2. Steele
STEELE
I tighten my gloves and roll my shoulders before taking my position at center ice. The energy in the Kingston Landry Arena is electric. It’s the kind that usually rushes through my veins and sharpens my focus.
But tonight, something’s off.
I can feel it in my bones.
My gaze flicks up to the suite where Lilah always sits, only to find it empty.
I tell myself it’s nothing.
That she’s just running behind or maybe got stuck at work. Although she never mentioned she’d be late when we touched base earlier this afternoon. I’ve spent the last six years tracking her presence with the same precision I use to find the back of the net.
Tonight, she’s a no show.
She hasn’t missed a Railers home game since we both moved to Chicago after college.
“Lock in, Sanderson! You skating or sightseeing today?” Coach barks.
I’m already in motion, my stick connecting with the puck as I send it sailing past Laiken’s shoulder into the goal .
Our starting goalie swears.
Normally that would be enough to make me grin.
I glance at the clock. There’s eight minutes until the puck drops. Both teams are running through final warm-ups as the crowd files in. My stomach knots in a way that has nothing to do with pre-game jitters.
Knox McNichols, our right wing, skates up beside me. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you pretend you’re not looking for Lilah.” He taps his stick against my shin guards. “While very obviously looking for her.”
“I don’t—” The protest dies in my throat as Evelyn Kingston, one of the team’s owners and Lilah’s godmother, stares down at me from the suite.
Alone.
Oliver Van Doren falls in line beside us, smacking his stick against mine. “It’s almost showtime, Sanderson. You ready to wipe the ice with these guys?”
I force a smirk. “Couldn’t be more ready.”
The lights drop, and the crowd erupts into cheers.
Twenty thousand fans rise to their feet as our intro video lights up the jumbotron.
It’s the same one I’ve seen a hundred times before, but tonight the highlight reel feels distant.
Like I’m staring at it through a tunnel.
I can’t shake the worry that continues to eat me alive.
The spotlight hits center ice as our announcer’s voice booms through the arena. “And now, please welcome the Baltimore Baddies!”
The visiting team skates out one by one as their lineup is announced. The crowd gives the standard mix of polite applause and half-hearted boos, all the while waiting for the real show to start.
The moment the last player takes position, the music shifts, the bass vibrating through my skates. Blue and silver lights sweep across the ice, and the volume inside the arena explodes.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your Chicago Railers!”
I roll my shoulders, shaking out my limbs as my teammates line up. Knox bounces on his skates beside me, a cocky grin plastered across his face.
“Starting in goal, number thirty-five, Laiken Lennox!”
Laiken glides out, lifting his stick to the thundering chants of “Lai-ken, Lai-ken!”
“At right defense, number twenty-three, River Thompson!”
River takes the ice to whistles and cheers.
“At left defense, number four, Jaxon Wilder!”
The spotlight sweeps over our zone, catching Jaxon as he loops around. Six years of these introductions, and my gaze always settled on Lilah. She’d be on her feet with everyone else, but she’d be watching me, not the show.
“At right wing, number eleven, Knox McNichols!”
Knox throws me a look before heading out, like he knows exactly where my head is.
“At left wing, number ninety-one, the big O, Oliver Van Doren!”
The roar builds as Oliver skates forward, fist-bumping Jaxon as he passes.
One more name.
“And your captain, at center, number nineteen, Steele Sanderson!”
I push off, muscle memory taking over as I glide onto the ice. The spotlight follows, the crowd thundering the entire time. As I take my usual lap around our zone, my eyes automatically lift to the suite.
Lilah’s not there.
That’s all it takes for my calm to fracture.
Where the hell is she ?
I settle into position at center ice as my teammates fan out around me.
Knox nudges my shoulder. “Get your head in the game, Cap.”
With a nod, I grip my stick tighter and force my expression into something neutral.
Captain’s face.
Game face.
The ref skates in, puck in hand.
