But something niggles in my head that she wasn’t worthy of a repeat.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’m going to grab a drink. Maybe meet you on the dance floor later?”
“I’ll save all my dances for you,” she breathes. I think it’s meant to be sexy, but it falls a little short of the mark.
“Whoa, did Rett Donnelly just turn down a bunny?” Killer teases as I join him and the guys in our booth.
I shrug one shoulder. “The night is still young. I don’t need to settle for the first one who rubs her tits against my arm.”
“Said like a true fuckboy,” my sister teases before she steals my beer and sits on my boy’s lap, squirming about in a way I never, ever want to witness again.