Blake
When I walk out of my bedroom, I close the door as quietly as I can. Briar is sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her.
I head downstairs, thinking about how she opened up to everyone. How brave she was to talk about what she’s been through.
As much as it hurt to see her cry, it was incredible seeing everyone stand up for her. After all that she’s endured—after all the shit she went through in Chicago, she’s getting the support she deserves from the people around her.
When I make it downstairs, I see Travis, Nick, and Leo all sitting in the living room, quietly sipping beers.
I join them on the couch. Leo hands me a beer.
I tell him thanks and crack it open.
“How’s Briar doing?” he asks.
“She’s pretty exhausted. She’s asleep now,” I say.
We’re all quiet again.
“I’m going to fucking kill her ex.”
They all nod as if they understand me completely.
“I won’t do it during the game,” I say. “I know that’s against the rules.” Fighting isn’t allowed in college hockey.
“It’s okay if you do want to take a swing at him during the game,” Nick says. “Remember when I left the ice in the middle of a game to run into the stands and cold-cock Poppy’s ex when he put his hands on her? I get it. You do whatever you need to do, man.”
“If anyone put their hands on Anna, I’d rip their fucking face off, no matter where it happened, hockey rules be damned,” Travis says.
Leo clears his throat. “I don’t have a girlfriend, so I can’t speak about that, but that piece of shit deserves to get his head bashed in for what he did to Briar.”
“Thanks, guys.”
Nick reaches over and pats my shoulder. “If you decide to go after him during the game, we’ve got your back.”
“You guys don’t need to get involved. It’s my ass on the line. I don’t want you getting in trouble too.”
“Fuck that,” Travis says. “We’re your teammates.”
“Yeah. We’re behind you one hundred percent,” Leo says.
My chest tightens with emotion. These guys aren’t just my teammates. They’re my friends. For the past four years, we’ve been there for each other through all sorts of shit. Tough losses, school stress, family stress, getting drafted. They’ve seen me at my best and worst.
And they’re standing by me, no matter what.
I look at all of them. “Thanks, guys.”
* * *
When I hit the ice for warmups before our game against Chicago U, I’m tense as fuck.
This restless, caged-animal energy courses through me. I want to punch a hole through the boards.
I breathe through the rage simmering through my veins and go through my stretches on the ice. I’m in the middle of my routine when I glance into the stands and see Briar.
When I see what she’s wearing, I still.
Oh, damn.
She’s wearing my jersey.
That tension inside of me fades instantly. A warm, happy feeling swoops through me.
I skate over to her, the biggest grin on my face.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter. I clear my throat. “I mean, nice jersey.”
She giggles. “You like my surprise?”
I nod. “Spin around for me.”
She turns and pulls her ponytail over her shoulder. Raw want surges through me.
Morrissey. Number 8.
That’s my girl wearing my name and my number on her body.
A small voice in the back of my head reminds me that she’s not really mine. We’re not dating. We’re not a couple. She’s just my friend.
But in this moment, I don’t care about any of that. In this moment, she feels like mine.
She looks at me over her shoulder, biting back a cute smile.
“So hot,” I say. “I want you to wear this every time you watch me play, okay?”
She beams. “Okay.”
And I want you to be my girlfriend.
The words spark on my tongue, but I hold back.
I need to be patient. I don’t want to push her.
I skate off to finish my warmup and refocus on the game.
* * *
I head to center ice for puck drop.
My gaze zeros in on Logan, Briar’s ex. He’s a defenseman, so he’s standing on the far side away from me.
The guy who tried to force himself on Briar is standing a dozen feet from me. The guy who put his hands on her. The guy who threatened her.
Rage blasts through me. It feels like lava is running through my veins.
I breathe. The rage inside of me sharpens and narrows. I focus on the puck.
When it lands on the ice, Nick is all over it. He takes off toward the opposing team’s net, passing it off to one of our teammates. A Chicago player trails him, so he passes it off.
Leo gets possession of it. He looks for an opening to shoot it into their net, but the Chicago University defense is all over him.
I’m toward the edge of the cluster of players from both teams. I’m far enough away that I’m not involved in the current frenzy, but close enough that my teammates can pass to me.
Leo passes it over to Nick since he’s closer, but before Nick can grab it, Logan steals the puck and takes off.
That caged animal energy from earlier propels through me. Now I have a game-related reason to maim this motherfucker.
“He’s mine,” I say to Nick, who’s going after him. He eases back instantly.
I pump my legs faster, closing the gap between Logan and me.
With each second that passes, I pick up speed. And then I slam him into the boards.
He groans as he falls onto the ice. The home crowd gasps, then cheers.
I don’t even look at him as he struggles to get up. I grab the puck and take off with it toward the Chicago net.
I speed across the ice, passing the puck to Leo when a guy from the opposing team gets in front of me.
Leo passes it to Nick, who speeds toward the net. I follow behind, watching the goalie’s helmet bob back and forth as he tracks Nick’s stick.
Nick glances behind and sees me. He winds up like he’s going to shoot, but at the last second, he passes back to me. I slap the puck. It sails past the goalie’s glove and lands in the corner of the net.
My teammates surround me. The home crowd goes wild.
When we break apart, I find Briar in the stands. She’s on her feet, arms in the air.
My heart swells in my chest. That’s my girl cheering for me. That’s my girl wearing my jersey.
My girl.
She beams at me. I grin and wink at her.
I turn around and head back to center ice with the rest of my teammates. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Logan looking at me.
He turns toward the stands, where Briar is, then looks back at me. Recognition flashes in his eyes as he skates toward his team.
He glares at me. I grit my teeth and look away.
“Briar Bennett’s your girl, huh?”
I ignore him.
“It makes sense why you tried to lay me the fuck out a minute ago. She must have told you we were a thing.”
The urge to punch him in the face spikes through me. I ignore it.
“Whatever, dude,” I mutter.
“Nah, I get it. She’s hot for sure. But don’t get your hopes up. She’s a fucking tease who doesn’t put out.”
I turn around and get in his face.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I say. He just laughs.
“No fighting. Back off,” the ref barks at us. Logan skates off, still laughing.
I’m gritting my teeth so hard, it feels like my jaw is about to shatter.
That asshole is going to pay for what he did to Briar. I’ll make sure of it.
* * *
The buzzer blares, signaling the end of the game.
We tied with Chicago U in overtime. If this had been a conference game or the playoffs, we’d be in the middle of a shootout right now, but since it’s the regular season, the tie stands.
Both teams walk off the ice into the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms.
Someone bumps my shoulder. I look up and see it’s Logan.
He smirks at me. “Have fun with Briar tonight. Tell her I said hi. And hey, you might have to get a little rough with her to get her to do what you want in bed,” he taunts. “She acts all innocent, but I know deep down, she’s a little fucking slut.”
A half-second later, my stick and gloves are on the ground, and my fist connects with his face.