I bend forward, ready for the drop, but my gaze lifts one last time to the suite.
My lucky charm is still MIA.
The puck drops, and I surge forward, stick colliding with my opponent’s. Normally, I’m locked in and focused on what needs to be done. But that’s not the case tonight.
Without Lilah’s presence, I feel off.
And I fucking hate it.
I take a shot, missing the net by a mile.
“Jesus,” River mutters as he skates past. “What the hell was that?”
I grit my teeth, skating harder, trying to push through the frustration making my hands clumsy and my focus scattered.
By the time we hit the locker room between periods, I can feel the guys watching me, silent questions brimming in their eyes.
Oliver tosses me a towel. “Are you playing like shit for the fun of it or what?”
“Fuck off,” I grumble, dragging a hand through my sweat-dampened hair.
He snorts. “I’m just saying, man. Maybe pretend like you give a damn about the game.”
How can I respond when they’re right?
I need to get my head out of my ass. As soon as the game is over, I can find Lilah and make sure everything’s okay. Until then, I need to focus.
I don’t play any better during the third period. Thank fuck the guys are there to pick up the slack. The final buzzer sounds, and the crowd roars. My teammates throw their hands in the air as sticks tap against the ice in victory.
Even though it’s another win under our belt, there’s no pleasure to be found in it. I’d usually be caught up in the rush of the post-game high with them. But tonight, as I skate off the ice, there’s only one thing dominating my mind.
Lilah.
I scan the stands one last time, searching for her face in the crowd.
She promised she’d be here.
The empty seat hits harder than I want to admit.
Where the hell is she?
With that jackass boyfriend of hers?
Even the thought of Devon Peterson is enough to make my jaw clench.
She deserves so much better.
Then again, I’m not sure there’s a guy out there who’s good enough for Lilah Monroe.
She’s like the sun rising over the horizon—impossible to ignore and even harder to forget.
When Lilah’s near, she’s all I see.
All I feel.
All I want.
It’s been that way since our freshman year of college, and nothing has changed. If anything, my feelings for her have only deepened, growing stronger with every year, every moment, every look.
The thought of her marrying that smug bastard makes my stomach twist.
Not just because I’d lose her .
But because I know deep in my bones that she doesn’t belong with him.
She belongs with me.
To me .
The last time she had “big news” to share, I damn near had a heart attack.
I was convinced he’d proposed.
Instead, she’d gotten a promotion at work.
It was a relief.
But that fear hasn’t gone anywhere.
Knox McNichols claps me on the back with a gloved hand. “Cheer up, fucker. We won tonight.”
I grunt in response.
There isn’t much that comes before hockey.
Lilah’s the exception.
The second I step into the locker room, I yank off my gloves and toss them onto the bench as I reach for my cell. My pulse kicks up as my fingers tighten around the slim device and I unlock the home screen.
There’s not a single message or missed call from her.
With a frown, I check my inbox.
Still nothing.
“What the fuck?” I mutter before firing off a text.
Me:
Where are you?
I strip off my jersey, grab a towel, and check again.
Nada.
Me:
Everything okay?
No response.
My jaw clenches, and I force myself to breathe through the unease clawing at my ribs.
Me:
Lilah. Call me. You’re starting to scare me.
I swear to God, when I finally get my hands on that woman, I’ll spank her damn ass. I groan as an image of bending her over my lap and smacking the rounded curve of her bottom shoves its way into my brain. The last place I need to pop wood is in the locker room with a bunch of naked dudes.
I’d never hear the end of it.
Jaxon Wilder watches me with a slow-growing smirk.
“Damn,” he drawls, kicking back against his stall. “I didn’t realize you were so whipped.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, stuffing my gear into my locker with more force than necessary.
Jaxon raises his hands in surrender, but the grin remains firmly in place. He’s the newest member of the Railers, having just come up from playing for a minor league team. “Relax, man. She probably got held up at work.”
Maybe.
Although my gut is telling me there’s more to the story.
And the one thing about my gut is that it’s never wrong.
By the time we walk into The Rail Yard thirty minutes later, I’m wound so tight I can barely sit still.
The place is packed with the usual post-game crowd, buzzing with energy.
A flickering neon sign says “Da Bar” in glowing blue letters.
Inside, brick walls and dim lighting give it a gritty charm.
It’s the kind of hole-in-the-wall place you only find if you know what you’re looking for.
A stuffed bear wearing a Railers jersey stands guard in the corner, and hockey memorabilia—signed pucks, vintage sticks, framed jerseys—fills every inch of wall space.
Music hums through the speakers as conversations blend together.
The only thing I’m able to focus on is the weight of my cell in my hand .
I head to our usual booth in the back and drop down onto the seat. The waitress delivers a beer that I barely touch as my knee bounces under the table.
I can’t stop checking my phone every two minutes.
“No word yet?” Knox asks, lounging across from me, his arms sprawled over the back of the booth.
A few girls vie for his attention. There’s never a shortage of them buzzing around, hoping to capture his interest. Much like his older brother, Colby McNichols, Knox is a favorite with the ladies.
It’s doubtful he’ll settle down anytime soon.
His career has exploded over the past season, bringing him even more attention, not to mention sponsorship deals, than before.
He’s on his way to becoming a household name.
With a shake of my head, my gaze combs over the crowd for what feels like the millionth time. “Nope.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.” There’s a pause. “She still with that lawyer boyfriend? The pompous one?”
My jaw tics. “Yup.”
Unfortunately.
“It’s always possible she’s with him. It’s kind of a normal girlfriend thing to do.”
My eyes narrow as I glare at him. “She never misses a home game.”
Oliver drops onto the seat next to Knox. “Here’s a thought. Maybe it’s time to stop pining for her and move the fuck on.”
Perfect.
Just what I need.
Another unwanted opinion.
Knox nudges our teammate. “Ouch. That’s some tough love right there.”
Oliver shrugs. “Look around, Sanderson. There’s not a girl in this place who wouldn’t drop her panties if you even looked in their direction.
All you have to do is wipe the scowl off your ugly mug and give someone the green light to proceed.
How long has it been since you got laid?
A few weeks?” When I remain silent, his brows rise.
“Please don’t tell me it’s been longer than that. ”
I press my lips together and refocus my attention on our teammates who are horsing around near the bar. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?” I grouse.
A smile spreads across his face. “Come on, Cap. You know you’re the only one I want to bother.”
Knox, the asshole, decides to jump on the bandwagon and give me shit. “Damn. I didn’t realize it had been so long. No wonder you’re wound tight.”
Before I can tell them both to mind their own damn business, Knox snags a random woman walking past by the wrist. “Hey, sweetheart.”
When she glances at him, he flashes a dimpled smile, and she just about swoons on the spot.
I can’t help but roll my eyes.
The effect he has on women should come with a warning label. His brother was the same way in college before the future Mrs. McNichols knocked him on his ass.
Knox jerks his head in my direction. “Any idea who the guy over there is?”
She’s barely able to take her eyes off Knox long enough to meet my stare. “Sure. I know who all of you are.”
“Perfect,” Knox says. “How’d you like to?—”
And that would be my cue to leave.
I rise from my seat before the question is fully out of his mouth. The last thing I need is pity sex.
Little do these clowns know that it’s been way more than a few weeks since I slept with a woman.
Try eighteen months on for size.
I drag a hand down my face, unable to believe it’s been that long.
“I’m going to grab another beer from the bar,” I mutter, wanting to get away from this conversation. None of these guys understand the depth of my feelings for Lilah. Once I finally came to terms with it myself, there didn’t seem much point in getting tangled up with other women.
Even if it’s just to blow off a little steam.
“Come on, Sanderson, don’t run away like that,” Knox calls after me, humor simmering in his voice.
I flip him the bird and keep on moving.